by Sam A. Patel
Snake considers this. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell he agrees.
The inside of the plant is dank from abandonment. Broken lights, slick floor, rust, and moss. There’s a large turbine in the ceiling that once spun under its own power but now drifts lethargically in the breeze. Every footstep, every movement, every sound seems to echo as if in a canyon. Even when Snake communicates in hand signals, there is always that pop of a joint or creak of a glove that cannot be helped. The only thing that masks our noise is the slide of the window upstairs where Dexter and Red Tail come in.
Martin points out the cutoff valve we’re looking for.
All of the control equipment is covered in undisturbed grime, so if they have been here, they haven’t used it. Still, we have to check things out. I take a step forward, but Snake balls a fist to stop me. He wants to check it out first. He moves in, and even though I should hang back, I follow on his heels.
Jutting up out of the floor is a giant teal pipe that connects to a network of ceiling pipes running deeper into the plant. Attached to the main pipe is a royal-blue restrictor cuff, and attached to that is a giant lever that looks completely rusted until I realize it’s just painted that color.
Snake turns around and bumps right into me. Then he glares at me the same way Martin does when I don’t listen. “The main restrictor,” he says. “That’s what’s keeping the flammable water out of the town’s pipes. The valve hasn’t been opened yet, but…”
“What?”
“Something isn’t right.”
Beep.
“Shhh.”
“What?”
“Did you hear that?”
“Yeah, it’s coming from somewhere over—”
Beep. Still faint, but this time discernable. Snake peers into and around the restrictor. Beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep, beep, beep, beep-beep-beep-beep-beep . . .
“Fire in the hole!” screams Snake as he grabs my collar and pulls me back. On the second floor, Red Tail does the same to Dexter. We all run for the exits. None of us make it.
The charge blows the giant lever clean off the restrictor cuff and sends it flying through the plant like it’s a six-foot wrench that’s just been hurled at us by a twenty-five-foot giant. It sails clean over our heads and slams into the second floor railing a few feet away from where Red Tail and Dexter were just standing, leaving behind a giant dent as it crashes down onto the main floor like seven anvils all forged into one.
The pipe moans. Snaps. Rattles and hums. It does all the little things that pipes do, all at once. Then a low rumble fills the plant as sharp streams of smelly water spray up out of the restrictor.
“Is it going to blow?” I ask.
Martin shakes his head. “The seals are dried out. Leaks are to be expected after this much downtime, but it’ll hold.”
As the water pools across the floor I can smell it even more. It really does smell bad. Like a gas station, a garbage dump, and a sewage plant all rolled into one. It’s hard to imagine it coming out of people’s taps, but it did, and it’s about to once again. The valve is open, and now this disgusting stuff that can barely be called water rushes from the tainted shallow aquifer into the town’s main pipes. You might think that townsfolk like Martin and I who have the TerraAqua bypass line will somehow escape it. We won’t. Once Blackburn lights it up, the exploding water will blow its way through. Into every pipe, into every home.
“How are they going to ignite it?” I ask.
“The main vent for the town’s water system,” says Snake. “Where is it?”
“About five miles down the road,” answers Martin. “On the outskirts of town.”
I’m relieved that Martin knew the answer to that because I didn’t.
“Come on, we’re moving out,” says Snake as Red Tail and Dexter come back around from the outside.
Five miles down the road, I think. That’s pretty close to Mr. Chupick’s farm.
31
The main vent for the town’s water system is located between the water treatment plant and the town. It’s basically just an auxiliary valve that can be opened in an emergency to release excess pressure before it starts busting pipes in town. That’s it. Just a single valve housed in a shack surrounded by a fence. Even when the water treatment plant was in operation, it was never manned. It was never something that needed to be secured, which is why it’s strange to see a vortex chopper blasting it with lights when we arrive, like it’s some kind of bunker hiding a known enemy of the Alliance. The vortex chopper hovers steadily over the station.
“What’s it doing?” I ask.
But before Snake can answer, the chopper guns its jet, tearing away both the fence and shack from the ground. And suddenly there he is, standing right behind it. Bigsby. I jump out of the vehicle.
“Wait!” screams Martin. Snake tries to grab me, but I’m already on my feet and running toward him, until he holds up his hand and I slide to a halt. Bigsby is holding an incendiary grenade. I have to stop. Not that I could successfully rush him, but even if I could, there’s too much distance between us. He’s standing right next to the open vent.
“Welcome home, Carrion.”
“Bigsby, wait. Just wait.” Reasoning with him is all I can do. “You know we have the paper trail proving Blackburn is behind this. You know these documents are secure and will be delivered to the Alliance Senate. Think about it, Bigsby. There is no outcome in which you will gets away with this.”
Bigsby grins with teeth. “You underestimate the value of a good lobby.”
“Listen to me, Bigsby. Most of these people have struggled their entire lives to climb out of the squatter settlements. They’re not that different from you. You said that I don’t know what it’s like to really run because I haven’t run through the Red Zone with the Caliphate on my tail, and you’re right. You were a soldier fighting for the Alliance overseas, and you deserve that recognition. But these people are soldiers too. Maybe you can’t see it because they’re not in the Complex like you, but they are fighting to survive. These people…” I indicate the town of Brentwood before us, “they are the ones who did right by the Alliance. They played by the rules and worked hard. You can’t do this to them. It isn’t right. What you’re about to do…” I pause briefly to watch Bigsby roll the incendiary grenade in his hand. “This isn’t a necessary act of war, Bigsby. It’s a willful act of terrorism. You’re launching an attack on the very people you’ve been sworn to protect!”
“Hired,” he says.
“What?”
“We haven’t been sworn to protect anyone,” says Bigsby, “we’ve been hired to do that job. We may be the largest standing army in the world, but we are a private army. We are a megacorporation just like all the others, and as a megacorporation our top priority will always be our own personhood. Our primary goal has to be our own personal survival. Everything else is incidental. But I’ll tell you something. The truth, Carrion, if you really want to hear it…even if they gave me the abort code right now, I’d blow it anyway.”
Bigsby pulls the pin.
I take a step back. “No, don’t do it.” But I know the minute he tosses the pin into the vent that there is no turning back. And when he releases the striker lever on the grenade, I just stand there petrified.
“I’d blow it anyway, Carrion…just to watch you burn!”
Bigsby drops the grenade into the vent and dives for cover as no less than three hands grab me from behind and pull me to the ground.
3…2…1…
The entire ground quakes beneath me. Rumbles. Shakes. All the indicators of a seismic event but without the tectonic shift. Then comes the sudden rush of heat as a geyser of fire shoots up out of the vent and mushrooms against the pre-morning dark. This is followed by another rumble—the snap of mains—and the sound of explosive energy rushing through those mains toward the town.
The air around us stinks. Martin and Snake get to their feet b
ehind me.
“That son of a bitch,” I scowl.
“No time for that now,” says Snake. “Who’s most at risk?”
“The hospital,” says Dexter.
“The assisted living facility,” says Martin. “There’s hardly anyone on staff at night.”
A small pop rings out in the distance, nothing like the explosion from the vent but definitely something similar. That much is certain from the orange glow that colors the darkness as smoke begins to rise. I just stand there for a moment staring at it until I suddenly realize where it’s coming from. “The farm!”
Martin turns and sees at once what I mean. “Go,” he says.
Without saying a word, Dex prepares to run there with me.
“No,” I say. “I got this. They need your help in town.”
He doesn’t argue.
I put up a fist.
He barely has a chance to pound it before I’m off and running.
Living out here, Mr. Chupick doesn’t have any neighbors close by. There is no one else to check on him, which is why my feet pound the road hard to cover the distance to his farm. What I do now isn’t parkour, it’s a flat-out sprint. Running in its purest and most basic form. There’s just me, Mr. Chupick’s farm, and the distance between.
Halfway there.
I am never more than halfway there.
Even as my feet cover yards that add up fast, I am never more than halfway there. Because before I can cross that distance, I first have to cross half that distance. And so it goes, half upon half ad infinitum. Zeno’s paradox. It is a mathematical peculiarity to be sure, but that is precisely what makes it such a great metaphor. For me, for my life, for whatever Mr. Chupick meant for me to apply it to. Because there are no limits, only plateaus. And that is exactly what halfway is—it’s just a plateau.
I turn off the road to cut through the woods, which is not the smartest thing to do I admit, but following the road will take me the long way around, and I don’t have time for that.
Running. The crunch of twigs under my feet.
Running. Branches scrape across my face.
Running. Legs pumping, thighs burning, arms swinging, almost as if in slow motion.
A poem I once read back at the magnet academy pops into my head. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep. Just that one line. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
Over and over again as if on a loop. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
Almost to Mr. Chupick’s farm, I hear the high-pitch whine of an engine coming from the other direction. And almost immediately, I see the jittering beam of a headlamp bouncing up and down with the woodsy terrain.
Even though I’m on foot, I have enough of a lead to get there first, emerging from the woods onto Mr. Chupick’s land. Way over on the far side of the pasture, his house and barn are both on fire. A moment later, the dirt bike finds a ramp and comes flying out of the trees with enough air to give the shocks a full squeeze when it lands. The rider plants his boot on the ground and fishtails around. Takes off his helmet.
“Pace.”
“Dexter called me about an hour ago. I was on my way to meet you guys when I saw the fire from up on the ridge.”
“They went into town. We have to check on Mr. Chupick.”
“Yeah. Hop on.”
I jump on the dirt bike and wrap my arms tightly around his gut.
Pace looks down. “Um…you can just grab the back of my jacket.”
“Right,” I say, and quickly reposition my hands to grab his jacket instead. I’ve ridden Pace’s dirt bike before, just never on the back. “Did you take care of your house?” I ask him.
“We packed all the pipes with baking soda, but if it still blows they’re ready for it. Is Blackburn really planning to burn the entire town?”
“It’s not a plan anymore, Pace.”
Pace guns the throttle so hard he pulls a wheelie as we take off through the pasture.
32
I am amazed by how quickly the fire spreads. By the time Pace skids to a halt outside Mr. Chupick’s house, flames are already pouring out of several windows as if they were fluid.
We run up the steps and Pace kicks in the door. Inside, there is smoke everywhere, but the fire is still contained to the rooms where it first exploded out of the pipes. We run into the kitchen only to find a wet mess of soot and ash, and a giant hose coming in through the back door. The hose is attached to a pump drawing water from the well. Pace and I follow it. Through the kitchen and up the stairs, where we find Mr. Chupick standing outside his upstairs bathroom pushing back flames like a burly firefighter.
He sees us. “The barn,” he says. “Get the animals out of the barn.”
Pace tries to take the hose from Mr. Chupick but again he insists that we take care of the barn.
“You stay here,” I tell Pace. “I’ll get the barn.”
I run down the steps and out the front door, vault over the porch railing and run to the barn that is burning even faster than the house. And through the roar of that fire, I can hear the horses and sheep. When I pull open the door and enter the inferno, the first things I see are the horses neighing wildly on their hind legs and the sheep circling furiously in their pen. Whatever else there may be is hidden by smoke.
The hardware on the first stall burns my hand. I have to pull down my sleeve and use it as a glove to get at it. The instant I trip the latch, I have to dive out of the way to avoid the 800 pound animal rushing past me to get out of the barn. I move to the next one, opening the latch and getting out of the way to let that horse to freedom. Then the next. Four horses in all.
Then the sheep. I swing the pen open and move to the side expecting them to rush out like the horses, but instead they stay inside. Moving in circles but never out of the pen, even though they now have a clear path to freedom.
“GO,” I scream, but they just keep bleating. I move inside the pen and try to force them out individually, but that doesn’t work either. It’s not until I move all the way to the back of the pen and stretch my arms wide to herd them out that they leave, all at once.
A large crack echoes through the barn as a flaming roof beam suddenly breaks off and collapses to the ground, immediately igniting the hay. Now that the horses and sheep have escaped, and their cries with them, I hear the chickens. I don’t want anything to burn alive, but since it’s between them and me, I’m the only bird who’s going to make it out of here.
Another roof beam falls as I run. I slide to a halt. Dive back in the other direction to avoid it crashing down on top of me.
SLAM!
Instantly the flames begin to spread at my feet. I back up, pushing myself further into the barn, further away from the exit as the smoke and fire grow in between. There is only one way out and that is over. I run. Plant my foot on one of the stalls. Leap. Not over a concrete object but over fire. This time the fire is the obstacle, and I have to clear it just as cleanly as if it were a gap or a railing.
I leap over the crest of the fire, catching smoke in my eyes and heat in my lungs as the flames singe the bottom of my shoes. Land and keep going. The entire roof cracks. I leap again over a second blaze that feels much hotter than the first. Land. Run for the doors.
The roof. Comes. CRASHING DOWN!
As the horses and sheep make their way deeper into the pasture, the entire barn collapses behind me releasing hundreds of glowing embers that dance into the night like fiery particles of the devil’s aura. Only there is no devil behind these infernal sprites—unless you count Blackburn.
The barn is gone, but the house seems to be under control. At least there aren’t flames pouring out of it anymore. I’m about to run back inside when the front door opens, and Pace emerges half dragging Mr. Chupick on his feet. I run up the porch and wrap Mr. Chupick’s arm around my shoulders to help him.
“The barn,” he coughs.
“It’s gone. The horses and sheep are clear, but I couldn
’t get to the chickens.”
“We put out the fire upstairs,” says Pace.
Mr. Chupick keels over and launches into a violent coughing fit. We try to help him but he refuses our assistance. “I’m fine,” he says. “You two need to go.”
“We have to get you to the hospital.”
“The hospital,” Mr. Chupick wheezes in horror. “There may not be a hospital in twenty minutes.”
Pace bumps my arm. “Come on.”
I’m still reluctant to leave Mr. Chupick like that, even though I know he’ll be okay. “Go!” he insists.
Pace kickstarts the dirt bike and digs half a donut into the ground as he turns it around and pulls up next to me. “We’ll come back for him later. I swear.”
That’ll have to do. I jump on the back and grab his jacket as he guns the throttle, and we go zipping through the pasture.
I peer around Pace’s shoulder as we race into town where an orange glow reflects off the hills in the distance. This isn’t the creep of dawn coloring the sky just beyond the hills, it’s the brilliant glow of Brentwood on fire. All the little flames from individual buildings have joined together with a singular purpose—to burn down our hometown.
The bike leans as Pace takes a turn I wasn’t expecting. “What are you doing?” I yell.
He points out Main Street in the distance, which is lit up like a bonfire. It makes sense. That’s the section of town where the most pipes run, so it would be the section of town with the most explosions. Now it’s ablaze, smoke and flames pouring out of every window of every building.
“I don’t see any fire trucks,” Pace yells back.
Most of the buildings in that section of town are boarded up, like the old Library. “There’s not enough resources,” I shout. “They probably decided to just let it all burn.”
“That’s why we have to be sure,” says Pace.
I know what he means. It isn’t just the PK club that uses those buildings to train. Lots of kids from school use that space for a variety of reasons. Just because those buildings are supposed to be empty doesn’t mean they are. I slap his shoulder. “Hit it.”
