For those who had the money, or the equivalent in barter––or could steal it, my mind supplied, remembering the cash register fights I’d seen––I could see how that might seem like a viable option. Even small boats usually had some kind of freshwater conversion system on board. In theory, they could catch the majority of the food they needed.
That, coupled with vitamin supplements and seaweed, would probably allow most of them to last a few months, providing the weather didn’t kill them.
So yeah, in a situation with few options, I could see how that one might appeal. Their biggest risk would be of the captain dumping them overboard and repeating the trick a few more times… or maybe a few dozen more.
That, or someone might bring the disease on board, knowingly or not.
That, or one of the increasingly intense hurricanes might kill them.
In any case, I understood why Balidor opted for the fully-armored, organic-plated Humvees once we reached more trafficked areas. Bands of looters, many already looking sick themselves, traveled between cars and bashed windows with baseball bats, dragging out occupants and rooting through their belongings.
I wanted to try pushing some of them into less-violent states of mind, but, like in Albany, Wreg and Balidor warned me against going into the Barrier until it was absolutely necessary. Although the risk was slightly less with us in motion, versus a stationary location like the building in Albany, they still didn’t want us ID’d out in the open like this.
So I watched, doing nothing, like before.
It wasn’t easy.
I bit my lip, watching two teenagers drag a pregnant woman through a broken windshield that he and his pals had smashed open with pipes. I saw one laugh, holding her while the other hit her husband or boyfriend in the head with another pipe.
I wanted to drop them right there.
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood as I held myself back from it, knowing it was futile, that her and her family had likely already caught the disease just from being outside the reinforced glass. The guy holding her had blood in his ear cavities, so unless he was suffering a head wound, or the woman and her family happened to be in the twenty-ish percent that were immune, they were already dead.
That whole family was dead.
The thought made me feel sick.
I rubbed my belly subconsciously, and did something I never did––I sent up a prayer to the Ancestors or the gods or whoever might be listening, that she and her baby would be all right.
It was something Revik normally did, not me.
He held me tighter, pulling me deeper into his jacket. His warmth enclosed me, even as he rubbed my belly, too, looking out the window at the woman, her husband, and her two smaller kids as we rolled past them. I felt pain on him as he wrapped his other arm around me, too, but once again, his mind was totally blank, his thoughts hidden from mine.
It was maddening.
The fires got more numerous as we approached the state border.
They also got bigger.
Once we got off the freeway and began traveling back roads, we were thrust into the middle of that burning landscape. People smashed storefront windows as we drove by, pulling out everything from crates of alcohol to microwave ovens and even a washing machine and dryer set. We saw families loading pick-up trucks with aluminum siding, multi-tiered bakery cakes, porn sims, computers, jewelry, tool sets, hand-helds, watermelons, roasted chickens, wall monitors, blankets, water purifiers, canned food, headsets… socks.
Wreg watched most of this with a look of blank incredulity on his face, pausing on the guy carrying a set of golf clubs long enough to let out a surprised laugh.
“Now what do you suppose he thinks he’s going to do with those?” he said.
“Weapons?” Revik joked.
Still looking out the window, Wreg pointed again.
“At least that one has some sense,” he said.
I followed his finger to a man lugging boxes of hard alcohol to a green hatchback.
Wreg glanced at Revik, a smile stretching the light scar on his lips. “Think we could trade him a gun for one of those cases of bourbon?”
Revik let out a grunt. “He’d probably shoot us for even suggesting it.”
“We can throw in one of the humans,” Wreg joked. “We have too many, anyway. How about the one that’s always screeching about something? Tina? Gar’s been bitching about her since you all landed in Argentina. You’d think she had a head covered in snakes, the way he talks.”
“Gar’s not far off,” Revik said, chuckling.
I knew they were whistling in the dark, but I couldn’t make myself do it with them. Like Wreg, I couldn’t help but be puzzled by some people’s priorities, though.
We saw parents risking the lives of––so far, at least––healthy-looking children, all to get a new set of tires, a side of beef and all the beer they could drink. Those acquisitions were on the practical side compared to people raiding appliance and tech stores, given that the power grid was already flashing on and off all over the state, and would soon be down altogether, possibly permanently. I also saw people stealing designer clothes, and, of course, cash.
Both of those things would be more or less worthless soon, too. They’d do better to get a half-dozen pairs of sturdy, well-made shoes and waterproof jackets.
As if he'd heard some portion of my thoughts, Wreg gave me a wry smile.
“Humans,” he said, as if that explained everything.
I raised an eyebrow at him, only to glance down and find him stroking Jon’s hair. Under normal circumstances, I might have given him crap for his blatant hypocrisy, but when I saw the grief etched into his features, I only reached past Revik to clasp one of his tattooed arms.
Wreg spared me a glance and a smile, even as he held Jon protectively in his lap.
After another pause where he accepted my warmth, he sighed.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered, aiming his words at both me and Revik that time. “What do you think of Adhipan’s plan to get us back inside, laoban?”
Revik smiled, gripping my belly tighter. “I know why you don’t like it.”
“It’s not only that,” Wreg muttered.
“Submarines have been around for over 150 years, Wreg.”
“And they’ve been sinking for that long too, laoban,” the older seer grumbled, running a hand through his shoulder-length black hair. “Might as well lock ourselves inside a iron casket with inner tubes strapped to our waists and hope we float to that fucking island.”
I laughed; I couldn’t help it. “You don’t like submarines, Wreg?”
“He hates them,” Revik said, kissing my face as he held me closer. “Don’t you, brother Wreg?”
“With a passion,” Wreg confirmed. “…a sinking dread. And that was an intended pun. A pun by way of a hint. A dire prognostication, if you will.”
“He got stuck in one that got torpedoed during WWI,” Revik told me, still cradling me in his arms. Another flush of heat came off his light. He subdued it, but I still glanced up, quirking an eyebrow. He didn’t react to my look.
“…Both of us did,” he added. “It sank. He’s been claustrophobic ever since.”
“So have you,” Wreg retorted.
“No.” I shook my head. “He was claustrophobic before that.”
“How is that better?” Wreg grumbled, now glaring at both of us.
Something in the way he said it made me laugh.
The conversation lifted things a little, briefly.
Then Revik glanced outside once more, pausing on something he saw. I didn’t follow his eyes, but that cold feeling returned to the pit of my stomach when I saw him flinch, and felt the currents of reaction in his light as he held me closer, protectiveness emanating off his light. He frowned before looking back at us, his voice serious.
“I think Balidor’s plan is sound. Despite what they tell the press, they must maintain at least one safe passage in and out of the city. They’d need i
t. For food, medical supplies, ammunition, potential evacuations and whatever else. They wouldn’t risk dropping the main grid for this. It would be too easy for people to force their way through. And they’d never have that entrance on the land side, for that very reason. I’m guessing there are two ways in––from the air, and from the water. The air route would be way too conspicuous. That leaves us this.”
Wreg nodded, still frowning. “And if there is a separate grid below?”
“Balidor strongly believes there is one,” Revik admitted. “He’s following a lead he got from Chandre, and they think they’ve found a way through. I agree with him, for the record. It’s too big a flank to expose. They would have people swimming the rivers otherwise; and they’d miss some, even with boats patrolling. It’s not such a distance that this wouldn’t have thousands attempting this… maybe tens of thousands.”
Wreg nodded. His expression didn’t relax. “So Adhipan and Chandre think they have a way through?” His obsidian eyes reflected firelight from the windows. “Which is what?”
“Chandre has someone on the inside,” Revik said. “With a map, maybe.”
“SCARB?”
“I think maybe not,” Revik said, glancing at me. “Secret Service. Possibly White House Construct Security.”
Wreg grunted, glancing out the window. “I’m glad he is missing this.”
I followed his eyes, watching a gang of what looked like teenagers run by, some swinging bats and tire-irons at the Humvee as they passed, bringing hollow thuds into the background noise, dull enough to feel far away.
I didn’t have to ask Wreg who he meant. Glancing down at Jon, whose arm curled snugly around Wreg’s thigh, I sighed at how not-peaceful his face looked, even in sleep.
“Yeah,” I said. “Me, too.”
Watching Wreg look at Jon, I sighed again, internally that time.
Wreg caught my stare though, and returned it, his dark eyes wary, but holding a thread of caution as he studied mine.
“I won’t hurt him, ilya,” he said, soft. Winking at me, as if to lighten the mood, he smiled. “…Not like you fear, at least.”
I nodded, sighing aloud that time.
“I know,” I said.
He laughed. “No. You don’t know. You look at me like I might snap his neck any second. Or possibly beat him bloody in a jealous rage––”
“Just see that you don’t,” I warned.
Wreg rolled his eyes, clicking in irritation, but I saw humor there, too. I was about to look away altogether when Revik jumped a little, as if startled, and stared directly at Wreg. Feeling a pulse of what might have been shock slide off his light, I glanced over, too.
“What?” I said.
Revik shook his head. A faint smile played around his narrow lips, even as he tugged me closer again, warming me with his light, wrapping his arm more snugly around my waist. I could tell he was glad I’d been distracted from the view out the windows, so I shoved at his arm, wondering if he’d pulled my attention on purpose.
“What?” I said again.
Revik glanced at Wreg. “Can I tell her?”
“No,” Wreg said at once. Looking between our faces, he saw my frown and returned it with one of his own. “I’ve told him,” he added, his voice bordering on defensive. “Let her ask him, if she needs to know every single damned thing so badly.”
“Every single thing?” Revik clicked in amusement. “What did he say, anyway?”
“Nothing,” Wreg said, looking out the opposite window. “He said nothing… I told him it was too soon, that we’d talk about it later.”
“So you just dumped that on him, then wouldn’t let him talk?” Revik chuckled. “Nice. Very smooth, my brother.”
“I had my reasons,” Wreg retorted. “He thought my motives were…” He glanced again at me, as if remembering I was there. “…Suspect.”
Revik snorted another laugh. “I bet.”
I frowned, looking between the two of them. “You’re both a couple of jerks. You know that? Big, stupid jerks.”
Revik laughed, kissing my cheek and tugging me back into his lap.
I’ll tell you later, he said softly in my mind.
“Like hell you will.” Wreg turned, glaring at him.
Revik only grinned, sliding his fingers into my hair. “Jon thought Wreg was using him for sex.” Wreg smacked his arm sharply from the other side, but Revik only grinned wider. “Wreg had to… reassure him… that wasn’t the case…”
Wreg hit him again, more of a punch that time than a slap, but Revik only chuckled.
Shaking my head, I leaned my weight back against Revik’s chest.
“Never mind,” I said, clicking in irritation. “I probably don’t want to know.”
“You really don’t,” Revik assured me.
That time, I smacked him.
More thumps on the outside of the vehicle doors jerked my attention back to reality.
A group of people stood there, watching our convoy pass.
Instead of being half-crazed and euphoric like the teenagers, these were adults. They also emanated an altogether different vibe. Several held weapons with red smears and splatters on the ends, illuminated by the headlamps of passing cars. Their faces were predatory, eyes distant but assessing. There might have been fear there, somewhere, once, but it was now buried behind an animal-like violence that seemed to come off their very skin.
Seeing cold fury on that passing line of adult faces unnerved me.
I knew they couldn’t see us through the tinted glass, but their expressions made it seem like they could. I found myself reminded of lions pacing just inside a glass-walled cage, like they knew we were there, but hadn’t quite figured out how to get at us.
The sad thing was, these were the early adaptors.
Unlike a lot of the faces I’d seen in the past few weeks––most of which looked more stunned and shell-shocked than anything––understanding lived on these faces, a knowledge of what exactly they were facing. They’d grasped that their world, their very reality, had collapsed in front of them. All those things they’d grown to count on were gone. Everything they’d worked for, everything they’d tried to be, gone.
To them, there was no point in holding back, not anymore.
As the crowds surged around the Humvee, those faces disappeared, replaced by the usual parade of desperate, terrified and shell-shocked humans. Still, it was the animal-like knowing I’d glimpsed in that line of armed adults that my brain kept wanting to return to.
Revik pulled on me again, and I looked up at him.
“You’re going too far into the Barrier,” he murmured, kissing my temple, sliding his hands around my face. “We’re close to New York now. They’ll be looking for us.”
I frowned, and he kissed my mouth.
“You can’t help them like this,” he added, softer. “If we stepped out of this vehicle, or used our light in a real way to diminish some of this, all we’d do is end up shot by a flyer, or locked in a holding cell… likely fodder for a public execution that wouldn’t help anyone. The few people we managed to help would likely only die of the disease anyway.” He kissed me again. “If we get back inside, we at least have a prayer of helping someone. We can try to find a cure. We can try to stop Shadow. Organize real help for the survivors.”
I nodded, trying to feel his words.
Logically, I knew he was right. I knew Balidor was, too.
Knowing that didn’t really help. Looking back out those windows at the fires, the bleeding faces and the crowds, it was hard not to feel like we were abandoning all of them.
It was hard not to feel like we were leaving them all out here to die.
5
PIRATING
OUTSIDE THE MILITARY installation gates, a near-riot raged.
I winced when rifles went off, watching numbly as a crush of bodies pressed up against the cars, screaming and banging on the metal and glass with everything from bricks to fists to lead pipes. The glass on the H
umvees obviously wasn’t civilian-grade, so the windows didn’t have so much as a scratch, even under the onslaught of heavy pipes.
Even so, it was impossible not to flinch.
Revik wrapped an arm around my chest, pulling me deeper against him when a few more people in the crowd discharged guns.
A thirty-something man with a red mohawk, standing only a few yards away, shot right at the window nearest me with a shotgun. Pellets ricocheted, making a loud series of plunking and ticking sounds, even as I sank deeper into Revik, tensing in spite of myself.
Again, the window looked completely unmarked after. Even the wheels of the Humvees were organic composites, closer to metal than rubber.
Most didn’t bother firing at the vehicles, likely for that reason.
They aimed at the guards on the tower and the gates. They fired on the gates, or tried to pry open hoods with cutting tools, or tear off the armor protecting the wheels from tampering. A few climbed up on the roof, maybe in the hopes of riding in with us. One had what looked like a long-handled, electronic ice-pick. He tried to use it on the roof of the car, and kept having the tool bounce up, hitting him in the face with his knuckles and the metal handle.
We saw that through the virtual screens giving us a three-dimensional view of the vehicle.
A few kept stubbornly shooting at our line of Humvees though, especially the driver’s side windows and doors.
I saw a bounced slug hit a woman in the throat. She hunched over, choking, then the crowd swallowed her up again. A group of armed attackers concentrated their fire at the tower and a rain of gunfire came from the guards stationed on top, cutting through the crowd.
Their bullets had organic components, and exploded on contact.
I saw chests, skulls, throats explode in a flash of bone and blood. I saw an arm get severed at the bicep, and a man go down hard when he got hit in the thigh. He bled out so fast, I saw the light leaving his eyes before he’d fallen all the way to the cement.
It was hard to get angry at the soldiers; most of them looked as wound up and terrified as the civilians. Their training never wavered, though, from what I could tell. They fired steadily from the tower in semi-automatic bursts, scopes up, wearing armor and helmets like they were firing at enemy combatants in a hostile country.
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