by Mike McKay
From behind the plastic film, they heard rushing swish of feet on linoleum. “We must be going, dude. You have other visitors – way more important than us,” Ben said, opening the partition and glancing outside. Samantha could not wait, and delivered a hug and a kiss to her father while Ben, Alex and Natalie stood up and waved good-bye.
Chapter 28
Besides Samantha, the next group of visitors included Frederick and Martin Stolz, and Jasmine Hobson. Samantha and Jasmine were dressed as per the latest 'Fill scavenger fashion: both were barefoot, in jeans with the uncountable number of strategically placed holes, and in oversized military T-shirts, knotted at above belly-button level, so most of the tummy would be properly exposed. Both had identical haircuts: a practical half-inch 'Fill Crop. Shorter than the boys! Martin's hair was a whole half-inch longer. Apparently, the ‘real promise’ did not hold anymore. Anyway, after the Arthur, it was probably irrelevant. He could not see any tattoos yet. Perhaps, one was wisely hidden under the T-shirt, or those artistic tattoo-carts at the 'Fill had not resumed their operations yet. Samantha had a patch of plaster on her forehead above the right eye, and another one – slightly larger, – above her right ear.
“Oh, man,” Frederick said pulling up a chair. He extended his hand for a handshake, but looked at Mark's bandaged stump and almost withdrew.
Mark reached with his left hand and improvised a squeeze. “No problem, man. Shit happens.”
“I am so sorry, man. That Spalding. Stupid! Stupid! Why I hired this bustard first place?”
“There is no fault of yours, Fred,” Mark replied. “Spalding cheated everybody, yours truly including. Don't dwell on it. I am glad you and Martin got out of this alive. Better, fill me all the gaps. I hate the gaps! How you three ended up behind the reactors?”
“Oh, my story is simple enough. When Spalding pulled the gun on me, I assumed it was all about the money. At the Syntegas, we always have some cash in the safe. Nothing significant: one hundred grand, max. Only running expenses: fuel, plastic scrap, and so on. There were only Spalding, me, Sammy, and Marty at the plant. Because of the hurricane, I released all the workers, even Denny, the foreman, and the Kingsleys. We set two last reactors to finish their runs and planned to bail-off too. Suddenly, this bustard Spalding walks into the office, points the gun at me and says: I am sorry, Mister Stolz, but would you be so kind to pass me the firesafe keys?”
“Well, in such case, I would give the keys. The hundred grand is a lot of money, but I would not lose my life over it.”
“That's what I thought! So Spalding walks me to the number three and ties me up. Both hands to a relief valve! There is a relief valve, at the back of the bomb… Remember, I told you? So I was very pissed off, but not scared. I decided: Spalding leaves – I will somehow unscrew the bloody valve and free myself. Started computing in my head, how much pressure would be inside, so I could do the trick without burning myself to smithereens. Meanwhile, the bustard brings in Sammy and Marty, and ties them up too. And then: shit! He started wrapping everything in Primacord! At that point, I remembered the Operation Titanic story and got ready to shit my pants. And then: boom! You arrived and saved the day. Like the bloody Superman!”
“You are exaggerating, Fred. I only shot off that freaking detonator. It was Jasmine who saved the day. If not for you, Jasmine, we all would be dead.”
“Ah, I didn't do nothing special, sir,” Jasmine smiled. “Just lucky. Mister Stolz calls this: se-ren-deputy… No, not that: se-ren-DI-pity! Right? It's a special word, like, you do everything wrong, but: bang! And you get lucky! Have you heard of this se-ren-di-pity thingy too, sir?”
“Yeah, Jasmine, I have. Something like that. Only, it was long-long time ago. About twenty-five years ago. When a Dumpster was a steel box for garbage, and not a ship for vets… You know what? Besides the serendipity thingy you also got to have courage. You were not scared, Jasmine, and that's what really counts, not all the serendipity – schmerendipity.”
“Oh, no, sir. I was scared. So scared! Even more than with the rot-pits!”
As for me, I should not complain about serendipity, Mark concluded quietly. For two years, I walked in circles, while the Sheldon Butcher was sitting right around the corner and pulling intel out of Mike. Perhaps laughed to himself the FBI were such idiots. And then, quite by an accident, – we all got lucky, and the Butcher – to the contrary. “Jasmine, could you tell me in order? How did you suddenly came on the scaffolding?”
“It so happened, sir… Bertie, Millie and me – went to school. Usually, the boys go by themselves, but now… Joe Vo, and the Butcher… That morning, we came to the school, and the guard says: the school is canceled for today. But he didn't tell us nothing about the hurricane! Well, the school canceled – no probs… I mean: no prob-lems. Is it better, Mister Frederick?”
“Much better, Jasmine. ‘Problems’,” Fred confirmed.
“So, I said: no prob-lems, we can go to the 'Fill. The guards let us in for free. One said: ‘Me-te-oro-logical conditions.’ ‘Me-te-oro-logical’ is a special word. Like, for a heavy rain, right?”
“Almost right, Jasmine. ‘Meteorology’ is a science. About any kinds of weather, not only rain,” Frederick explained.
“At the 'Fill, there weren't nobody. Well: almost nobody. Then, the rain was even stronger, so even the last ran away. But we decided to take another look. We didn't know nothing about the hurricane, or we would run home too… But if there such a heavy rain, the diggo… The garbage, I mean, gets washed away, and you may find something good. The main thing: not to go around the rot-pits. And not in the deep trenches – they may flop on you.”
“Did you have any rain-coats?” Mark asked.
“Nope. What for? We are not like some sissies! We always go no-shoe, and we're used to the rain, no prob-lems.”
“And then?”
“Then, Millie found a treasure.”
“A real treasure?”
“Real! He saw something shiny in the diggo. We dug it out: there is a whole carton! Bang! An electric kettle! Like before, when there was a lot of electricity? It was from stunt-less steel, so was not rusted or anything at all. And besides the kettle, there was this big, how they call it? Oh, yeah: a toadster! But it was rusted a lot.”
“A toaster, Jass,” Frederick corrected. “Like, for toasting the bread.”
“I am sorry, Mister Frederick, but before the Meltdown, I think they didn't know nothing about the toasts! I think: using electricity for bread-toasting is stupid. Well, now if we want to toast, we would put it on a stick – and over fire. With the smoke, the bread tastes way better!”
“I agree,” Frederick said, “wasting electricity for a mediocre toast is quite stupid.”
“Anyway, besides the electric kettle and the electric toa-ster, right? There were some other electric things: a full box! Somebody junked this? Nuts! Well, I tell the boys: we don't go through no gates. We found this treasure like we're rats, right?”
“Rats? You mean: digging outside your assigned territory?” Mark asked.
“Rats, it's like stealing. Not at any terratory, just at the other gang's stake. Well, almost like stealing… They are not used to the rain and ran away. They are sissies and this is not our prob-lem, right? But the guards may still take the kettle. They will say: we let you in me-te-oro-ligically, – for free, so the kettle's ours. Or we'll tell everybody: you're rats! Bertie, like: let's go hide it on our stake! And I, like: how do you hide it? By tomorrow, everything will be washed by the rain, can't find nothing! Besides, I am no stupid going down the trenches in such a rain. No, we must go mudway.”
“You mean: ‘mid-way’?” Mark asked.
“No: mudway. There's a place, near the dam. There is a little river, and the fence fell off. You can get in and out from the 'Fill. Everybody knows it. We call it mudway. Means you have to go knee-deep in the mud. But if it's worth it, knee-deep in the mud is no big deal, right?”
“I guess, not,” Frederick said, �
��although, I personally would not do it, even if it's worth a million. Who knows what is at the bottom.”
“You – of course not, Mister Frederick,” the girl nodded, probably imagining how the chemical engineer might struggle through the muddy creek banks. “Sammy says: you got to be a real aunty-sissy to do such things.”
“ANTI-sissy,” Samantha giggled.
Frederick smiled too, “you have a point, Jassy. I think I need to rejuvenate my anti-sissy skills.”
“Red-joo-win-ate? Is it a special word, Mister Frederick?”
“Yes. It means: I forgot how to do it, and need to practice. Do I still have any hope?”
“Ab-soul-lutely, Mister Frederick,” Jasmine assured, “but before you red-joo-win-ate it, you have to go no-shoe once in a while. You pon-zed-TV-ly can't be no anti-sissy if you tuck your sandals all the time, right?” Her face became serious again. Fighting with the ‘special words’ was not easy, but she made evident progress. The future of the modern English rested in very capable hands.
“Absolutely,” Frederick agreed, “I have positively overlooked my sandal addiction, and must address it immediately. It's even worse than using electricity for toasting bread,” he kicked his sandals off and left them under Mark's bed. “Better?”
“Way better, Mister Frederick. If you try, you will be one hundred pur-scent anti-sissy in no time. No probs…” she paused and corrected herself, “I mean: no prob-lems. Death-fin-Italy!”
“Definitely, Jassy,” Samantha translated, but Mark was already used to Jasmine's ways.
“And so, you decided to go through the mudway,” Mark pushed the story further. He had his doubts Frederick could ever make even into the mild 25% anti-sissy league.
“Well, the prob-lem is: the guards know the mudway too. There is always a guard around there. But if it gets too me-te-oro-logical… I mean, if it rains like hell – the guard doesn't care and runs away, as everybody else. Well, we, like, come to the mudway. As I said: no guard.”
“Ah! The guards are not one hundred percent anti-sissy!” Frederick exclaimed.
“No-o-o. The guards! They aren't even half-way. But maybe, the guard said: who would go here if it's so me-te-oro-logical? It wasn't no mudway no more! The water was up to the waist, or even higher. But for me – even better. I crossed three times: first, got Bertie's school bag, then – back, and got the treasure. Because a lot of water, we got out OK, almost clean. And ran back to the Mister Frederick's plant.”
“Was it you banging at the gate?”
“Millie was banging. With a brick. He is usually quiet. But can be very loud – if he wants to! But: there wasn't nobody. So I said: Mister Spalding is gone. If we go to the side alley, Millie can get inside and open the gate for us. Behind the bombs, there is a hole. A grown-up would not get through, but somebody like us – no prob-lems. I helped Millie up. And he suddenly began to shake all over, and, like, whispers to me: let me down, let me down! He told me: Mister Stolz, Martin and Sammy were tied up to the bombs. Then, I told the boys: help me up, I will go myself. And I climbed in. And was sitting up there, until… Well, the rest you know.”
“Until the Butcher took Samantha to the boiler room?”
“Yeah! I was so-o-o afraid to go down. That ‘Mister Spalding’ would see me, right? I said: I need a weapon! Lucky, there was the big glass. Sammy calls it: ‘nitro-laser.’ A special word.”
“That is ‘neutralizer,’ Jassy,” Samantha corrected, “but doesn't matter.”
“Sure as hell: doesn't matter! In fact, it's only called ‘neutra-lizer,’ but really it's sulfuric acid! H2SO4. Like in a normal car battery, only much, much stronger. Con-cent-rated, right? But in the car batteries – they usually have an acid gel, not a liquid acid.”
“Right,” Mark smiled. For a barefoot garbage scavenger, who barely finished her fourth grade and was dropping funny words and double-negatives all over the place, Jasmine's knowledge in Chemistry was amazing. The future of modern Chemistry rested in good hands too.
“So I told myself: if I throw this ‘neutra-lizer’ onto the Spalding's head, he will get it! I pointed for his head, see, but Sammy sat on the floor next to Spalding, so I was afraid to spill on her, right? And then, he, I mean: the Butcher… He shot you, right? And I thought: the city-action digger-or-ate-it beyond our control…”
Frederick’s eyes opened wide.
“Deteriorated beyond your control? Did you really think in these special words?” Mark asked.
“No, Mister Mark. I really thought: holy crap! Nobody can think in special words. Only Mister Frederick can talk in special words can-tin-us-ly. But I know I must red-joo-win-ate. I mean: my English. The 'Fill words are no good. I like the special words way better.”
“Your Pygmalion's dream is finally alive, Fred,” Mark observed.
“You don’t have to use the special words all the time, Jasmine,” Frederick said recovering from his shell-shock, “if you thought: holy crap, just say: holy crap!”
“OK, Mister Frederick. I will red-joo-win-ate later. So I thought: holy crap! Mister Mark is killed. We're all dead meat, anyway. So, I – bang! Flopped the acid onto Spalding's head! Sammy also got some on her face. A bit more, and she would lose an eye!”
Samantha put her arm around Jasmine's shoulders. “Jass and I – like twin sisters now. Eventually, we will have identical scars! On the foreheads,” she pointed at her plaster. Thanks God, Samantha's eyes were intact.
“I must tell you,” Frederick admitted, “when I heard the deto blast, and then – the last shot, I thought: shite, Mark is killed. That bustard Spalding will now get out of the boiler room, attach a new deto… He had several. I, personally, – sold him three! With a discount. What an idiot! He said: his cousin got into ‘stripping’ business, needed to demolish something. And I believed! Even told him how to make a proper blasting box for the TriSafe… But now I think he learned this in the Army. Clever bustard, he pretended he didn't know, so I would give him the bloody detos! I'm an atheist, did I tell you? Don't believe in Hell or Heaven. I didn't pray, or anything like this. I merely told myself: so long, Ladies and Gents, the show is over, we are dead. Alas, I will not see my Year Zero. Very strange to think about such a thing before death, isn't it?”
Mark was flabbergasted. “The Year Zero? Like, in Kampuchea? Strangely enough, I remembered about this just this morning! Like, Houston is approaching the Year Zero. For example, now we do not have ‘good neighborhoods’ and ‘slums’ anymore. The entire city became a slum. I was even thinking we should start calling our neighborhood the West Canal Slum, WCS, or something…”
“The West Canal Slum? WCS?” Frederick tried the new definition, like an exotic foreign dish. “Um! Not too bad! I like it! But about ‘approaching’ – you are wrong! Oh, man! The Eagle Has Landed! Houston is currently in the Year Zero, all done and dusted. Two days ago, the President declared our Harris County, and three others, a disaster zone. There was a lot of the usual political blah-blah in the speech, but the main message, although, he did not say it directly, is like this: we got to rely exclusively on the internal resources to rebuild the city. Whatever we can. No external help will be provided. Period. The county borders are quarantined; nobody can get in or out. We are on our own.”
“You are exaggerating, as usual, Fred.”
“Nope! The President used the word ‘self-reliance’ at least seventeen times. And towards the end – I lost the count.”
“Well, our Major, Benito Ferelli, told me the same thing: the local resources only. But… I don't get it. This is… so damn stupid! Why no external help?”
“We got to learn how to live in the Year Zero. The learning will be a bit hard, initially, but good for us. We will get used to. Better to learn this crap sooner, than later.”