The Place Inside the Storm

by Bradley W Wright

  Out in the open and by myself, I felt exposed, fearful, confused. I forced myself to keep moving though, zipping my hoodie as high as it would go to hide my PVCSTEM polo shirt and burying my hands deep in my pockets. The block was mostly deserted, with boarded up shops and derelict looking apartment buildings. We were close to what had once been Venice Beach. I remembered from history class that Venice had once been a beautiful, wealthy area, but when the sea level rose even faster than the scientists predicted and the levees and the sea walls came down in the great storms of the mid-twenties, it had all been flooded.

  Now, years later, they were still working on removing the debris and restoring the beach half a mile inland from where it had once been. The shop we had come for was open on time though. I could see lights inside. It was called Last Survivor and sold military surplus and outdoor supplies. I took a deep breath, pulled the door open, and stepped inside.

  A bell tied to the door handle tinkled softly. The interior was like a warehouse with unfinished walls, exposed beams on the ceiling, and fluorescent lights hanging down. There were rows of metal shelves and bins stocked with supplies. A man come out from a back room and stood behind the counter eyeing me.

  “Morning. Need help finding anything let me know,” he said. He had a long beard, shaved head, and was dressed in an olive green jumpsuit with the legs cut off.

  “Thanks,” I replied, grabbing a shopping basket and hurrying down an aisle bordered by tall shelves. The store smelled like mildew, old canvas, and propane gas. Calming myself, I began looking at the inventory. On the shelf to my right were a couple of surplus robot dogs. They were clunky, antique ancestors of Xel. The tech had advanced a lot, especially in Asia. I turned and found a shelf full of cold weather gear.

  The first thing I put in my basket was a dark gray padded vest that looked warm. Next, a fleece hat, a thin but warm pair of gloves, and a microfilm poncho--it would be cold and raining in PacNW. I found bins of instafood bars, packets of liquid nutrients, and dehydrated fruits and vegetables. From these, I chose a selection and added them to my basket.

  In the clothing section, I found a pair of cargo pants, a couple of T-shirts, and some underwear. Everything was too big for me and well worn, but I chose the smallest sizes I could find and hoped they would do. I also grabbed a belt made of nylon webbing, a pair of lightweight boots in my size, and some socks. Satisfied that I had what I needed, I made my way back to the counter. The man was still there. He was wearing clunky specs that looked like military gear and had the blank expression of someone absorbed in a holo or VR.

  When I approached, though, he tapped his specs and turned his attention to me. He didn’t speak but eyed me strangely while scanning my purchases. I put my backpack on the floor and packed each item carefully as he handed them to me. Finally, he was done and pointed to the total on the register. I dug the chip out of my pocket and placed it on the counter. There was just enough credit to pay for everything with a bit left over.

  “PacNW chip,” he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Where’d you get that? This stolen?”

  “My grandmother,” I said. “It was a gift. For my birthday.”

  “What kind of girl spends her birthday money on surplus clothes and protein bars? You a runaway? Look skinny but well fed. Healthy. Clean hands. Not like the street kids who usually come in here.”

  “I’m just getting s--supplies for an outdoor education trip at my s--school,” I said, stammering, trying to make eye contact so he wouldn’t think I was lying.

  He kept looking at me sideways while he scanned the chip and handed it back to me. There was a beep and the charge was approved. I picked up my backpack and put it on. It was heavy but not as bad as it had been with Xel in it. He was facing me now and seemed to be listening to some audio on his specs.

  “Yeah,” he said, talking but not to me, “I think I’ve got your runaway right here in my shop. Last Survivor on Lincoln Street.”

  I was inching away from him and pinpricks of nervous sweat were stinging my forehead. I could see through the doorway behind the counter a cluttered storeroom and another door, daylight leaking in through a gap at the bottom. It had to be the door out to the alley. I made a sudden decision and vaulted up onto the counter, knocking over a display of hunting knives, jumped down past the man as he stepped back to avoid the cascading knives, then bolted for the door. I heard noises from behind and assumed he was following but I kept running awkwardly with the heavy backpack. When I reached the door, I turned the handle and burst through into the alley.

  “Stop right there,” I heard the man yell and turned my head, still running.

  He was standing in the doorway, holding up some sort of weapon. Just at that instant, though, a shape came flying straight toward his head. He saw it out of the corner of his eye and began to turn, but it was too late. Xel’s full weight crashed into him, and he toppled, the weapon flying from his hand and clattering across the pavement toward me. As he fell, I saw that he had an artificial leg from the knee down--probably a veteran of one of the many wars. Impulsively, I reached down and picked up the weapon as Xel came bolting up the alley toward me.

  “Run. Follow me,” he said, passing me by.

  “Sorry,” I yelled back at the man, who was struggling to rise, then turned and followed Xel. I could hear sirens in the distance, coming closer.

  Xel led the way through a maze of alleys and backyards. At one point, we began to climb over a cinder block wall only to be set on by several barking and snarling Rottweilers. Xel hissed at them, turned, and led me another way. Soon after that, we darted across a four-lane road and a woman waiting at a bus stop wearing an ancient respie turned her head as we passed. I imagined the look on her face, if I could have seen it, would have been one of tired surprise. Finally, after about twenty minutes of running, we came to what must have been a park at some time in the past but was now overgrown. Several palm trees rose up from tall grass and weeds interspersed with shorter shrubs and trees.

  “Xel,” I called, “I need to stop for a minute and rest.”

  “Got it,” he replied and led the way into the park, walking slowly and sniffing as he went.

  We stopped halfway in, and I dropped to the ground at the base of a tree, breathing hard. I could still hear sirens but they were far off. Sweat ran down my forehead. I raised a trembling hand and felt like I barely had the energy to hold it up. My head ached.

  Xel was watching me. “Are you all right, Tara?”

  “I need some water. And I need to eat something.” I dug my water bottle out of the pack but it was nearly empty. There was just one swallow left.

  “I saw a crate of bottled water in a shed in one of the yards we passed,” Xel said. “I will go get one for you.”

  “Wait, don’t go,” I said as he turned. “How would you even carry it?”

  But he was already gone. I waited there, my back against the tree, eating dried fruit. There was garbage strewn around the clearing. Others had rested here. I took the opportunity to change out of my school uniform. The cargo pants and T-shirt were a relief. Made for soldiers in the desert, they were fashioned from some fabric I had never seen--thin but cool to the touch, strong, and breathable. After five minutes, I heard Xel coming back through the grass. He prowled into the clearing with a bottle of water clenched in his jaws. I took it from him.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Thanks for knocking down the guy from the store too.”

  “I flew.”

  “Yes, you did. It was impressive. I didn’t know you could jump that high.”

  “I never have before. I knew that I was theoretically capable but knowing things, programmed memory, is much different from real experience. Was he the one who alerted the security force?”

  “Yes. He called them on his specs right after I paid for the stuff. He probably wanted to be sure he got my money before he turned me in. What is this thing? Do you know? He had it in his hand
when he came out the door.” I held up the object the storekeeper had dropped. It was rectangular and heavy, made of some tough metal composite, with rounded edges so that it fit nicely in my hand. At the top was a button. Xel eyed it for a moment.

  “Plasma knife,” he said. “Israeli. Made for the defense forces there. Very dangerous. We should continue if you are ready now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have calculated that stowing away on a freight train headed north will be your best chance of success. You need to get downtown to the Alameda Corridor and gain access to a freight car. To get downtown, you can take a bus or train. With you new clothes and your hood up to cover your face it should be possible.”

  “What about you?” I said, distressed. “You’re not talking about me leaving you behind are you? I’m not doing that! I can put you in my backpack again.”

  “No space with the supplies you bought in there. Tara, your best chance of escape is to leave me behind right now. I can go by my own ways and hopefully meet you at your grandmother’s house.”

  “No. I can’t do this without you” I stopped speaking, suddenly realizing that there was a siren growing louder, moving toward us. We were both silent for several seconds. The sound became even louder, and we could see flashing lights on the bottoms of the palm leaves overhead.

  “Out the back of the park, come.” Xel was already moving.

  I followed him, keeping low so I wouldn’t be seen above the grass and weeds. We climbed over a low brick wall and found ourselves in the backyard of a two story stucco apartment building. Running around the side of the building, we came out on a sudden vista of ocean. Across the road was a chain link fence. On the other side of the fence was about twenty feet of cracked pavement ending in a short drop and then ocean waves. Signs on the fence warned us to keep out. Up the road to our right squatted a huge complex with massive storage tanks and pipes leading in all directions. With a start, I recognized it as the Santa Monica Municipal Desalination Plant. My chemistry class had taken a field trip to the plant shortly after school started in September. It surprised me to see it there. I was still getting used to the geography.

  “That way,” I said, pointing at the plant, “lots of places to hide.”

  We headed up the street, staying on the sidewalk away from the fence. Xel kept himself mostly hidden, creeping through overgrown yards and over piles of rubble. The area seemed deserted. All the apartment buildings and houses were boarded up, their yards overgrown. All at once, though, the street ended, and we were faced with a steep embankment. The desalination plant was built up above the ocean level on fill. They told us on the tour how many kilos of rock and sand were brought in, but it was the kind of fact that immediately passed out of my head. We scrambled up the embankment but were brought up short by another chain link fence that encircled the perimeter of the plant. The fence was twelve feet high with razor wire coiled along the top. I could hear sirens again, coming closer.

  “Use the knife,” Xel said. “Cut the fence near the bottom.”

  “The knife?” I asked stupidly, mind blank.

  “The plasma knife. Hurry.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I pulled it from my pocket. “Can it cut metal?”

  “Yes. Hold it away from your face. Push the button then cut a hole big enough to crawl through.”

  A breeze off the ocean was whipping my hair. I leaned away from the knife, holding it as far from me as possible and thumbed the button. Immediately, a brilliant jet of blue fire emerged from the end of the handle, crackling and humming. It felt like a live thing in my grasp. Cautiously, I moved my arm forward and drew a half circle near the ground. The metal of the fence fell away with almost no resistance as sparks flew and tiny pinpricks burned the back of my hand.

  “Good,” Xel said, pawing dirt over the hot pieces of wire on the ground. “Crawl through. Keep your head down.”

  I wormed through the opening on my stomach, and Xel followed. Once inside the fence, I rolled down a short slope and came to a stop against a retaining wall. Xel did the same and ended up crouched near my feet. We were hidden now from the street below and also shaded by the wall. We waited by silent consent, unmoving, for several minutes.

  Finally, I sat up. “What now?”

  “I am accessing overhead photos of this facility. They are low resolution but it appears that this wall continues around most of the perimeter. There is a guard station at the main entrance. We should make our way around the ocean side and continue until we get to the north side of the facility. We can cut through the fence again there to escape into a dense neighborhood where you can catch a bus downtown.”

  “Xel! I told you I’m not leaving you behind. We’re in this together. There’s no way I can do it without you.”

  “I have considered many possibilities. It’s the only way you have a chance.”

  “We’ll find a way,” I said.

  Turning away from him, I peeked over the low wall. The plant was made up of several large buildings with massive round tanks and rows of pipes painted white and blue connecting them. Near the entrance I could see the guard house. I remembered Mr. Bhatia getting off the bus and checking in there for our tour. In the distance, I saw a group of workers in white overalls walking from one building to another.

  “Let’s head around now. We’ve got to stay low so they don’t see us.”

  We began creeping around the perimeter wall. As we rounded the corner, the breeze from the ocean picked up, and I had to put on my new hat. We went twenty more feet then Xel stopped abruptly, sniffing the air.

  “Wait here,” he said and prowled ahead. He was back a moment later. “Two workers on break, inhaling stimulant vapor.” He set off again. He was gone longer this time. When he returned, he motioned for me to follow. “They went back inside.”

  We came to a doorway in the wall. There were two steps down then a heavy door, propped open a crack with a jagged piece of concrete. We passed by it quickly. As we continued around though, Xel stopped again, looking up.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Security force floaters. Two of them. Coming this way.”

  I heard the sound then and looked up. I could see them--two black dots high up in the sky, coming toward us.

  “Do you think they’re looking for us?”

  “Maybe. We need to hide. They will see us easily from above.”

  “That door we passed was open,” I suggested.

  Xel nodded his head and turned. I followed him back, and we both ducked down into the doorway. Carefully, I pulled the door open a few inches and looked inside. It opened on a brightly lit concrete corridor that stretched off a long way into the distance. Far down the corridor I saw a group of workers in white overalls walking in our direction. I jumped back, allowing the door to swing closed.

  “People coming,” I said.

  My heart was beginning to race, and I felt disoriented. The stress of the day was taking its toll. I had barely slept the night before, crammed into a metal cabinet on the roof of the hospital. I hadn’t eaten a real meal since breakfast the day before. We had been on the run since early morning. For a moment, I felt like giving up, but Xel’s voice pulled me from my daze. He was looking over the edge of the embankment, face pressed against the chain link.

  “There’s a large pipe opening down the hill. It’s probably a sewer outflow. Cut the fence here. We can hide in the pipe.”

  I jumped forward, the knife in my hand, and cut through the fence as I had before. Xel went first, took two swift hops, and landed on top of the pipe where it stuck out from the hill. I crawled through after him then turned and scrambled down the embankment on my stomach. I tasted dirt and salt spray from the ocean waves breaking against algae covered rocks below. My whole body was shivering uncontrollably but I managed to grasp the top edge of the pipe and swing in, landing hard in a trickle of water that flowed along the bottom and dribbled over the concrete lip. Xel landed gracefully next to me. The pipe was about sev
en feet in diameter--just large enough for me to stand.

  “We have to go up the pipe,” he said. “Far enough at least so that we can’t be seen.”

  “All right,” I said, digging out my flashlight. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 6

  Down Below

  The droning sound of the floaters and the light from outside drained away as we moved up the pipe. The flashlight beam lit up the area just in front of us, but beyond that was pitch black. My footsteps echoed loud and dull in the enclosed space. A sound of dripping water came from somewhere up ahead and mixed with the sound of the water trickling down toward the ocean. I kept glancing back down the pipe until I could no longer see the opening we had come through. It didn’t seem like anyone was following us. I caught Xel looking back as well.

  After about ten minutes of walking, we came to an opening in the ceiling and a ladder leading up. A steady drip of water was falling from above and seemed to be the source of both the sound and the water snaking along the bottom of the pipe.

  “By my calculations, we are still underneath the desalination plant. This ladder probably leads to a manhole somewhere in the plant,” Xel said, his voice soft in the silence underground. “We should keep moving.”

  I gave the ladder a last look then continued on. I didn’t really like being there, under the ground, in a pipe meant for water to flow through, not a place for people to be. We didn’t have a choice at the moment, though, and maybe we could work it to our advantage.

  “Xel,” I said, “this pipe must connect to the main sewer system and the subway tunnels. Do you think we could travel underground all the way to downtown?”