Rainwalkers

by Matt Ritter

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “How many children were there at the school when the soldiers arrived?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  A look of disgust came across Ben’s face. He hadn’t imagined there were so many children. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered to himself, “This has to be stopped.”

  The air between them seemed to carry a positive charge, some unknown frequency perceived by each as a feeling of having known the other before, a familiarity, a comfort that neither fully understood. Ben wanted to ask her if they’d met before, but he knew there was no way they could have. A tear fell from Mary’s eyes as she looked down. Her hands were there on the table, and Ben could’ve easily reached out and held them, tried to comfort her, but he hesitated.

  “The two surviving children from your school are here in the building and they’ve been asking for you.”

  Mary smiled, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand as if she were ashamed. Ben realized she was just trying to hide her excitement, as if she accidentally showed it, something more would be taken from her. It was a sad and delicate gesture, and one of the most beautiful Ben had ever seen.

  “We can go see them now,” he stated evenly.

  Mary stood from the table. “Please,” she said, almost desperately.

  Her excitement made him happy, infected him in a way. He was hopeful again.

  Ben rose, picked up his medical bag, and went to the door. Looking back at Mary, he couldn’t help but smile. He pounded on the door, and the boy soldier opened it without hesitation.

  “We’re headed to the children’s room,” Ben said to the soldier. “Make sure any of her belongings are brought there.”

  “I have nothing,” Mary said.

  Ben held the door open for Mary, then followed her out.

  He led her along the hallway with the panels of fluorescent light ticking past overhead. Halfway down the hallway one of the bulbs flickered, but Ben didn’t look up at it. They rounded a corner and came to a door on which Ben knocked quietly. He pushed the door open, and Mary rushed past him to where Helen sat on the couch.

  Helen jumped up and met Mary halfway across the room. Jimmy stood from the table, looking confused.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Mary said, her voice wavering with tears, beckoning to the boy. Helen cried and said something muffled into Mary’s jacket. Ben could see her slender pale arms coiled firmly around Mary’s waist.

  “I thought we’d never see you again,” Helen cried.

  “Here I am,” Mary said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Ben’s heart swelled, and a knot came into his throat. He realized at that moment how rare that type of loving emotion was in that building, in that dreary city. His life had been devoid of real emotion for a long time, and the emptiness was now so obvious. He wanted to do everything in his power to help Mary and these children.

  Mary turned to Ben, teary-eyed, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Ben nodded. “There are other children, survivors from a school in Greenfield, being held separately. Would you be willing to stay with all the children?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I can find you a larger room. I’ll make arrangements now.”

  Ben watched while Mary kneeled in front of the couch, sitting Helen and Jimmy back down, her hands resting in their laps. He backed toward the door but realized he didn’t want to leave the room. He didn’t want to leave Mary.

  Mary rose and turned to Ben. Their gazes met, and neither cared to break the stare.

  “Thank you,” she said again.

  He nodded and put his hand out to her, a natural, almost involuntary gesture made between parting friends.

  She took his hand as he said, “I’ll be back soon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Will smelled the dank smell of stale breath on the inside of the black hood. Two soldiers were on his back, pressing him against the floor while a third zip-tied his wrists together.

  “Always trying to be the hero. When will you learn it does you no good?” Millard Fillmore said, kneeling next to him.

  He was lifted to his feet and once again walked out to an awaiting vehicle. This time he sat with his wrists tied behind his back in the back seat with a soldier on each side. The familiar burn came to his throat as they sped through the rain on wet and rutted streets.

  From the front seat, Will heard Millard’s voiced muffled by a gas mask. “How’s that burn feel in your throat?”

  Will didn’t respond. He was feeling nauseous, and his whole head and upper body ached.

  “You don’t have long, my friend. If it was up to me, you’d be gone already.”

  The engine whined above the crackle of tires on wet pavement. When they reached their destination, Will scooted out of the back seat while being pulled up by a soldier. He was then on his feet being pushed through a series of doors, farther and farther into the belly of a large building. Will counted the doors they went through, each one clicking open and locking behind him. He worked his wrists against the zip ties, trying to loosen them as he was pushed into another small room. The door swung closed, locked, and he was alone.

  A single fluorescent tube was visible through the black material of his hood. He felt his way around the room slowly circling the walls past a sink in the corner, until he came to a couch. He sat cautiously and strained to step through his tied arms to bring them around to his front. After several moments of stretching and rolling on the couch, Will brought his burning arms under his feet and around onto his lap. He rested, breathing hard, while the burning in his throat and shoulders faded.

  He hadn’t sat long when the door was once again unlocked.

  “Are you Will Taft?” A man’s voice came to him after the door closed.

  “I am.”

  “I’ll take your hood off.”

  A tall slender man pulled the hood gently from Will’s shoulders and stood back. Will squinted while his eyes adjusted. The man was about Will’s age, maybe younger, but his black hair peppered along the edges with gray gave him an older, distinguished look. He wore no uniform, and his spectacles made him look more like a librarian than a soldier. He studied Will with a look of concern.

  “My name is Ben. Ben Harrison. I’m the Valley Science Minister.”

  Will nodded while studying the room. There was nothing in it except the couch on which he sat. The door behind the man was closed and had no knob.

  The man stood near the door, keeping his distance from Will. “I understand that you’ve been through a lot, and I want to help you, but if you touch me you won’t make it out of this room alive. You’ll never see your daughter again.”

  At the mention of Helen, Will rose from the couch, causing Ben to lift his hand.

  “You know where my daughter is?” Will saw fear in Ben’s eyes.

  “I do,” Ben said, still holding up his hand. “And I think I can arrange for you to see her. I need you to cooperate with me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s here, in the Valley Administration building.”

  Will felt a strange mix of fear and hope. “She’s here?” Will asked, his voice cracking with excitement.

  “She’s with her teacher and several other children.”

  “Why are they being held here?”

  Will could tell the question wasn’t easy for the science minister to answer. He pulled his glasses off, wiped them on his shirt, and returned them to his head. “Don’t you know why?” Ben finally asked.

  “No,” Will answered.

  “Your daughter has a special ability,” Ben said slowly. “Discovered at the school in Gonzales.”

  “Discovered?” Will shouted. His rage overcame him. Suddenly he was across the room in two long strides, with his hands on the science minister’s neck, pushing him up against the wall. “I saw the aftermath at the school in Greenfield. I saw the children, the graves,” he said loudly, his face right next to Ben’s.
>
  “I didn’t know about that before it happened,” Ben sputtered out in a whisper. “I’ve tried to stop all of this.”

  Will squeezed harder while Ben kicked against the wall.

  “I saw the bodies of children being stacked up at the bottom of a hole. Then I saw more in Gonzales. A line of graves. Our children, our Valley’s children,” Will shouted.

  “I,” Ben stuttered and wheezed. “It was a mistake. The Administration is desperate, the Valley is under attack and being overrun. The rain is killing us, our way of life.”

  Will stared into Ben’s bulging eyes. “The Valley is always under attack. I was told that as a child, then as a soldier, and now as a father. Our way of life? What way of life? You killed children.”

  “I didn’t want it to happen, but I couldn’t stop it,” Ben whispered, the sound in his voice almost gone. His eyes pleaded with Will.

  Ben thrashed against the wall.

  The lock clanked on the door to the cell. Will released Ben and stepped away from him as he gasped for air.

  “Is everything alright, sir?” a soldier asked as he came into the cell.

  Ben held up his hand. “Everything is fine. Leave us be.”

  After the soldier had closed the door, Ben said, “There are powerful forces in the Administration who are trying to stop this. Trying to change the way we do things. A time will come when we need your help, and your daughter’s life depends on you helping us.”

  “What do you want from me?” Will asked.

  Ben held his throat, watching Will carefully, finally saying to him, “I’m sorry about all of this. I’m trying to help you. I need to know more about Helen.”

  “What about her?”

  “Did you know she could survive the rain before the incident at the school?”

  “No, I didn’t. I learned about it when I arrived at the school. When I found out she'd survived.” Will rubbed his head with his tied hands and looked down. The frayed leather on his boot edge was still stained with the black mud from his walk along the Salinas.

  “Did you ever suspect she was resistant while she was growing up?”

  Will looked up at Ben, irritated. “She’s a child; she’s not grown up,” he said loudly.

  “Did you ever suspect she wasn’t afraid of the rain? Was she ever out in it as a younger child?”

  “No, we never knew.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out if her condition was there from birth or only presented itself later in life,” Ben said.

  “We protected her from the rain. Like good parents.”

  A knot formed in Will’s throat. He stood and walked to the sink in the corner of the room, then struggled to turn it on with his hands tied. He let the water run a long time, then cupped it and brought it to his face. His beard was thick, and the wound on his check still burned beneath the hair. He bent over and drank straight from the faucet. The sting in the back of his throat was gone. Water dripped from his beard onto the linoleum floor. He could feel he was being watched closely and finally turned to face Ben.

  “I need to get to Helen immediately,” Will said.

  “Yes,” Ben whispered. “But you also have to help me. Your daughter holds the key to us fixing the rain, saving this Valley. It’s getting worse. Soon there will be no Valley, nobody left. It’ll kill all of us. And quickly.”

  “What do you mean, she holds the key?” Will asked.

  “Her blood kills the bacteria that poison the rain. It’s true for all the surviving children.” Ben looked at Will. “How about you? Can you survive the rain?”

  Will shook his head. “No, my throat burns when it starts. It makes me sick even when I’m near it.”

  “You’ve never gotten wet?”

  “No, and I nearly didn’t survive getting back to Gonzales from the work camps,” Will said.

  “And your wife? Was she resistant?” Ben asked.

  Will thought about Hannah and their times together outside, escaping to a shelter just before the rain, her always pushing him inside, always calm. At that moment, he realized he didn’t know. Was it possible she was always protecting him, that the rain would never have hurt her? He couldn’t remember her ever complaining about the rain, but then he couldn’t remember her complaining about anything.

  “I don’t know,” Will answered. “Maybe.”

  “I need a blood sample from you,” Ben said.

  Ben moved to the door and knocked on the inside of the door.

  The soldier standing outside the room opened the door immediately. Will stayed seated, debating his next move. What was behind that door? How many more soldiers? How deep into the building were they? Where was Helen?

  “I need my medical kit,” Ben said to the soldier.

  “Nothing can enter the room with you, sir.”

  “What do you mean, nothing? I need to take a sample of this man’s blood.”

  Ben stepped out into the hallway and went through his black leather bag. “Here, a syringe. That’s all I’m taking in with me.”

  The young soldier stood looking at the syringe in Ben’s hand.

  “Alright.” He stood away from the door, then shut it behind Ben.

  “Roll up your sleeve.”

  Will rolled the sleeve of his worn flannel, then pushed the roll up over his biceps.

  “Please, stay still,” Ben said, kneeling next to Will.

  Will watched Ben closely while he drained the blood. He skillfully retracted the plunger while the dark fluid filled the barrel. He studied the lines on Ben’s face and the dark rings under his eyes. Up close, he was younger than he seemed.

  “There, thank you,” Ben said, looking up at Will.

  He capped the syringe, then pulled a scalpel from his pocket. He held Will’s wrists, carefully slid the shining blade next to Will’s skin under the zip tie and cut it free. As the tie fell to the floor, Will rubbed his wrists. The two men made eye contact, then looked down at the blade in Ben’s hands. He set it on the couch next to Will, who snatched it up and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Now is not the time to use that,” Ben whispered. “But you may need to soon.”

  “Thank you,” Will said under his breath.

  Ben went to the door and knocked. He nodded to Will as the soldier let him out, then the door slammed behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Millard Fillmore knocked on the partially opened door of the office he’d hoped to never enter again. He looked upon the Manager’s office, this building, this part of the Valley, and all these weak people with undisguised contempt.

  “Sit,” the Valley Manager said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk.

  “I think I’ll stand,” Millard said, brushing back his long black coat.

  “Did Taft’s transfer to the building go smoothly?”

  “Why wouldn’t it? I didn’t let him die in the rain if that’s what you mean.” Millard rolled a toothpick in his teeth, watching his younger brother study him from behind the desk. He knew too much about how he’d come to sit behind that desk to be intimidated by any of it.

  “Millie, I’m just trying to get all the information,” the Manager said.

  “Why did you call for me?”

  “I figured since you were in the building, we may as well take the opportunity to talk. It’s been long enough.”

  “The sooner I can get out of here the better.”

  “Is he as dangerous as they say?” the Manager asked while stroking the edge of one of his fingers.

  “Maybe for you and your boy soldiers. I’ll have no problem getting him back to the labor camp. Dead or alive.”

  “You have to do everything you can to make sure he doesn’t affect our plans.”

  Millard nodded. “You know I will.”

  “Colonel Adams tells me that repairs to the longvalley are nearly complete. He’s ready for the upvalley transfer anytime.”

  “Or you could just give me the order, and I’ll kill him in his cell downstairs. T
hat’d save all of us all a lot of time and energy.”

  “You’ve never followed any of my orders anyway.”

  Millard looked down on the Manager with annoyance. “Why would I? You have no authority.”

  “I have complete authority,” the Manager said, his voice rising in pitch and volume.

  Millard scoffed, pulled the toothpick from his mouth, studied it, and looked down on his brother. “Authority?” He scoffed again. “You have no idea about authority. Your authority comes from the politicking. Conniving. Not from strength. I could cross this room and choke you out of existence right here.”

  Millard saw the Manager’s body tense. He continued, “You’ve always been too scared, too concerned about maintaining that fake authority to do the thing that needed to be done.”

  “What’s that?” the Manager asked.

  “What are you waiting for? Why are those children downstairs with their teacher? Why haven’t you given the order to use them? You have a powerful weapon, yet you still hesitate to use it.”

  “We’re waiting to run more tests on their blood.”

  “More tests?” Millard shook his head. “I don’t know how this Valley has lasted as long as it has with you runnin’ it.”

  “Watch what you say to me,” the Manager said loudly, rising from his chair.

  Millard took three deliberately slow steps toward him. He could see the fear in his younger brother's eyes.

  “Sit. Down,” Millard commanded. The Manager sat back down. Millard put both hands on the desk and leaned in over the Manager.

  “It’s time you decided. Exercise some of that authority you supposedly have.”

  “Send the children over the border now?”

  The Manager pursed his thin lips. “You know what needs to be done. Why wait? Just make it happen, Mister Valley Manager.”

  Millard looked down at his brother’s thin hands. They were shaking.

  The Manager rolled his hands into fists and said, “You’re right.”

  Millard pushed away from his desk and turned to the office door. Without looking back at the Manager, he said, “I have work to do, and so do you.”

  “Just make sure the father is controlled.”

  Millard nodded.