Rainwalkers

by Matt Ritter

  “I’m going to free your arms and take off your hood.” The voice was calm, machine-like. “I don’t plan to harm you, but if you struggle against me or don’t do as I say, I will. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Will answered.

  A click and the zip ties were cut. Will pulled his hands around to his lap and rubbed his wrists. The hood was yanked from his head, and for a moment the light was too bright. He closed his eyes, then slowly opened them into a squint.

  An imposing redheaded soldier was standing several feet from him, watching him. The soldier was shorter than Will, but not by much. His massive shoulders, thick arms, and hands made him look as if he could yank a tree from the ground. Being tall with a muscular frame of his own, Will rarely doubted his physical superiority, but this man was daunting. Will quickly scanned the room. The door was closed behind the soldier, the room empty except for a sink in the corner and a small metal table with two chairs.

  “State your name,” the soldier said.

  “Will Taft,” he said, shifting his weight.

  The soldier kept his distance. “Stay seated.”

  Will studied his uniform. Based on his knowledge of uniforms, this was a higher-ranking member of the UP. He apparently carried no weapon, nothing Will could use to his advantage. Likely, there were many other soldiers just outside the door.

  “Where am I?” Will asked. “Is my daughter here?”

  “That’s enough questions from you. I’m Captain Wilson. I have some things to ask you. If you don’t answer them, or answer them accurately, this will go poorly for you. Do you understand me?”

  At the mention of the name, the hair rose on the back of Will’s neck. He wanted to jump to his feet, cross the room and beat the captain to death with his bare hands.

  Captain Wilson seemed to sense a change in Will because he took a step toward him, puffed up his chest, and repeated his question. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” Will replied, glaring up at the captain.

  “How long have you been a member of the resistance?”

  “I’m not a member of the resistance.”

  Captain Wilson hesitated, then went on to his next question.

  “Why did you come to Salinas City?”

  “I’m looking for my daughter.”

  “Why did you contact Dick Nixon? Is he also a member of the resistance?”

  “I have nothing to do with the resistance,” Will said.

  “Were you in Gonzales yesterday?”

  “Yes. Is my daughter being held here?” Will asked.

  “How did you get from Gonzales to Dick Nixon’s apartment?”

  “On foot.”

  “Who were you traveling with?”

  Will considered his answer. “Mary McElroy. Is she being held here?”

  “Who else?” Captain Wilson asked.

  “That’s all.”

  “Is Mary McElroy also a member of the resistance?”

  Will looked at the captain for a long time. “Look, Wilson, neither Mary, nor I are part of any resistance.”

  Will put his hands on the concrete next to him, preparing to push himself up.

  Captain Wilson stepped back. “Stay seated,” he commanded. Continuing his interview, he asked, “Were you aware of a bombing in Gonzales yesterday morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you involved in it?”

  “No, I saw it from my house.”

  Will answered the skepticism in the captain’s eyes with a blank stare.

  “Why did you come to Salinas City?”

  “I came here to get my daughter.”

  “Other than you and Mary McElroy, can you name other members of the resistance?”

  Will shook his head in frustration. “I know you took my daughter from the school in Gonzales. Take me to her now.”

  Captain Wilson squinted at Will and stood silently for a long time. Will could see the captain’s tight control over his frustration beginning to fray. He backed up while continuing to face Will and knocked on the inside of the handleless door. It opened, and he left the room without looking back at Will.

  “Take me to my daughter,” Will yelled, jumping to his feet and running to the door as it closed again.

  Will put his ear to the door but couldn’t hear anything outside. He paced the room, went to the sink in the corner, and turned the faucet. It squeaked open, and a trickle of cold water filled his cupped hands, which he splashed onto his face. The feel of his beard was surprising, almost foreign. It had grown significantly, and water stayed in the soft, thick parts on his chin. He felt the wound on his cheek, and the skin was raw and tingling where the cut was growing back together. The other side of his head throbbed where he’d been kicked.

  He dried himself with the sleeve of his shirt and went to each wall to see if he could hear anything in adjacent rooms. Was Helen also being held here? He wondered. Was she only one wall away or in some distant building, maybe not even in Salinas City? He thought of her alone in a room with Captain Wilson and instantly started to sweat. He screamed “Helen!” but there was no response. He clenched his teeth as anger burned inside him. He hit the wall. It was cold and unyielding, and his fist ached. He paced the room like a caged animal, kicked the bottom of the door, then kicked it again. The booming sound of his kicks dissipated into silence, and there was nothing. No response from outside.

  Will sat at the table and took deep breaths to calm himself. He had to be clear-headed to have any chance of escape. Stay calm for Helen, he told himself. He looked methodically around the room. What could he use to his advantage? Where were their weaknesses? The chairs, they could be swung like a weapon. He might also be able to break a leg off the table.

  He had no idea what time it was. Was it day or night? How long had he slept, if at all? He placed his head on the cold metal table and closed his eyes. Hours went by. He slept, then awoke disoriented. He rose, drank from the sink, then listened again through the walls. Nothing had changed. He was hungry but tried not to think about it.

  Time passed. Several hours gone, Will laid on the floor, consumed by hunger, his ear against the cold polished concrete listening to the faint trundle of distant bass sounds from a world he couldn’t interpret. He held his breath and weakly pushed himself up to his knees when he heard the rumble of boots in the hallway. The panel at the bottom of the door clanked and hinged open. Without a word from the other side, a food tray was slid across the concrete into the room. The door hinged shut with a bang. Will approached the tray and ate feverishly.

  The hum just beyond the ceiling, which Will figured was rain, escalated to a rumble as he wiped his mouth. He laid back down on the concrete and listened. The food churned in his stomach. He thought of Helen and counted the hours since leaving her that morning at the school in Gonzales. A lifetime ago. The things he would say to her now. He recounted each word of his conversations with his wife in the labor camp. In trying to conjure up the faces of the two women for whom he lived, he could only do harm to their images, which were growing distorted and changed in his memory.

  Will awoke on the floor some unknown number of hours later, stood, and walked to the sink in the corner of the room. He was stiff and cold. The muffled roar of rain on the roof was still there. He stretched his legs, then sat at the table.

  The fluorescent tube momentarily flickered, then went out. The room went completely dark except for a slit of light skirting under the door. He stood as his eyes adjusted, then kneeled next to the entry. He listened intently. Nothing.

  The sliver of light from under the door went out, and the darkness became complete. He could no longer see his hands beyond his face. Complete blackness and silence consumed the room. He lifted one of the chairs from the corner and waited in the darkness with only the sound of his steady breathing. Will felt for a moment like he was falling. He set the chair down and sat on it to regain his sense of balance.

  A thread of light danced under the door then came the sound of boots
in the hallway. Will waited, ready for a fight. The door swung open. A spotlight was pointed at him, and he held up a hand to block it. The dark figures of two men were suddenly on him at each side, then a third and fourth were rushing past the spotlight toward him. Will threw an elbow and hit one of them hard in the head. He heard a grunt and could smell the breath of another trying to grab him around the neck.

  “Don’t be a hero. Stop struggling,” a loud and familiar voice said from behind the light.

  Will kicked another soldier, who went flying against the cell wall. As he bent to lift the soldier onto his back, his legs were wrapped up by yet another, and all of them went to the floor. They were now piling on top of him. He bucked and rolled, but their weight was too great. A knee was pressing down hard on his back, and his right arm burned as it was bent up behind him. He panted and grunted as the wounded side of his face was crushed into the concrete floor.

  The lights came back on, flooding the room, and Will strained to look up. The bare light tube above him rained down a naked blue illumination. Will saw Millard Fillmore standing at the door. As a sardonic smile came across Millard’s face, the black hood was once again pulled down over Will’s head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Mary McElroy spent the night alone in a room with a fluorescent light whispering its low buzz overhead. Beyond the light, she could hear rain incessantly beating the roof of the unknown building to which she had been brought. The hood pulled over her head in Dick Nixon’s living room was removed only after a nauseous drive through wet streets, at the end of which she was pulled from the vehicle, pushed down a long hallway, and into this room. The zip tie was clipped off her wrists and, as the soldiers in their gas masks turned to leave, she was commanded to sit on the couch, the only piece of furniture in the small room.

  As the door’s lock clanked shut behind them, Mary was consumed with a sinking feeling. She had nothing now. She no longer knew where she was or where Will or Zach were, and all her children were gone. Even Helen Taft and Jimmy, who had somehow miraculously survived the horrors of the Gonzales school massacre, had been taken from her, but the worst was not knowing what would happen next. She wished she’d walked out into the rain when she had the chance. She collapsed onto the couch, which smelled of mildew and sobbed.

  No one came for her, and there was nothing but the muffled barrage of rain on the roof. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her. She pulled the jacket she’d gotten from Will’s house up over her head and fell asleep.

  Mary awoke to noises outside her door. She jerked up on the couch as the lock clanked. Two young soldiers in gas masks came into Mary’s room, their boots and light blue pants wet and stinking with rain. She screamed as they forced her up and led her down the hallway to a bathroom. On her way back to the room, Mary saw a high frosted glass window in the hallway. A pale wash of morning light drew into the hallway, and beads of water grew and spilled along the outside of the glass. She thought she must have slept through the night. After returning Mary to her room, the soldiers handed her a cloth bag with a jar of water and a stale bread roll.

  “How long will I be here?” Mary asked the soldier who handed her the bag. His eyes above the gas mask were so young and anxious, a look familiar to Mary, and she thought for a moment that he may be another previous student of hers.

  “I don’t know,” came a foreign and muffled voice from behind the mask.

  The door was once again slammed shut, and Mary sat back down on the couch to eat her bread. The rain continued to rap on the roof. When Mary was young, her grandfather had told her that the rain plays a tune in the key of D. She paused her chewing to listen for it. For a moment, she rocked back and forth, eyes closed, and hummed along with the rain. The sound of her own warbling voice was almost comforting.

  The hours passed and nothing changed. The rain kept up its tune, just out of key with the low hum of the lights. Either out of boredom or desperation, Mary let her mind wander to thoughts she hadn’t allowed herself to think in several years, thoughts of the time before her husband disappeared before Gonzales was ruined by the collections.

  He and Mary had argued about whether or not to fulfill their allotment of one child, as allowed for all married Valley residents. At that time, she was filled with hope for the Valley and its people, optimistic about the future, but he wasn’t. Mary’s hope was embodied in the children at the school. They were so open and innocent and ready to learn. He’d worked the Gonzales loading ramp and interacted daily with the UP. Mary knew that was the source of his lingering despair.

  The fact that she finally triumphed in their argument was ultimately moot. She was unable to conceive, and although he’d been loving and understanding through the tribulations of several miscarriages, deep down she felt he was surreptitiously happy about her failure to reproduce.

  Mary paced the room as she allowed bygone and painful episodes from her past to come forth in a string of surprisingly clear memories. Her thoughts strung a tighter and tighter knot in her mind that wouldn’t come undone. If she was going to die in this room, she thought, what was the point in suppressing these thoughts any longer? Knowing now what happened to her husband and all the children of Gonzales, maybe he was right, and it was best they hadn’t brought another child into the Valley.

  Mary’s disturbing reverie was ended by the sound once again of squeaking boots in the hallway. Mary rose from the couch as a loud pound came on the door, the metal latch clanked, and the door swung open. A soldier came into the room, scanned it, and stepped to one side. Another soldier stood in the doorway holding out a gas mask.

  “Put this on. You’re coming with us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Ben felt a strange aching numbness in his arm. The dilute solution of Helen Taft’s blood stopped the burning instantly, but the deep pain lingered for several hours. There were still so many unanswered questions. Was the blood effective at low concentrations? Was it long lasting? Could it affect the weather? What was in their blood that killed the artificial bacteria? There was so little time for the right studies. He had to think and act fast. Within days, the Valley Manager would send the children to their demise at the border, then there would be no answers, no solutions, no saving this Valley.

  He distractedly rubbed his forearm as a knock came on the lab door.

  “Sir.”

  Ben turned to see a wide-eyed teenage soldier-boy.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir.” The boy hesitated to enter the lab.

  “Go ahead. What is it?”

  “I was told to let you know that the children’s teacher has arrived.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Ben said. “Is that all?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said awkwardly and turned to leave.

  “Do you know where she’s being held?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ben hung his lab coat, picked up his medical bag, and followed the boy to the elevator. Many floors down, at the end of a long hallway on a lower level of the building, Ben knocked quietly on the cell door before opening it.

  A woman sat with her head down, resting her chin on her forearms at a table in the corner of the room. She looked up at him with curiosity as he entered. Ben thought she might be in her late twenties, although possibly older. She had wavy brown hair pulled back into a disheveled ponytail and clear, pale skin with the remnants of two black eyes. She seemed weary and dazed. From that first moment when she looked up at him, he had a vague feeling of familiarity with her. Something about her presence felt immediately comforting.

  “Hello, I’m Ben Harrison,” he said, crossing the room with his hand out. “I’m the Valley Science Minister.”

  She rose from the table and offered him her hand. It was cold and smooth to his touch, and he let go quickly. He wanted to stare at her, to examine her closely but fought the urge.

  “Mary McElroy,” she said, watching Ben closely with suspicious eyes.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  Ben turned back to
the door where the boy-soldier still stood, awkwardly waiting for a command.

  “You can wait outside now,” Ben said. “Please close the door behind you.”

  Turning back to Mary, Ben asked, “Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Go ahead,” Mary said and sat across from him.

  “I apologize if you’ve been treated poorly. I can only imagine what you’ve been through.”

  With that statement, Ben noticed a softening of Mary’s face, almost as if his kindness was a surprise to her. She squinted suspiciously.

  “Are you feeling alright?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Mary responded. Their eyes locked for a moment too long, and she looked away.

  “You must be hungry. When was the last time you ate?”

  “I had bread this morning.” Mary crooked her head sideways, as if she wanted to ask Ben something, then hesitated.

  “It’s important that I know what’s happened to you. Have you been questioned by anyone else since arriving in Salinas City?”

  “No. I was left in a small cell by myself.”

  “Can you tell me what happened at the school?”

  Mary looked down at the table and said nothing. Ben waited. Finally, Mary said, “Soldiers came. They built a fence in the yard and made the children—” Mary’s lip began to shake.

  Ben felt the urge to reach out and comfort her, like she was an old friend, but thought better of it. “I’m so sorry, Ms. McElroy. It’s a despicable thing, what happened in Gonzales. You’ve been through a great deal in the last few days.” Ben looked around the room, leaned over the table toward Mary, and said in a low voice, “I want you to know that some of us in the Administration tried to stop it.”

  Mary nodded and looked back down at the table. Ben noticed her eyes shining with tears.

  “Before the soldiers came to your school, did you know that any of the children could survive the rain?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “So, there was nothing different about the two children who survived, no way to tell them apart from the other children?”