On Fire

by Thomas Anderson

“Come on!” yells Kim.

  She is out front on their way up the Quay. Somehow, someone has cleared a path out of the snow here on the highest level of the quay. Another level leads down broad stone stairs to the water’s edge where several tour boats are moored. Kim leads them past pastel row houses spotlighted by the quay’s street lights.

  Hacked drones cover their retreat, fending off the Commander’s drones with acrobatic maneuver, bursts of automatic gunfire and rockets, lighting up the early dawn. The spray of shots hits the sidewalk near them more than once.

  Finally, Gilly is hit by ricochet and goes down. The offending drone is quickly targeted by a hijacked drone and blasted out of the air.

  Zak and Kim run back to Gilly, who is on his back, holding his calf and grimacing. The snow beneath his leg is red and so is the calf of his pants. Gilly’s breathing comes in rasps and billows of steam.

  “Go on! Get out of here!” he barks at them from between clenched teeth.

  “We can’t leave you here, Gil!” Kim states with conviction.

  “I can’t run. Probably can’t walk. Go!”

  Zak grips Gilly’s free hand, squeezing hard.

  “Dude,” is all Zak can say, his eyes filling.

  Gilly gives Zak a stern look.

  “Go on!”

  Zak grabs Kim’s shoulder, pulling.

  “Bye Gilly,” she practically whispers, close to him, before kissing his cheek.

  “On the other side, Kim,” Gilly replies, the words catching.

  Kim and Zak light off, following the townhouses along the Motlawa River. They quickly run past two gates, the Brama Chlebnica and the Brama Mariacka, both looming brick monuments with wide archways. In two more blocks, as the drones behind them are starting to disappear, they come to the wood Zuraw Crane, now a national maritime museum, which sits at one of the widest points of the river. They can see the Soldek ship museum just across the river along with its museum cargo ship moored alongside. They see another cargo ship, their cargo ship, parked two blocks away in front of the Straganiarska Gate. It has turned around and pointed its way out of the port.

  They reach Straganiarska Gate and its towers, high pitched roof and elegant dormers, out of breath. Leaning over, their hands on their knees, they work to get it back. The sun is peeking out over the horizon and the sky is clearing, banks of clouds moving west. The sound of water trickling rises all around them as snow and ice caked on the Quay’s buildings begins to melt in the suddenly hot morning sun.

  “Do you think we lost them?” Kim asks, wiping sweat from her face with a gloved hand while squinting into the sun.

  “Hope so. Somebody commandeered a fleet of those things to protect us!” Zak says with relief, dropping his pack to the ground to take off his coat and cool off.

  “Hmm. I wonder who that could have been?” Kim replies archly.

  “Hollywood magic,” laughs Zak.

  Together they glance at the enormous yellow cargo vessel moored next to the seawall. It looms over them. A complex assortment of cranes bristles over its decks. At the rear of the vessel rises a white six story superstructure, the house, windows spanning the width of the bridge on top. Below the bridge are six stories of other windows for all the berths aboard. A rusty gangway on a pivoting platform has been lowered over the railing, the lowest rung of which is but a foot and a half from the still snowy concrete surface of the quay in a welcoming sign.

  “Ahoy!” cries a man dressed in heavy dark clothes, a stocking cap pulled low on his head. They look up to see him leaning over the ship’s rail and waving at them.

  Kim and Zak wave back and watch as the seaman points to the gangway and motions for them to come up.

  “So? Is this our ride?” Zak asks.

  “You think, Sparky?” Kim kids him.

  “After you,” he gestures.

  Kim starts climbing the gently swaying gangway, her pack and coat hung over her shoulder and Zak follows. The sailor watches their slow but shaky climb with amusement. He grabs their hands and pumps their arms when they reach the main deck, repeats their names in a strongly accented way when they introduce themselves, and beckons them down the length of the ship around the numerous red painted cranes to the superstructure. Finally, he leads them up several stories of steel stairs to a short hallway and their small berth. The man makes it clear that they have checked in at the very last minute and must first head to the bridge and coms.

  Dropping their bags in the stateroom, they head to the bridge, only to step inside with trepidation when they reach a doorway marked “Restricted”. Giant windows and ceiling suspended monitors span the full length of the room. To one side at a circular desk two communications personnel are seated behind a series of desk monitors. A young blond woman in a navy knit shirt and pants rotates her chair around to them as they approach. The other com person, a bald older man, goes out of his way to studiously ignore them.

  Out of nowhere there is a long blast on the ship’s horn.

  “We’re leaving,” she says with a mischievous smile, as if the blast of the horn was not a convincing enough way to convey this message. Her name tag says Berit.

  “Excuse us. We don’t want to bother you if you’re busy. Should we come back another time?” Kim asks.

  “No, this is fine. How can I help you?” replies Berit.

  “Hi, I’m Kimberly Scott.”

  “And I’m Zachary Miller.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll need your ID please,” she asks pleasantly.

  Berit takes them and consults her screen, completing the check in.

  “I see you’re going to be with us for a while?” she observes handing them back.

  “It’s kind of an adventure,” Kim states, beaming as she hugs Zak.

  “Speaking of which, I wonder if you could help us?” Zak ventures.

  Zak is quick to hand Berit the flash drive.

  “The whole drive needs to be sent,” he says.

  “But in a rather particular manner,” Kim adds.

  Zak brings up Bog’s instructions on his phone and gives it to Berit. She reads it carefully before looking up and nodding.

  “No problem. Would you like me to send it now?”

  Zak and Kim can’t help it. They give each other surprised looks. This is a lot easier than they thought it would be.

  “Uh, that’s great. Sure,” says Zak.

  “Now is freakin’ tastic,” adds Kim.

  Berit spins in her chair, slips the drive into a USB slot, and goes to work. As she does, Zak and Kim feel the ship start to move. They look out the bridge windows and see the staid looking Baltic Philharmonic building as it passes by on the right bank.

  “This is all encrypted,” Berit observes drily, almost as if to ask why wouldn’t it be. She watches the stick uploading to the designated satellite.

  Zak and Kim pull each other closer.

  Moments later they are standing at the front rail of the ship, soaking in the strong sun. The Gdansk, formerly Lenin, Shipyard surrounds them. The ship moves slowly as Long Quay gradually disappears and they sail by the east side of Mlyniska Island. Everywhere are giant angular cranes, other worldly, poised in menacing positions, like megalithic transformers ready to start a war of the worlds.

  They float past large ships being loaded in tight berths while cranes hover above and intense lighting floods their cargo. They see immense oil platforms are under repair. The wharfs are loaded with the biggest commercial craft, shoehorned into every sort of dock. The ghostly nighttime lights of the Yard have lost their mystery before the rising sun. A dark old building goes by.

  On it a word is sprayed. White letters: Solidarnosc.

  The five hundred year old Wisloujscie fortress rolls slowly by to their right. A Polish flag flies above its stone tower. Surrounding it is a circular battlement and manicured grounds sloping down to ancient sea walls. Their freighter turns left and the monument at Westerplatte towers in the mid
dle of an urban park, at one time a resort. It honors soldiers who fought at the Battle of Westerplatte. They held out against invading Germans, the first battle of of World War II. A hundred feet tall, concrete blocks stack on top of each other, the faces of two of the defending, helmeted soldiers emerging near the top.

  The ship breaks into the open Gulf of Gdansk. Chunks of floating ice cover the sea, accreted into long islands easily smashed to pieces as they pass. The sun glints harshly off the few patches of clear water. It gets in their eyes. It makes them blink and squint.

  Zak turns to Kim.

  “We’ve got this, you and I,” he says.

  “I know, but I’m worried about Gil. What will they do with him?” Kim asks, looking to the horizon, the clearing sky deep blue, only a few hazy wisps of cloud left, very high up. She has only a sweater on, accompanied by a knitted orange cap that sports flaps and dangling balls.

  “I don’t know. What can they do really? The American Consulate will want him back.” Zak replies.

  “And Bog?”

  Zak hears the slip in Kim’s voice as she says his name, and hearing this makes him finally ask what he has tried so hard not to ask.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  Kim is quiet. When she does turn, there are tears.

  “Yes.”

  She really can’t say anything else. She’d lose it.

  The ship seems to change direction, making sounds in the water that will soon become very familiar.

  “Uh, where’re we going?” Zak eventually asks.

  Kim laughs and turns to him.

  “You know, I have no idea!” She replies with a grin, before kissing him on the cheek.

  Chapter 83