by Eliza Green
There was no photo of Isobel on file to help him, just the information that the couples were once married. Ben wrote down all thirteen addresses and circled the one in New York. He folded up the new piece of paper and slid it into his back pocket before leaving through the side door.
He hitched a lift with a vehicle on its way back to Waverley. It had a yellow marking on the inside of the windscreen. As the car moved off, he positioned himself in a low crouch and thought about the names on the list. How feasible would it be to check the ones out of state? Curfew was an issue; lack of transport was another. The trains were an option but they operated only on certain days and only to move goods. More recently, he and Kevin had seen the criminals use them to transport devolved humans. He discounted the idea when he realised he had no idea of the train schedules or routes.
☼
It was 1pm when Ben arrived back at Waverley, weak with hunger. The guard was busy at the gate and he slipped by without any questions.
Commotion on the East Compound road greeted him. A stream of residents, probably from North, shuffled past the tavern towards Central Square, all carrying pillows, sheets and blankets.
He ran to Central Square and found hordes of people from West, North and South being sorted into groups. Albert and Sal, along with a few others, directed the operation. The old school building in Northwest looked to be taking in most of the refugees.
Ben slowed as the crowd swelled and thickened. He pushed through to where Albert was barking out commands.
‘What’s going on? Did something happen?’
Albert glanced at him, then at Sal. ‘Can you take over?’
Sal nodded and Albert pulled him to a quieter spot away from the chaos. ‘It seems Marcus has been stealing generators from the other Compounds and turning off life support there. It’s the stolen money, I’m sure of it. It’s too coincidental for it not to be connected. East hasn’t been hit yet, so right now the refugees need our help. We’ve agreed to share the load among the Compounds. Then a few of us will speak to Marcus, and try to straighten things out.’
‘Do you think Pete could be behind the stolen money? I caught him threatening Isobel last night on her way to Sal’s.’
Albert’s gaze hardened. He coughed into the gel mask. ‘I don’t know. He’s a lying old coot, that’s for sure, but I’m not sure even he’d go that far. It’s too much work for him.’
‘He does jobs for Marcus, we both know that. Plus, I accused him of taking the money from the safe at Sal’s and he backed off.’
Albert shook his head. ‘It’s too much to take, even for him. And unless Pete is good at cracking safes, he’s not the person we’re looking for. Sal didn’t borrow it either. There’s just enough gone to make sure all of Waverley drops into debt.’
‘What about Kevin?’
Albert frowned at him.
‘Come on, Albert. He disappears every day. He’s drinking. Do you even know where he goes?’
Albert looked towards the groups who had gathered in the square. ‘No. Not Kevin. He has no reason to do this to me, or to you. It has to be someone else.’
Ben didn’t agree, but Albert seemed intent on giving his grandson a pass.
Sal called out to him. ‘Albert, I have some volunteers who’ll go with you to see Marcus. He’ll be at the market in the morning.’
Albert patted Ben on the shoulder. ‘Go back to the tavern. Help Isobel clear the floor downstairs. We’ll be a little tight for space for a while, but we’ll manage.’
12
Morning came, and Albert leaned against an abandoned building near Waverley’s junction for East and North Compounds.
In the distance, the large metal gate sat between tall, wide grey stone walls. The guards lurked inside a crumbling old hut that was somehow still served by life support. They stopped people at random to laugh at and search their bags.
While curfew was lifted, the residents could leave Waverley as they pleased. Failing air canisters usually kept them close. The older people stuck to delivering goods or letters, while the younger generation took bigger risks to search for a better life beyond their prison. That life mounted to doing jobs for the criminals that involved Buzz Guns and spying on other factions. The Kings needed the people as much as the people needed the Kings. But sometimes the asshole guards made it difficult for people to leave.
Albert needed an excuse to get out of the tavern. Sofia had arrived early with refugees from the Italian Compound. Twenty were camped out on his ground floor, most of whom had no word of English; the scene was chaotic. He’d left Ben and Isobel to organise them, a job he didn’t envy. He didn’t expect his chat with Marcus about the life support to be a walk in the park either. But he had no choice.
He glanced up at the cloud-filled sky then down at the giant surface-crack that split the road in two. His legs grew heavy, and his body ached. The volunteers, who had agreed to come with him to see Marcus, should be here soon.
How had life become so complicated? Things had been far simpler back when he’d been a younger man, before he’d inherited the tavern business from his father after his death. That’s when everything began to change, for him and for Earth. What would his life have been like if he’d studied spaceship design, engineering, or even politics? The same, because he’d never been given the chance to sit an aptitude test. When his father had died, he’d learned it was his connections, not his capabilities that got him places in the world. Not long after, he’d accepted his role as a simple barkeep.
His father enjoyed the company of others. Albert preferred to be alone. Twenty Italians camped out on the floor of his tavern would test his resolve.
But now, his role had shifted again: from simple barkeep to a vigilante about to confront one of the dirtiest associates who worked for the Agostini family. He’d heard rumours that Marcus wasn’t even the worst; that it was Gaetano Agostini’s son, Enzo, who was the real psychotic. Lucky for Waverley, Enzo rarely got his hands dirty with the daily business.
Albert fiddled with the tiny tube that fed oxygen into his mask. Back when he’d first taken over the tavern, he’d worn a full, heavy face-mask; not this thin, transparent gel mask that had been designed in the last ten years.
Hans and Héctor approached—the men from Sal’s place the previous morning—and broke him out of his thoughts.
His heart sank at the poor turnout. ‘Is this all the volunteers we have? Three old men?’
‘The young are too scared to fight,’ said Hans with a shrug. ‘We are more expendable.’
Albert grunted. ‘This issue is everyone’s, and they’ll come to realise that soon enough, when the life support is gone.’
‘What about Sal? Why is she not here?’ said Hans.
‘I’ve asked her to organise the refugees. Besides, Marcus will get suspicious if she’s with us. He’ll think something’s wrong with the money and I need his focus on the life support. The sooner we speak to Marcus, the sooner we can sort this mess out.’
‘Do you know where Marcus is?’ said Héctor, watching as the guards changed shifts at the gates.
‘He’s usually at the market shaking down some poor unfortunate vendor. Our best shot is to catch him there.’
Albert, Hans and Héctor spent the next few minutes discussing how they would exit the neighbourhood. After agreeing not to travel together, they each set off separately towards Waverley’s gate. Once Hans and Héctor had passed through, Albert approached the guard. The guard gestured to his empty grey satchel.
‘I need to go to the market,’ said Albert.
‘But you were already there yesterday. You flush with money or something?’
‘It’s the boy’s birthday and I have a little money left.’
‘Lucky boy,’ he said, nudging the other guard. With a dismissive glance, he waved Albert on.
Albert, Hans and Héctor kept up their separation and followed the road to the black market. The individual stalls brought in some money, but not a lot as far as Al
bert knew. It was the businesses in Waverley and the trade between other neighbourhoods that kept the factions’ illegal commerce system afloat. Cash that had been stolen from Sal’s safe, and would put Waverley in jeopardy if Marcus ever found out. If he hadn’t already.
When they were a safe distance from Waverley, they continued to the market as a group.
‘What if Marcus has already left the stalls and gone back to the Agostini mansion?’ said Héctor. ‘What do we do then? Do we follow him?’
‘I’d prefer not to.’
Albert hoisted his lightweight satchel higher on his shoulder. The thoughts of Marcus not being at the market caused his chest to tighten. Albert needed their discussion to happen out in the open, with plenty of witnesses.
Long moments of silence punctuated their conversation as they walked along the pavement.
The buildings on the outskirts of town were in a worse state than their oldest and crumbliest counterparts in Waverley. The high-walled neighbourhoods were not a new idea that had suddenly sprung up after the World Government had left. Many had existed to accommodate the immigrants fleeing colder climates. But after the World Government had left and the criminals had taken over, everyone was re-housed inside the high-walled environments. Places like Waverley transformed overnight into immigrant Compounds, and, with everyone’s movements curtailed, criminals took over what was left of the industry.
They passed by old shop-fronts; some had padlocks and chains across their doors, others had been sealed with a hardened white resin that could only be removed with a special chemical. The criminals patrolled the streets, picking up anyone who tried to live outside of their control. As long as the neighbourhoods kept their monetary figures above the debt-line, life was easy. But when the books didn’t balance and it threatened a faction’s control of an area, people became expendable.
Albert felt a shudder beneath his feet as a black military vehicle approached. It sped past them on the uneven road. Hans stopped and bent down to tie his shoelace. Héctor hobbled along as if lame. Albert picked up his speed to distance himself from the pair.
Another vehicle passed coming from the opposite direction. Albert moved faster to get off the streets.
The red-brick market was busier than yesterday morning. They discussed their plan through gel masks; their muted voices sounded as if they talked through a closed window. Albert led the way inside the market and removed his mask. Their conversation switched to sharp and clear.
Albert approached the first vendor, who sold machine parts of various sizes. A sign, propped up against a section of smaller pieces, read Generator Parts. Often, the parts brought in the highest revenue; because without mechanics or engineers left to teach the skills, people bought too many, praying that at least one of them might work.
Albert caught the seller’s eye.
‘You here to buy something?’ she said.
‘No. I’m looking for Marcus. I heard he was here.’
The woman shrugged, but she wore a hard expression. ‘Can’t say I’ve seen him today.’
Albert thanked her and walked away.
Out of her earshot, he turned to Hans and Héctor. ‘We may have better luck if we split up. The woman is lying and I’m not sure why. If we get a lead on where Marcus is, we can regroup and approach him together. Safety in numbers.’
The men agreed and went their separate ways. Albert concentrated on one row of stalls, asking vendors about Marcus. Their reaction, similar to the first woman, piqued his curiosity and confirmed to him that Marcus was probably still on site. Eventually, a tall, elderly black man motioned Albert over. He pointed to a door at the back of the warehouse.
‘He’s outside with one of the vendors. But I wouldn’t go back there. He’s not alone.’
Albert looked up at the man whose eyes focused on the door. He thanked him and regrouped with Héctor and Hans.
‘I’m guessing he’s shaking some poor fool down. He may have two associates with him.’
‘What do you want to do, Albert?’
‘We have no choice. We must have it out with him now. The people in West and North are running out of time.’ He glanced around and caught the elderly man look away just as Albert looked over. ‘Usually, when he’s finished here, he drops the morning’s takings off at the mansion. I’d prefer to avoid that place if I can. We’ll have to take him in whatever mood he’s in. Agreed?’
Hans and Héctor nodded. Albert steadied his nerves. They approached the back of the warehouse from the front, gel masks on, sidling up to the edge of the building. Albert wanted to see where Marcus was and how many others were with him.
A smaller grey structure sat behind the warehouse. Albert heard scuffling from around the side of the building. Then Marcus’ voice, shouting at someone. A grunt. A thud. Albert stayed put, not moving an inch.
When Marcus’ black shock of hair appeared briefly, Albert retreated back from the corner and knocked into Hans. A bloody-faced man holding his stomach ran past them.
‘You do the job right next time. Or you’ll pay me double,’ Marcus shouted after him.
Albert motioned for the others to retreat further but Marcus came around the corner. He stopped dead when he saw Albert.
‘You know, it’s rude to eavesdrop, old man.’ Marcus wore a set of brass knuckledusters caked in blood. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped them clean.
‘We—’ Albert cleared his throat, pressed his shaking hands together. ‘We need to talk to you.’
Marcus focused on his own hands. ‘Can’t you see I’m a little busy?’
‘This can’t wait. I... we need to talk about what’s happening in Waverley. The Compounds in North, West and South are missing generators.’
Marcus smiled. ‘Well that’s what happens when you owe more money than you are taking in. Don’t think I don’t know about the little “robbery” at Sal’s place.’
‘The life support is failing too,’ said Héctor. ‘Is that also because of the robbery?’
Marcus looked up, surprised.
‘Is the life support a separate issue?’ said Albert.
Marcus shrugged. ‘You pay back what was taken and we’ll return the generators. And maybe we’ll look into the life support, too.’
‘How should we do that?’ said Albert. ‘There’s nearly 30K missing.’
Marcus clicked his fingers repeatedly, close to Albert’s face. ‘Listen to me, old man. I’m not interested in excuses. You’ve seen what happens to people when they piss me off out here. It will be far worse for you inside the neighbourhoods, believe me. Plus, you’ve got those two nice kids to worry about, and I’ve got a few jobs for them to do.’
A rush of wind brushed against Albert’s face as Hans ran at Marcus. Albert snatched at the German but only caught air. Hans stood in front of Marcus, holding him up by the collar of his black jacket.
‘You are nobody. You are scum. You wish you were better. You are not better than us. You are a toy for the Agostinis to play with. Why would we negotiate with a nobody like you?’
Marcus gasped for air as Hans intensified his grip. An associate appeared from the other side of the building and struck Hans on the head. Hans dropped Marcus and stumbled backwards. He doubled over, breathing hard.
Marcus reached for something under his jacket. He produced a Buzz Gun and lurched at Hans, pressing the gun into his side, and pulled the trigger. The gun crackled. Albert’s stomach rolled as the smell of burning flesh made its way inside his poorly sealed mask. Hans dropped to the ground, convulsing and foaming at the mouth.
Albert rushed to Hans’ side and knelt down. ‘What have you done? There was no need for this. We only wanted to talk.’
Marcus smiled and spat at Hans. ‘I won’t be called a nobody. Pay back the money or we will take more generators. I won’t warn you again.’
Marcus rubbed the front of his neck and strode past his associate, who followed like an obedient dog. Albert heard them climb into a vehicle. The car started and
it moved off.
Albert and Héctor leaned over Hans, who spluttered and stared wide eyed at the sky.
‘What did you do that for?’ said Héctor. ‘That was suicide.’
Albert’s hands shook from the retreating adrenaline. He hooked an arm around Hans’ neck and Héctor took the other side. Hans was a dead weight. ‘We need to get him back to the neighbourhood. One of the compounds might have something to help with the burn.’
Héctor frowned. ‘His insides are fried. We need to help him here.’
‘How? I don’t know any doctors. There are no hospitals.’
The door at the back of the warehouse opened and the black man appeared. He walked over to a second, smaller building.
‘Marcus is gone. Quick, in here.’
He opened the door to reveal a storage unit. Albert and Héctor carried Hans inside and placed him on the ground. The air felt crisp and clean on his skin.
Albert removed his mask. The cold air chilled his lungs.
The stranger dragged a hand across his face. ‘What were you going to do with him?’
Albert straightened up. ‘Bring him back home. We might be able to treat him there.’
‘How far do you think you’d get dragging him back, just the two of you? The nearest neighbourhood is two miles away.’
A tall, lean woman appeared at the door. She wore a long, black coat and had cropped, dusky-grey hair. Her pale skin made her look like she was in her sixties but her eyes seemed older. She had definitely visited a genetic manipulation clinic or two, in its day.
She stepped inside the room. ‘How bad is it, Grey?’
Grey peeled back a layer of fabric from Hans’ wound. ‘Pretty bad. Buzz Gun. He’s not going to make it.’
‘Shit.’ The woman turned away and rubbed the back of her neck. She faced Albert again. ‘This is the last thing we need. What were you thinking, coming here and getting into it with Marcus? Now he’ll be all over this place. One person confronts him, he takes it out on two. And when the Agostinis see him going postal on a few people, they will intervene. We’ve worked hard to keep Gaetano and Enzo away from here. Marcus is nothing compared to them.’