Alt.History 102 (The Future Chronicles)

by Samuel Peralta

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Not really.”

  “You know, Harl, I don’t do this for my health.”

  “You want to talk business.”

  Pettray nodded. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

  “Considerable.”

  “And?”

  I slung the pack from my shoulder and tossed it onto the table.

  Pettray gave me a sour look. “Same ol’ same ol’ is it? Too bad. We could have made a fortune. What do I owe you this time? Drive three dozen luxury recliners out to the commune? A hundred mattresses?”

  “You might want to have a look for yourself.”

  Slowly, he reached for the pack and pulled back the flap. He cocked his head at an oblique angle and gazed at the contents within.

  “You have some sick sense of humor, Harl.” He held up a fistful of dried out wooden brambles. “What the hell is this?”

  “Brittleroot.”

  “You know, if you wanted to terminate our arrangement, you could have sent word. You didn’t need to come all this way just to mock me with—” he held out the brittleroot “—this.”

  “It’s what you’re looking for.”

  Pettray gave the twigs a second glance.

  “This?”

  “That’s it.”

  “It’s dead.”

  “Almost.”

  Pettray’s people had been absolutely certain that our secret was some obscure cactus or plant that we had managed to hide from view. Their mistake was believing that the miracle of our survival was actually a secret in the first place.

  But the answer was in plain sight.

  Brittleroot was everywhere. Dried, dead looking weeds, growing in clusters. You couldn’t look across the landscape of Death Valley without seeing it.

  Brittleroot pulled moisture to itself from the surrounding area. When properly watered, it flowered purple and red on a bright green stalk. The reason very few ever saw it flower was because it never got the chance. The plants surrounding it intercepted that moisture leaving it with sparse little of its own.

  In the harsh desert climate, brittleroot survived on nothing so everything around it could thrive.

  Pettray rolled the flaking twigs between his thumb and forefinger. “This… is it?”

  I nodded. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Do we have a deal?” Pettray laughed. “Of course we have a deal. Partner.”

  Pettray hurriedly shoved the brittleroot back in the bag and gathered his belongings. He had what he wanted. There was no reason to stay longer than necessary. Or to be cordial.

  He stopped for a moment and looked at me. “This changes everything for you, doesn’t it?”

  “It does.”

  “So that’s why you brought her along.”

  “Something like that.”

  His eyes flicked back and forth. I could feel him reading my expression, digging for some hidden bit of truth.

  “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  It irritated me how good Pettray was at cutting to the chase. Even as a man of few words, I found myself with fewer to choose from.

  “No.”

  “Harl, you really are a dirty dog. You know she can never go back to the commune now.”

  My silence was one of the few things that seemed to grind at Pettray.

  “I mean it, Harl. She can’t go back. You know what needs to be done if she decides to leave.”

  I felt a rock in my chest, pushing its way into my throat, choking me. I inhaled, feeling only dust claw my lungs.

  “I know.”

  Some hours later, Lindz came tumbling out of the front entrance with the kid on her arm. They were laughing and hanging all over each other. Then the kid made his move, telegraphing it in all its awkward glory. Pulling her arm, he spun Lindz toward him, leaned in, and landed a kiss.

  She stood rigid for a second before relaxing into his embrace and reciprocating. When they finally broke apart, the first thing Lindz saw was me.

  “Daddy!” She blushed.

  I’d never seen her kiss a boy before. I mean, I assumed she had. She was nearly a woman. But this was the first time I’d personally witnessed the event.

  She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand and took a step toward me.

  “It’s not what you think, Daddy.”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  Her panic dissipated, but her cheeks still glowed rosy. I could hardly blame her. This was a new experience. She was the center of attention. The star of her own little show in a city teeming with life.

  Maybe things would solve themselves. Maybe she’d want to stay.

  The thought bit at me. I knew better. And Los Angeles would change her. It changed everyone. The elders had left the city to avoid its influence. Even that wasn’t enough to escape. And now I was cursing my daughter to the same existence. Doomed her to the same baited hook.

  I offered her my hand. “How about I show you around?”

  “I’d like that.”

  I’d almost forgotten about the kid. He was whispering in Lindz’s ear, begging was more like it, tugging on her arm, probably trying to lure her back to his place.

  “You can bring your, eh, friend along if you want.”

  Pettray had left his driver behind. That Pettray. He could be a real asshole. He’d have people watching. The driver was just the first. Watching to make sure Lindz made the right choice. Making sure that his deal was secure. That word of my betrayal couldn’t get back to the commune. At least not until after they had acquired, monetized, and distributed our little secret. Then the commune could know, but, by then it would be far too late.

  The limo left the strip and headed north.

  The 405 was barren. Not many people travelled by car, at least not over long distances. Not like when I was a kid. The rising cost of water made individual travel cost prohibitive. A chrome Mercedes SUV took the freeway onramp behind us. Those were the types that could afford to cruise the freeways. Rich assholes visiting from upriver for a night on the town.

  Inside the limo, the kid was toying with the divider between the main cab and the driver. Raising it up and down, grinding my nerves.

  “You mind?”

  “Sorry.” He stopped, leaving the divider in the up position.

  “You got a name, kid?”

  The kid held his tongue. I wasn’t really sure what to make of the reaction. Or lack of one.

  “His name’s Ben, Pop. He’s been telling me all about the city.”

  “Good things, I’m sure.”

  Lindz stifled a laugh. “Uh, yeah. Sorta.”

  “Well,” said Ben with a devilish grin looking slightly out of place on his baby face, “it wasn’t just about the city.”

  Lindz locked eyes with Ben, then giggled some more. She leaned into his shoulder, smothering herself and her laughter into the side of his neck.

  Despite my worries, it was good to see Lindz having a good time. Maybe a change of scenery would be good for her. I couldn’t help but smile. A chuckle even escaped.

  I couldn’t argue with her happiness.

  Ben casually pointed in my direction. “Noticed you no longer have your pack. You leave it at the club? We could go back and get it.”

  I flew out of my seat, dropping my shoulder into Ben’s chest. I put my full weight behind the hit.

  Lindz screamed, “Pop! What are you doing?!”

  “Who sent you?!” I smashed Ben’s nose flat. “Pettray put you up to this didn’t he?” I shook Ben, as I screamed, “Didn’t he?!”

  Lindz pulled at my arm as I reared back, but she couldn’t slow me. I rolled Ben over, shoved his face into the window, and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. Flipping through it, I stopped on an ID card. An employee badge.

  Over my shoulder, Lindz could see it. “What is that?”

  “Competition,” I said.

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Not our competition.
Pettray’s.”

  “Why would his competition be following us?” Lindz looked at me. At my hands. Mentally adding the pieces. Slotting them together. The lack of my pack. My reaction.

  She knew.

  “You didn’t,” she said.

  “Now’s not the time.”

  Ben spat bloody spittle on my shoulder. “We’re going to get what we want. We always do.”

  I punched him again to shut him up. It only partially worked. He groggily croaked a blood-soaked expletive.

  Tires screeched and the limo swerved. Lindz sailed across the interior. I used Ben as a cushion, knocking the wind out of him in the process.

  The limo came to a stop and the door to my right was flung open. The driver stood over us, aiming a pistol. “Everything okay?”

  “Copasetic,” I said and pushed Ben face first out of the limo. Gravity helped his unconscious body slither from the vehicle.

  The driver nudged Ben with his foot. “What’s this?”

  “Company. The BelleTrade Company to be exact.”

  “Him?”

  “Well, a flunky. He was following us. Gathering intel, I guess.”

  “Pettray’s not going to like—” Before the driver could finish, a chrome Mercedes SUV slammed into the limo pushing it through the guardrail. The driver vanished, tossed off the seaside cliff into the night sky.

  Gathering darkness swirled behind my eyes. My lids were heavy. Everything moved as if in slow motion.

  Lindz…

  Lindz was still in the car. I could hear her breathing. Heavy panting.

  The stink of gasoline.

  The limo groaned, straining metal, bending under its own weight, clinging to the side of the cliff. The tires dug trenches in the gravel, but it was only a matter of time.

  Two men exited the Mercedes. The one trailing behind, picked up the driver’s gun and shot Ben’s unconscious body twice in the head.

  The rest was black.

  * * *

  Lindz!

  She was the first thought on my mind as I regained consciousness.

  I kept my eyes shut, listening to my surroundings. Listening for the milling footsteps of my captors.

  But there were none.

  Only the sound of dripping water, accompanied by a musty smell. Something stale.

  I opened my eyes.

  The room was dimly lit by a single bulb dangling from a cord. A labyrinth of rusty pipes choked the ceiling. Water seeped from joints, leaving rust colored puddles on the floor.

  I was propped up on a steel chair in the middle of the room. Struggling was no use. My hands were fastened behind my back. Someone made sure I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Through a yellowed window in the door, I saw shapes moving in the neighboring hall. Heard a door open and close.

  Followed by a scream—shrill glass-shattering primitive instinct vibrating across raw vocal chords. It communicated a singular message: DANGER.

  It could have been anyone.

  But a father knows.

  Lindz.

  She was alive.

  And someone was hurting her.

  I threw my weight into the chair. The steel legs rattled against the bolts that fastened it the floor. Nylon rope sawed at my wrists.

  I was supposed to protect her from harm. Shelter her from the horrors that the world could throw at her.

  And I had marched her right into the maw of danger.

  The screams died down and the door in the hall opened again. Shapes moved. This time toward my window.

  The door opened and Lindz was tossed at my feet. Battered and bruised. The neck of her shirt was stretched out, looping over an exposed shoulder. She was moving. Barely.

  “What did you tell them?” one of the men barked at me. He followed up with a right cross to my cheek.

  It was a hell of a greeting.

  “Tell who what?” I said, blinking the stars out of my eyes.

  The man who had belted me hunched down peering at my face like he was looking into a microscope. He had nappy blonde hair tucked into a ball cap. His buddy stood behind him wearing a black leather jacket, thumping a baseball bat against his shoulder. BallCap turned to LeatherJacket and nodded.

  The bat connected with my lower ribs. I winced at the pain shooting through my side.

  Lindz shrieked, then murmured something unintelligible and reached for me, barely able to elevate herself from the floor.

  BallCap chuckled and swept her arm out from under her with his foot. She smacked into the floor.

  Every muscle in my face tightened, and I could feel my face flush red hot.

  “Let’s keep this simple,” said BallCap. “We know you met with Pettray. What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing.”

  LeatherJacket hit me again with the bat. This time he connected with my shoulder and neck.

  “That’s not what we heard,” said BallCap. “Heard that he got his hands on some newfangled thing-a-mah-bobber that’s gonna make him quite the profit in the city. I’m sure you can see how that might be a problem for us.”

  BallCap punched me in the face. I tasted copper.

  “Your problem,” I said, raining blood spittle at him. “Not mine.”

  I could take it. I could take the pain.

  As long as they were no longer hurting her I could endure anything.

  They worked me over for the better part of a half hour. I was so bruised and swollen that I could hardly see. My eyes burned. A gash had opened up over my left brow and blood smeared my face.

  LeatherJacket poked me with the fat end of the bat. “What do you have to say for yourself, old man?”

  Snot and slumps of blood drizzled from my broken nose. A string of drool hung from my mouth. I fought the tears burning in my eyes, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry Lindz,” I blubbered like a child. “For dragging you into this. I’m so sorry.”

  “Ah, isn’t that sweet,” said BallCap. “The old man here is sorry.”

  “I’ll say,” said LeatherJacket.

  I began to laugh.

  They exchanged puzzled looks and then joined in with laugher of their own. “You’re too much, old man,” said BallCap.

  “You spent too much time on me,” I said.

  “Beg to differ,” said BallCap, “but we’re just getting started.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  They never saw her coming.

  A rusty pipe knocked the cap off BallCap’s head. A large red gash created a new hairline, exposing pure white bone. LeatherJacket spun, wildly swinging the baseball bat. Lindz deflected the blow and countered shattering his knee.

  As he fell to the ground, she hit him any place skin was exposed. Hands, arms, legs, and face. Mostly, the face.

  The look in her eye was something feral. Fierce. Like I had never seen before.

  * * *

  They had underestimated her.

  Not just them.

  Maybe I had too.

  Lindz was a tough kid. Almost an adult. Still, I couldn’t help seeing my little girl.

  The catwalk sang with a metallic twang under our feet. There was a slush-whump, as I dragged my leg behind me. They had worked me over something awful. Lindz on the other hand didn’t seem slowed down at all by her black eye or myriad bruises. Keeping pace was Hell on Earth. My body begged for rest, but I was too afraid to stop.

  Through the mesh of the catwalk, I could see the ground far below. We were five or six floors up.

  A clanking sound drew my attention. Instead of making the next turn, Lindz had stopped at the railing, leaning out so far I was afraid she might go over.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  Canals and irrigation ditches weaved across the valley coming to a point at the base of the building we were standing on. The building was shaped like an enormous metal octopus, eight cylinders reaching out, plunging into the earth where they met the edge of the canals far below.

  “We’re at one of the Owens Valley pump statio
ns,” I said.

  I looked out toward the far side of the valley. The ridge was lined with three and four story homes. Mansions, really. At first sight, I thought one of the owners had somehow replicated the moon and put it on display in his front yard, but it was merely a reflection in the standing water of an infinity pool.

  Lindz was looking down at the canals. “What are they doing with this thing?”

  “Diverting the flow of the river.”

  “They can’t stop the whole river.” She turned and looked at me. “Can they?”

  I shrugged. “You’re looking at it.”

  She looked back from the direction we had just fled. Her gaze tracked with the side of the building. I could see the wheels in her noggin turning.

  “We can’t let this happen,” she said.

  “No, Lindz,” I said with absolute certainty.

  She balled her hands into fists and slammed them into her hips. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “And the answer is still no. You can’t fight them. It’s too big.”

  Lindz glared at me. Her eyes flicked back and forth, searching, for what I couldn’t be certain. “How can you not see? The Angelenos, they need this water.”

  “Maybe they do. But the Owensfolk will never let that happen.”

  “Screw the Owensfolk! This isn’t right! You know it, Pop! We need to do something!”

  “No. They will kill us.”

  “We can’t let this happen.”

  “Fighting is pointless. This isn’t on a scale that we can have an effect. This is a war between two corporations.”

  “We have to try.”

  “Lindz… We can’t.”

  “No,” she said. “You can’t.”

  Before I could stop her, Lindz turned around and ran back inside.

  When did I raise such an idealist? How did she even know what was right and wrong with so little to go on? The war over water between PettrayCo and the BelleTrade Company had nothing to do with people. It was about profit. About power. About control. A war that had been started over a century ago. And there was nothing we could do to stop it.

  Lindz was a puzzle to me.

  I taught her to be cautious and wary. To think before acting. And above all, to be fearful of those with the ability to affect the masses. Plain and simple, I had taught her how to survive.