by R. D. Hale
I glance down to see our pursuers at the bottom, slipping as they try to climb the slope. One tumbles and knocks another down with him. That person runs away, but the one who tumbled tries again, along with two others who are barely making progress. Their co-ordination seems to have abandoned them.
As we rise above the mountain of rubble, exposed rooms are visible through the dusty glass of the shaft. I count each floor we pass, estimating we have passed four so far: Five… Six… Seven… Eight… Phew, that was exhausting…
We reach the broken edge at the top of the cylinder – our exit – and a fifteen-foot-drop onto the sprawling rooftop awaits. Like most residential blocks in Medio, this one is enormous. The surface area is almost the size of a football field, and the damaged section must only represent a sixth of the overall building.
Huts cover the rooftop and this is not an unexpected sight because many large rooftops have been overtaken by the homeless. The lad who called us approaches, and several others emerge, as he says: 'Jump down before you attract more crazies. We can't chance one of those vicious bastards getting up here. They bite!'
It seems too high to jump so I kneel and turn around, then dangle my legs over the edge, terrified. Heights are really not my thing. I slide my body down until only my elbows are supporting my weight, and then I try to dangle from my hands. The boys rush past and jump, startling me, and I slip from the ledge, plummeting. I land heavily on my feet, then tumble until I am lying on my back, dazed.
The lad says, 'Are you okay?' and I grimace and gasp, then say, 'Yeah,' so he takes my hand, helping me to my feet. I step away to make room for Bex, and she makes the drop look a damn sight easier than I did.
Refuge from the Crazies
We remain uncomfortably close to the broken edge of the rooftop, and I check for signs of instability, but the break seems surprisingly clean. Cracks do not extend more than a few feet inwards, and while the section closest to the shard tilts, everything else seems level. The building could almost have been carved by a knife.
A group of bottom-levellers are standing before us, mostly male, clad in padded coats and hats. Their outfits are brown, dirty, but they are better equipped for the harshest winter nights than we are. If we remain trapped outdoors, we must hope the weather remains mild until we can layer up.
The lad who beckoned us speaks: 'Not a good idea to be roaming the streets now, between the soldiers and the crazies…'
'The crazies?' Bex says.
'That's what we call them. If they get a hold of you, they beat you, bite you, leave you squirming in the road. There's no point in fighting back because they can take a hell of a beating and keep coming. Sometimes they snap out of it, act all confused. I've even seen one apologise, run home crying. If they carry on like this, the soldiers will probably gun them all down.'
'Where did they come from?' I say, utterly baffled by the sudden outbreak of mass insanity because I have never heard of such a thing. Well, unless you consider Samarian gatherings mass insanity.
'Around here. They were just ordinary residents. About three weeks ago, I saw my first crazy, and thought it was a one-off, but since then I've seen about one new crazy a day, sometimes a few. I've no idea what's driving them to be this way, but the scary thing is, the way their numbers are growing, we dunno who'll be next. It could be any one of us. As you can imagine, we've been reluctant to go down these past few days. This whole thing's a nightmare.'
'You've been stuck up here the wh-whole time? Were you up here when this thing fell?' Oscar points to the Skye Elevator shaft which is just a beastly shadow against the night sky.
'Yeah, the shard struck the building at night – it was glowing orange so we feared fire, but then the rain fell, turned to steam and hissed. The impact wiped out a few huts, killed four of our friends, and many more in the building below. The screams from those trapped inside lasted for days. No ambulances came, no rescue droids, nothing. We were all in a state of shock. We still are,' the lad says.
I picture the explosion of Orbital City, and the Skye Elevator fragmenting and showering Medio. The shard has been catapulted maybe ten or twelve miles. It seems to have speared the ground and then fell against the apartment building, slicing through masonry until eventually it stopped, and the sheared section simply collapsed.
I would have expected something so large to explode on impact, but I keep hearing how robust and lightweight those materials are, and this proves the point. It seems surreal to be seeking refuge here, and I wonder what might trigger further collapse. Strong winds? Nearby explosions?
The key question is, where lies the greater risk, in or above the warzone? My guess is the risk above the warzone will increase faster than the risk down below, meaning this is a very temporary solution.
'We saw the fire burning in the sky and were scared to leave, but just as scared to stay. We thought more of the building might collapse, but from what we can tell, it's pretty steady, and we have food, water, shelter. Down below, there's gunfire, bombs, and crazies.'
'I can't believe you've been trapped here after something so horrible happened to your friends. You must be desperate to leave.' I fix the lad's small, squinted eyes, noticing faint bruising around one. 'Everybody's facing their own nightmare now. I… I… This is really your best option?'
'Yeah, the residents evacuated, but I've no idea where they went. It was manic when they left. Crazies started attacking. People just ran, others got caught, fought in the road, and were left injured. You can imagine our reluctance to help them. Fortunately, the crazies disappeared like they always do, and the injured manage to hobble to wherever it is they've gone.
'The crazies re-emerge every day though, roaming the streets as though they're on patrol, and now we have actual military patrols. I keep asking myself, what the fuck is happening to this world?
'We figured no-one would pay attention to an abandoned building on the brink of collapse, so we could stay out of sight, out of the crossfire, all the way up here. Also, we have the option of raiding apartments for supplies. We ventured down once, got what we needed, and hurried back up. Luckily, some left their doors unlocked in their hurry to leave, but the rest are locked, and those doors are reinforced. If we had better tools…'
'What if the rest of the building collapses?' Scoop says with a shrillness in his voice which is clearly unintentional. He has no control over his tone, no sense of self-awareness, and certainly no tact.
'Then we'd be dead, I guess… Of course, the roof could give way, but the shard stands at an angle so it won't fall towards us. The farther from the shard, the lower the risk. Maybe we could move the huts. We've already shifted a couple, but it was a hell of a task, and one sustained damage. I suppose we're stuck until we have a better option. Not sure what you guys are gonna do, though,' the lad says and I glance awkwardly at the gang lingering before the shard.
'Why don't we sit down?' a large woman says, and we form a procession through the rooftop village. We reach a central area between the huts where chairs and tables are standing in the open air. They are all different shapes and sizes, some clearly self-made, others probably taken from the scrapyard. Fires are burning in metal drums, and two men and a woman are sitting near them on tattered armchairs, keeping warm. A noise like crackling fireworks fills the sky but sounds distant. Must be gunfire.
It feels colder now we have stopped moving. Cold enough that under normal circumstances I would feel sorry for myself, complain, wrap up. Yet the cold hardly seems like a big deal. I guess I am toughening up. Self-pity will not get me far.
We sit on the chairs and I glance around the huts which are made from scavenged materials like chipboard and scrap metal, but seem fairly well-constructed. The doors on some are open and a couple of residents glance at us from cramped interiors, barely big enough for beds, let alone possessions. Wood and metal and wire-mesh are lying around, possibly materials to build another hut or something else. Other than that, a few boxes, sheets of plastic, ladders, and
junk.
This is not the first time I have visited a rooftop village. The girls and I used to cross the river to meet boys who lived in a place just like this. One rooftop village looks the same as the next. It used to always freak me out going up there, climbing the fire escape ladder, yet I never once chickened out. The boys used to mess around, run along the ledges, and basically do everything to risk falling to a messy death. Maybe to impress us, but more likely because boys are hardwired to be maniacs. Certainly some are. They seek out unnecessary danger, obtain avoidable injuries, live shorter lives. Maniacs.
'It's a good job you spotted us,' I say, wondering why the lad was braving the damaged side of the building. He was standing at the intact corner and the shard was pointing away, but the section was clearly high-risk.
'I was checking for crazies, heard 'em yapping and yowling and making all sorts of weird noises. They seemed to be settling down until you arrived. I watched you shoot one with your phaser. Dunno why you didn't keep shooting,' the lad says from across our table which has a plastic top and rusty legs.
'Well, I felt guilty when the woman fell, and I dunno how much power this thing has.' I pat the phaser on my belt-line. 'I need to use it sparingly.'
'So you climbed all the way up here instead?' the lad says as I gaze at the mid-section of his surprisingly plump face. The top section is covered by a large woolly hat, and the bottom section is hidden beneath a short beard, through which I glimpse a broken tooth.
'I can't believe I made it so high. We've been walking all day. I feel like my legs are gonna fall off,' I say, and the lad smiles, then rises from his seat and enters one of the huts.
We introduce ourselves to the ten or so strangers who are mostly half-hearted, but polite in their responses, like they do not wish to make friends. To be fair, they are still in mourning. About fifteen huts stand on the rooftop, meaning either some villagers are indoors, or some of the huts are unoccupied, hopefully. The youngest villagers are maybe early twenties, and the oldest could be anything from late thirties to early fifties. It can be hard to tell with bottom-levellers. Our kind age quickly.
'Strange to have guests up here,' one of them says from another table, and someone replies almost inaudibly. Their voices are faint, breathless, and I am unsure whether their intention is not to be overheard. Maybe they feel as weary as we are, just for different reasons.
'We've got nowhere to go,' I say, fixed by starey eyeballs. 'We can't return home.' No-one has the strength to respond, but this is clearly not what the villagers want to hear.
I pull a pindo from my pocket, and as I peel the skin, the gang eagerly join in. We devour the fruit and vegetables we acquired from the Enclave, even the carrots and weird stuff I do not recognise. The table is quickly covered in skins and seeds and inedible parts which are strangely tempting. The villagers are eating from tins and drinking from filtration flasks, and they do not seem interested in sharing. Fair enough, I suppose.
I am so exhausted I feel shaky and fuzzy headed. My legs and feet ache, even my eyelids ache, and I badly need to sleep, but somehow I cannot see myself getting cosy up here. Although our guests have welcomed us into their sanctuary, I distinctly feel like we are outsiders. We are not really wanted, just pitied, but no-one has been cruel enough to say so. Supplies will not last long, and we will be expected to get our own, if we stay longer than one night. How would we do this? And where would we even sleep?
The lad who originally beckoned us, the one with the small eyes and woolly hat, is called Kezan. He emerges from his hut and rejoins our table with a tin of food and a filtration flask. He is the most talkative, the most welcoming, and one of the few whose name I can actually remember.
'That drum's our bin.' Kezan points to a metal drum which is not burning, and I take the hint, scooping up our remains and placing them in the rubbish. 'I have a spare sleeping bag. It's old and filthy, but it'll keep you warm. If you spread it out, it should cover the four of you. There's a large plastic sheet you can lay across the roof, but nothing comfier, I'm afraid. If you sleep between the fire drums, it shouldn't be too bad, as long as the weather stays calm.'
'Thanks, Kezan, I guess… This isn't exactly a long term solution, is it? One storm and…'
'There is another option for you. The front door of the building's open. You can get down the fire escape. If you be quick, you can get inside without anyone noticing. There are risks of course. Any part of the building could be unstable, especially the side closest to the shard, so you'd have to stick to the other side. There are corpses inside, and crazies could've found their way in by now. There could even be survivors we don't know about. There probably are. On the plus side, water is flowing in the taps. We can lend you some filtration flasks. And there's food…'
'If the weather takes a turn for the worse, we may chance it, but right now, I think I'd feel safer up here, if that's okay,' I say.
'Well, we're not gonna turn you away, but we don't have much to give you either. If you can find some supplies, you can stay. Having said all that, I don't know how much longer we'll be staying, if I'm honest. If the building shows any sign of instability…'
Sleepless Night
Kezan drags a blue plastic sheet across the rooftop and places it between the fire drums, but it refuses to lie flat. He pins three corners with the legs of the armchairs, the fourth with a rusty bar, then enters his hut. Moments later, he emerges with a sleeping bag which he places over the plastic sheet. 'There's a sack of coals down there. I'm off to bed now.' Kezan returns to his hut, and the others have already entered theirs, meaning we are now alone.
The temperature is almost cold enough for ice to form, but thankfully there is no breeze. I throw a few coals into each of the fire drums and we climb onto the plastic sheet – our not-so-cosy bed for the night. Bex and I sit at one side, leaving a gulf between us and the boys, and we pull the sleeping bag over us. It is ever-so-slightly damp and smells like stray dogs, but it will keep us alive, I guess.
'Every time I think we've hit rock bottom, we manage to go lower,' I mutter as I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes. Gunfire crackles as I twist and turn on the cold, hard rooftop, barely feeling the flames, desperate to rest, but unable to switch off. No way can I spend every night like this.
So much for toughening up…
Hours of broken sleep pass, and I hear a familiar rhythmic thumping – gentle at first, but growing heavier – and then I hear an indistinct man's voice. Climbing out of the sleeping bag, I sneak to the roof-ledge, lying flat and peering down. The road is dark because lamp posts and buildings are powerless, but I perceive a moonlit procession of soldiers who have come to a standstill.
'Come another step closer and I'll shoot!' a soldier booms with a western Anatolian accent. An indistinct figure lunges towards the soldier who is standing at the front of the procession. BANG! BANG! The figure stops moving and turns invisible as it falls into shadow. Hurried footsteps come from behind and a few friends join my side.
'They just killed a crazy,' I whisper, and as they peer over the ledge, I unclip the phaser from my belt-line. I scurry to the other roof-ledge and scan the intersecting road. Two figures are lingering in the shadows so I stun them before the soldiers arrive, concentrating fire to ensure they do not quickly wake up. They may be 'crazies' but they are still people and I cannot just let them be gunned down.
The boots pound again as a hand grabs my wrist and I turn to face Kezan, close enough to see crumbs in his beard. 'If those soldiers see your phaser beam, they could shoot,' he whispers.
'Don't worry, I'm not about to take them on.' I holster my phaser and we watch the procession pass the intersection. 'I shot two crazies, stunned them before the soldiers got here. They should wake up in a few minutes.'
One of the crazies is already squirming on the road – these people recover damn quickly like something is driving them. They probably belong inside a hospital, but no-one is going to be rounding them up. They are simply target practi
ce. At least the victim seemed too far gone to grasp what was happening, and passed instantly without suffering.
The six who woke up – Oscar, Bex, and a few villagers – gather at the tables, sitting in the dim light and relative warmth of the fire drums. Scoop snores loudly as Kezan removes his thick coat, then rolls up his tattered sleeve. He reveals what looks like a healing bite-mark on his forearm – a semi-circular row of scabs.
'I'm not sure whether saving them was a good idea. This is what one did to me,' Kezan says.
'Bit you?' I say.
'Yeah, we'd gone down for supplies before the shard fell. At this point, we weren't as familiar with the crazies. We'd seen one or two things, but didn't realise the scope of the problem. On our way back, I was trailing behind Sirah and Owen when I was ambushed by three of 'em. They came charging right at me. I thought I was fighting them off quite comfortably. They were aggressive, but clumsy, and easy to beat up, or so I thought…
'They just kept coming, getting up off the ground, and a fat lot of good those two were. They disappeared around the corner. I was tiring. I thought I was in real trouble when Sirah returned with a huge plank of wood. She knocked my two male attackers out cold. The third was a tiny woman. She looked completely harmless, but she got on top of me, and I was too weak to fend her off. She sank her teeth straight into my forearm, right through my sleeve. If only I was wearing my coat… Sirah made her pay though, battered her with that plank, and then we ran to the fire escape.'
'Since then, we've been more careful about going down. We scan the area, make sure everything is clear, and we don't dawdle, just move silently from A to B,' Sirah says.
