Robinson Crusoe 2244

by E. J. Robinson

  When Friday leaped on the hood of an old car, the concrete deck beneath gave way and a large chunk of bridge plummeted into the river, taking the car and Friday with it. Robinson raced to the barrier just as Friday reemerged, flailing in the water as the fast moving current pulled her quickly downstream.

  “Friday!” Robinson yelled.

  His first instinct was to jump in after her, but he wasn’t a great swimmer either, so he raced to the end of the bridge and tore down the embankment a hundred meters downstream. Friday thrashed against the current, but when she saw an area cluttered with debris, she swam toward it and grabbed the branches of a half-submerged tree.

  As Robinson scrambled down the bank, he saw her gasping for air after taking in a mouthful of water. Her position was precarious, but looking downstream, he saw the river fed into a wider tributary. Should she reach that point, there was little chance of her making it back. Even worse, the water was nearly freezing. He was only in it up to his ankles and already both legs were nearly numb.

  “Hold on!” he yelled as he peeled off his coat and the Iron Fist’s bag. He looked around for something to toss her. He spotted an old stretch of rope, gummed up with mud. When he grabbed it, it disintegrated in his hands. He knew panic would sink them both, so he gathered his focus, aware they’d only get one chance.

  “Cru-soe,” Friday called weakly. “Hurry!”

  At last he saw a long, rusty guardrail hidden in some brambles. He twisted it free and thrust it into the water. The cold metal bit into his hands. It wasn’t long enough by half to reach Friday where she was, but he was out of options, so he ran a dozen meters downstream and walked out until the water reached his knees.

  “Okay!” he yelled. “I’m ready when you are!”

  Friday barely managed a nod before letting go. Robinson was stunned how quickly the water took her. He had an instant to react as the brief shock of black hair approached. He knew instantly it wouldn’t be enough. Then he saw Friday’s long arms and legs stroke ferociously until, at the last moment, her hand broke through the surface of the water and grabbed hold of the guardrail.

  The impact nearly pulled Robinson off his feet as the guardrail swung toward open water. He wasn’t sure how she held on, but he quickly pulled her in and dragged her to shore.

  Despite gasping, her teeth chattering, and her skin turning blue, her grip was like iron. Robinson wrapped his jacket around her.

  “I’ve got you,” he said over and over.

  “Mu-st go,” she replied, her voice weak.

  She was right. Night had fallen. The river might have masked this near fatal event, but they were still in the open.

  He wrapped the Iron Fist bag around his neck before loading her onto his back. At any other time, she would have protested, but she must have known there was no other choice. He struggled up to the roadway and started jogging back toward the memorial.

  They had barely cleared the bridge when the howls rang like a chorus, echoing from every building along the street. Robinson stopped, chest heaving. Once again, they were trapped.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Tracks

  “We have to find somewhere to hole up,” Robinson said.

  Friday was shaking badly. They were at the edge of the campus Resi had run onto earlier. He felt her nod.

  “If it’s good enough for Resi, it’s good enough for us.”

  Robinson ran onto the campus, passing a faded sign that read, “GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY,” just as a number of lumbering shadows appeared in the street. The school itself was made up of gothic, brick buildings with towering steeples and a number of overrun gardens and brick walkways. He could almost picture how beautiful it must have looked and how students his age had once freely pursued an education with no restrictions.

  As darkness descended, there was little choice but to make for the nearest building. Then Friday’s trembling hand pointed toward the ground.

  “L-look,” she stammered.

  There, in the mud, were a number of paw prints leading away. Robinson followed them across the quad to a glass building wedged into the grass near the center of the school. Resi had entered the building through a broken windowpane near the lobby. He carefully set Friday on her feet and pried the window open so they could slip inside.

  The hallway was expectedly dark, so they stood still, listening for sounds of life. Outside, the wind had begun to pick up and the leaves rustled in the breeze. After a few minutes, they heard the approach of a render outside, but because of the river water or their good fortune, it failed to catch their scent.

  When the torch clicked on in his hands, Friday blanched.

  “Sorry, it was in the bag. I meant to show it to you earlier.”

  “W-hat is it?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “It’s a torch. Meant for seeing in the dark.”

  “C-can it w-w-w-arm?”

  “No, it doesn’t put out heat, but it can help us find something that does.”

  He went to pick her up again, but she signaled that she could walk.

  The light was bright, so he pointed it at the floor. There, they saw Resi’s paw prints leading down the corridor. They led to a stairwell and then up to the fifth floor and to an area marked “GENETICS.” They had detected no odor of renders along the way.

  When they reached a T-junction at the end of the hall, Friday let off a soft, trill whistle. A moment later, a low whine sounded within one of the rooms.

  They followed Resi’s tracks to a set of double doors that had been wedged slightly open. Friday drew her knife and Robinson his tomahawk as they peered inside. Resi was lying on an old couch. His tail thumped when he saw them.

  “Look at him. I don’t know whether to kiss him or skin him alive. You all alone in here, boy?”

  Resi jumped down and trotted over, nuzzling up against both of them.

  The room was filled with lab equipment, but it wasn’t nearly as neglected as the others. Robinson checked the closets, but they were empty. Friday was already stumbling toward the couch. There was an old blanket atop it, covered in dust and hair. Only when Friday stripped off her clothes and had the blanket wrapped around her did they huddle on the couch for warmth.

  “Should I start a fire?” Robinson asked.

  Friday shook her head. “Hold me.”

  A moment later, Resi leaped onto the couch next to them and wormed his way into Friday’s lap. Robinson scratched behind his ears. When Friday groaned, his nose rubbed up against the food satchel. Friday pulled out some meat and gave it to him. He didn’t seem to mind that it was soaked with river water.

  They lay there for a good turn without speaking, both beyond exhaustion. Only when Friday’s coloring returned did she start asking questions.

  “The bing yuan …”

  “Soldiers.”

  “They come from your homeland?”

  He nodded. “They’re called Iron Fists. They’re a special unit assigned to protect the Regent, our leader.”

  “And the slaves?”

  “Political prisoners. Dead men walking.”

  “But you know them?”

  He thought of Taskmaster Satu. “Some better than others. What I don’t get is what they’re doing here. Or if their objective is somehow connected to my mother.”

  He could see she didn’t understand.

  “The flyer I stole was directed by coordinates she’d written down but kept hidden in the locket I keep. Today, when I stepped inside the flyer, I saw a similar set of coordinates. Similar, but not exact. Two of the numbers were off by one.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “Only that there was something important enough here that was worth her risking her life for.”

  “Like paper? The soldiers carried much away.”

  He nodded.

  “What was it?”

  He shrugged. “Relics, I think. Ruinas. Information. Technology, maybe. Things long ago banned.” She didn’t und
erstand the last word. “It’s our version of …” He made the warding gesture she so often used. She nodded and then shivered violently. He pulled her close and held her tightly, brushing the hair from her eyes. “You took a nasty fall back there. And I don’t know how you survived the river.”

  “You … fall too.”

  He wasn’t sure what she meant until she mimed his fall from the ceiling.

  “Hey, you’re a hard girl to impress. A guy has to do something.”

  “You make jokes where there should be none. But I was proud. You did not hesitate. You did not stop. Even when the render carga. Charge. You did not fear it?”

  “No, I was very much afraid.”

  “But still you attacked it. This is Aserra. We do not welcome death, but we do not run from it either.”

  Robinson grinned. “Does that mean we get matching tattoos?”

  When her eyebrow arched, he pointed to her brand. She punched him softly and laid her head on his chest.

  “I am your mestre. Your teacher. I will sharpen you as best I can. But you will never be Aserra,” she said.

  To his surprise, that proclamation hurt deeply, though he tried not to let it show. She seemed to sense it anyway.

  “The Aserra,” she said, “are a hard race that has known much pain. Much darkness. You are a child of light. There is hope in you—a fire that lights the dark around you. I do not wish for that flame to die.”

  Outside, a gust of wind blew a branch across the glass. Friday’s eyes grew heavy.

  “You need rest. Why don’t you stretch out here and get some sleep.”

  “You will wake me for my turn?”

  He nodded as she curled up with Resi. When he licked her ear, Robinson felt an odd moment of jealousy. That damn dog never spooned him.

  With nothing to do, he walked around the room, touching tubes and beakers. Like everything in this city, it seemed work had just stopped midstream, as if people had simply vanished without a wink. Had the students finished some test before the lights went out? Had the professors conducted their final experiments?

  He hoped to find an answer on the chalkboards at the front of the room, but after switching on the torch to read, a strange panic swelled inside him. His throat grew dry and he felt dizzy. He had to sit down; otherwise, he might not believe his eyes.

  The sun was barely up when Friday woke, but he was still staring at the chalkboard. She rose and stretched with a yawn, followed by Resi, who scratched, his tag jingling lightly, before he padded to the door to go outside and mark some trees.

  “You did not wake me,” she said as she drew near.

  “No,” he said. “You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “You have been awake all this time?”

  He nodded absently. She yawned again and plopped down into the chair next to him. Her eyes followed his to the boards.

  “What is this?” Friday asked.

  “Research. Someone was conducting a series of tests on the antigens of various blood groupings.” She frowned. “Blood,” he said. “They were studying blood.”

  “Whose blood?”

  “Humans and renders.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “This is the biology building. And this floor is actually dedicated to the study of genetics and infectious diseases, including mutations in human DNA. I imagine when the Rendering first hit, this room was full of scientists running around, performing tests, looking for a cura.”

  “But one was not found.”

  “No. Not before anyway. But these notations are not from before.”

  “When are they from?”

  “I can’t give you a specific date, but gauging by the amount of dust, I would say at least a year ago. But I can guarantee it was no more than sixteen months.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “Because sixteen months is how long ago my mother disappeared.”

  “And you say your mother why?”

  He nodded toward the chalkboard. “Because that is her handwriting.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Seeking Answers

  The early morning return to the memorial was met without resistance, but when they reached the structure, Robinson saw signs that renders had done their best to break through the barricade. There was also some damage to the trough leading from the waterwheel inside. Within a turn he had repaired it.

  He finally had time to sift through the Iron Fist’s pack he’d taken from the flyer. Friday had slept on it the night before. It contained mostly survival equipment. Along with the torch he’d already commandeered, there was a phosphorous flare, a medical kit, a hand-held radio, a bottle of water, three small bars of food, and a map.

  It was the map he took particular interest in. It was a pre-Rendering map of the area, complete with the names of buildings, parks, and sections of the city. Only two locations were circled. The Pentagon, which bore the numbers he’d seen in the flyer:

  3852773

  And to the east, a second location was circled with the numbers:

  38477653

  That location turned out to be the military base he’d stumbled across when he had first entered the city. Someone had written: BASE OF OPERATIONS.

  Neither of these numbers matched the one he’d found in his mother’s locket:

  3853772

  But the Pentagon appeared closer. Unless he could discover a map that used similar coordinates, he would never determine the exact location she had identified. Unfortunately, the Atlas section of the library had been destroyed under a collapsed roof. If he hoped to narrow the mystery of his mother’s actions, he’d have to do it by some other means.

  The day spent away from the memorial held an added consequence: the embers that fueled the smoker had died with their largest cache of beef inside. If they were to leave the city on Friday’s timetable, they needed that meat ready. He carefully restarted the smoker, but it would be turns before they knew if the meat had spoiled.

  Robinson was also determined to keep an eye on Friday. Although she bore no physical wounds from her fall from the bridge, she was moving slower than usual and had developed a cough, which quickly prompted the brewing of herbs. She said it was a precaution rather than a serious worry, but he wasn’t so sure.

  Over the course of the day, neither spoke much. Both dwelled on different things. For Friday, it was leaving the city before the Bone Flayers returned. If she were there when they returned, she would not be able to resist the call of drums. She would attack and it would mean both of their deaths.

  Robinson’s mind was troubled over the two people from his past who had intersected with his present. There was no denying he had once hated Taskmaster Satu, but one of the realities of becoming an adult was the realization that some acts that hurt you were done to shape, not scar, and that those responsible often bore the pains just as profoundly. His teacher was such a man. Now Robinson was preparing to leave his former teacher to a fate he himself had set in motion.

  The other thorn he couldn’t pull out was his mother, but he wouldn’t go there yet.

  “The smoker is good,” Friday said. “The meat is unspoiled.”

  “That’s great news. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” she answered before offering a familiar refrain, “Forever ready.”

  Robinson smiled, but he could tell she was weary.

  “There is no question you are Aserra. Braver and stronger than any Cimoshi.” She nodded appreciatively. “But you need more rest.”

  She tried to wave him off, but he gently took her hand. “My mother was a healer. A curador. She knew such things were important not to dismiss. You are tired. You have a fever, and your cough is getting worse.”

  “There is no time to rest. The full moon—”

  “Is not for several days. I promise, by then we’ll be long gone. And you know the dangers of travelling ill-prepared better than anyone.”

  She reluctantly nodded, but there w
as something else bothering her.

  “What is it?”

  “I feel these past days … someone watches us.”

  He asked her who, but she shook her head. Finally, she gave in. “I will rest tonight. First, I yu lie to do.”

  “Yu lie?” he asked, the edge of his mouth curling up.

  “Fish-ing,” she enunciated. “Is a terrible word to the mouth.”

  “You lie isn’t so cheery in our language either. Okay, you fish. I’m going to go up top and scout around.”

  Robinson crossed to the steel ladder and started for the roof. Halfway up, Friday called his name. She hadn’t moved.

  “To the Aserra, a warrior’s word is his quan. You will come, as you promised?”

  Her voice was soft, unsure. The first time he’d ever heard it so.

  “Yes,” he said, but as he headed up the ladder, he knew he wasn’t sure.

  From the roof, Robinson did a cursory scan of the perimeter and basin. Outside of a few birds and squirrels, there was nothing to see. He took the eyeglass and looked farther upriver where the Bone Flayers would come from, but the water was as still as glass with only a few isolated chunks of ice too stubborn to melt.

  In the park, the trees that had only begun to foster buds would bloom into cherry blossoms and turn the killing fields beautiful once again. Bushes would grow fuller and leaves would dance in the wind. He was reminded, once again, how happy he’d been there with Friday. She had become his north star but also the seed that had given him roots. How could he ever have compared what he’d felt for Tessa with what he felt for her?

  But those thoughts brought him back to his mother, and for once, he had to face the truth that he didn’t know if she was dead or alive. He wanted so badly to believe she was alive, but the city was fraught with perils. The lab where she’d worked had shown no signs of infiltration, but she couldn’t have lived there long. Even if her escape had been plotted, the flyer’s provisions couldn’t have lasted her more than a year. How had she survived afterward? How had she kept the will to live? The mother he knew was hale in body and mind, but she was no hunter. But then he hadn’t been either, until coming to the continent. The older he got, the more he understood that people changed through necessity, not by choice.