Poveglia (After the Cure Book 4)

by Deirdre Gould

  “We’re splitting up,” said Dan, just before pulling the dark plastic mask over his head. “Paul and I will head to Munitions. He knows where the dynamite is and, no offense Ms. Das, but you won’t blend in, even in a gas mask.”

  Sevita nodded. Despite Paul’s reassurance, she didn’t hold herself like a soldier, especially not now. She was clumsy and terrified and exhausted. It was better if she stayed as unseen as possible. Dan’s face disappeared. He was just another wasp man now.

  “You and Tom,” he continued, his voice a deep buzz instead of a warm rumble, “are going to Margie’s. You need to find a way to get whatever ethanol they’ve got down to the docks without being stopped. I don’t care how. And you both know what has to happen if someone does try to stop you.”

  Sevita’s hand dropped over the small knife he’d given her. “We understand,” said Tom.

  “You aren’t to board the boats until we meet you. We need to get the timing right. Almost no one is going to notice the smuggler’s entrance is gone, certainly not authorities. But everyone’s going to notice a harbor fire. We all have to be gone when someone does.”

  “Boss,” said Tom, “What if there’s a scav team out? Or someone doing business at the smuggler’s entrance?”

  Dan shrugged, the yellow plastic wrinkling and bunching around him. “We have to do what we have to do. This is more important than us. More important than our spouses and kids even. We have to give the people outside a chance. I won’t hurt anyone if I don’t have to, but we can’t let anyone escape.”

  Sevita felt a twist of guilt about Christine. She was safe, unlike Dan’s wife. “You don’t have to worry about a scav team, at least,” she offered, “the military governor pulled all the teams back a few months ago when he declared the end of the Cure. There’s been talk of another mission soon, but he hasn’t authorized another one yet. The station gets the names and the target beforehand in case of trouble with outside bands.”

  Dan nodded. “That’s something in our favor at least. Tom, I’ll meet you at the old hotel, in the great arch by nine. If something happens, if we aren’t there by midnight, set the boats adrift instead. It’s more important to take out the gate. It will take too long with just two to light all the boats and get away in time. You’ll have to hope the tide takes them.”

  Tom nodded. “Okay Boss, but nothing’s going to happen. We’ll see you at nine. Bring the matches.”

  The soldiers shook hands. Dan shook Sevita’s hand last. “I’m trusting you to do what we agreed,” he told her as quietly as he could. “I know my men. I know that they’ll do their duty whether they are with us or in the plant. I need to be able to trust you too, though I don’t know you.”

  “I’m dying. I know that I am. I already said goodbye, I won’t be deserting.” Her voice broke and echoed as if her helmet were empty. Dan nodded and let her go.

  Tom led her out of the garage and through the cracked back lots of old office buildings. The crowd near the market was still thin, not many people were up yet. There were still a few people setting up stalls or making morning purchases, but they just stared after the two of them, their suits a neon sign of danger against the sparkling blue of the sky and the harbor. No one tried to stop them or ask questions. The road became weedy chunks of tar and then a simple rut, but Tom kept walking, passing even the far flung slouching tenements of the Cured side of the City.

  “Where are we going?” Sevita gasped at last, utterly worn out. “Margie’s is back near the tracks.”

  “Yeah, but her brewery isn’t. The military looks the other way, but they know not to rub our nose in it either. ‘Shine Row is about as far as you can get and still be inside the City. Never understood why they made it on this side, though. I would have put it near the smuggler entrance.”

  “I’ve never seen Moonshine Row, but I imagine it’s because the Cure camps kept expanding out in the other direction. There would have been too many people that direction.”

  Tom snorted inside his helmet. “You’ve never been to ‘Shine Row and you’re a reporter?”

  Sevita shrugged. “The military isn’t the only organization that knows when it’s better to turn a blind eye. There were no real crimes out there and the City hasn’t settled down enough to be entertained by petty crime stories anyway.” She was silent a moment. “And now it never will,” she added sadly.

  Tom slowed down and clapped her on the shoulder. “Tell you what, if we survive the next few days and aren’t walking teeth by then, we’ll come back and drink ourselves stupid. There’s five different stills, all competing. We’ll test ‘em all and declare a winner, what do you say? Just so there’s a clear champion before the world ends again.”

  Sevita forced a laugh. She was quiet for a moment. “Speaking of— of walking teeth— is there some kind of system or— or agreement for…”

  The sound of their feet scuffing over gravel was very loud. “I’ll do it. If we make it that long. I know Dan would too. You’ll have to ask Paul, he’s— weird about killing women. I mean— that sounded wrong. I mean, none of us likes to kill anyone, but if Paul were being attacked by a man, he’d be okay defending himself. But a woman… something happened to him during the Plague, maybe before. I’m saying this all wrong. You’ll have to ask him. Can you take care of us if you’re the last one?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Yeah, I can. But I won’t be last.”

  “You feeling it too?”

  Sevita just nodded. The track crested a gentle hill and a cluster of large factories huddled around a small airplane landing strip. “That’s Moonshine Row?” she asked.

  “That’s it.”

  Sevita squinted at the horizon. The sun was almost gone. “How the hell are we supposed to get a massive barrel of alcohol from here to the docks before nine?”

  Tom pulled out a pair of binoculars from one of his zippered pockets. “Not one barrel, several. There’re at least two dozen viable boats in that harbor. One barrel isn’t going to cut it.” He held the binoculars up to the mask’s dark eye sockets. He sighed with relief and pulled the helmet from his head.

  “There’s no one down there. Must be laying low because of the curfew. You can take that off now,” he said, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Moonshine Row isn’t just a place to break vice laws, you can also get vehicles and generators.”

  Sevita pulled the mask off a took a deep breath of fresh air while Tom talked.

  “I hear homemade penicillin too, if you don’t have the tokens for the real stuff. Guess it makes sense, all the leftovers from the bakery coming here for the brewery too. Anyway, you ever driven a car?”

  Sevita looked startled. “Of course, haven’t you?”

  Tom laughed. “Nah, my mom wouldn’t let me. I was only fourteen.”

  “You mean you’re twenty-two? Jesus, you’re just a kid. You need to go home. Let me do this.”

  Tom shook his head. “I knew what I was signing up for. Running home’s not going to do anything anyway. And I don’t have a pregnant wife to run home to.” He glanced sideways at her, “Yeah, he told us. We didn’t trust you. You’re an Immune, and a civilian. Dan said you had reasons. Guess you have more reasons than me, when it comes to it.” He was quiet a moment. “Anyway, you’re driving. I’ll ride shotgun and handle any checkpoints so we look official.” He walked down toward the sagging factories.

  Eighteen

  If they’d moved a little slower, she might have had a chance to hear it. But once they’d reached the outer fence, Tom was starting to feel an adrenaline rush and he was focused on getting the ethanol as quickly as possible. He’d boosted Sevita up first and she’d struggled up the chain link and over before she heard the first jingling. Tom had been only a step behind her, but she’d landed first.

  There was a loud rattle of metal and a deep rumble behind her, and then Sevita was skidding across the broken tar, the yellow vinyl of her suit smearing and stinking with the friction. She flipped over so she could see what had happe
ned and barely registered Tom shouting. She put an arm up in front of her face to protect it and felt large teeth sink through the plastic of her suit. She reached out with the other hand and was relieved to feel thin fur rather than skin. It was a dog, a large one. Its teeth tightened and began to hurt her arm. She tried to pull it free, but it only made the pain worse.

  “No!” she shouted sternly, “Bad dog!”

  But the dog knew better. It was still growling around her forearm, the noise causing crushing vibrations in her skin. She could smell the ripe rot of scavenged meat on its breath and turned her face toward the tar while trying to reach the small knife in her belt with her free hand.

  She heard a loud crack and felt a sickening shudder pulse through the dog and her. She screamed, thinking her arm would burst. But the dog held on.

  “I’m sorry,” shouted Tom, “I have to.” There was another crack and a jolt of pain, but this time, the dog released and stumbled sideways over her. She snatched her arm back before it could recover. The dog whimpered and tried to growl at the same time.

  Tom grabbed its chain and pulled it back toward its post. He looped the slack around the post and approached the dog. “Sorry pup,” he said, “we could have been friends any other day.”

  He turned to Sevita who had scooted her way upright. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I think so, just a nasty scratch,” she said, rolling up her sleeve to check the damage. Tom looked around and pointed to a small outbuilding with damp, splintery picnic tables in front of it.

  “I think there’s a sink in there. You stay here, I’ll get you something to clean up. And—” he paused and looked at the dog who was lying beside him, its tail tucked between its legs. “And I want to get this guy some water if I can. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

  “I know,” said Sevita, “but I’m glad you did what you had to.”

  Tom headed into the small building and Sevita kept a wary eye on the dog. It was defeated, though, and barely glanced at her. Her arm throbbed. For a moment, she had thought the dog was an Infected. She’d been so relieved to feel that fur. She was glad Tom hadn’t had to kill it, but she realized with a piercing stroke of guilt, that if it had been human, if it had been an Infected, she would have wanted it dead.

  Tom brought them both water. “The tap’s not working but there’s an old pump well behind one of the buildings,” he said, “So don’t be afraid to use what you need.”

  “Thank you,” she said. He stood over her, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s not your fault Tom, it could have been you first down.”

  “I know but, I feel bad.”

  “Don’t, if it’d been you, I wouldn’t have known what to do. You might have had a broken bone instead of just a scratch.”

  Sevita tried to wash out the bite as he checked on the dog. Its tail gave a pathetic thump as he placed the metal bowl near its muzzle and gave it a gentle stroke on the head. He crouched near Sevita, surveying the damage. “You’ll need stitches,” he said.

  “I can’t. We don’t have time. Besides, we’ll get caught. I can’t really give a reason for having a bite this large without causing a panic. There just aren’t many domestic dogs left.”

  “It’s going to get infected.”

  Sevita shrugged. “Not going to be sane long enough for it to matter I guess. I just need to stop the blood so I don’t slow everyone down.”

  Tom unzipped one of her suit pockets and pulled out a slim bag. “Medical supplies. Not much, but it comes with the kit.” He bit the package open and pulled out a large gauze pad, handing it to her. “He didn’t mean it, you know. He’s not a bad dog. Just protecting his owner’s property.”

  “I know. Hope his owner lets him go before the end.” She taped the thick bandage and rolled the torn sleeve of her suit back over the cut, hoping no one would notice the holes. “Are there more, though? Don’t want to do that again.”

  “Yeah, me either. Stay here, I’ll check the lot.” Tom jogged off again and Sevita looked around her. The large factories around her bulged with rotten siding where the water had soaked in over the past eight years. They seemed damp and mildewed even on that warm, dry summer morning. But none of them were cluttered with debris. The lot was clean, swept maybe. Though most of the windows were missing in the buildings she could see, and there were mounds of shattered glass on the tar, and each pane had been neatly covered with a square of colorful cloth. Whoever ran the place might not be a handy man, but they were trying to keep it as useful and productive as possible. It wasn’t exactly what Sevita had pictured an illegal distillery would look like.

  Tom came jogging back. “It’s all clear. I think this guy is just a pet,” he said.

  Sevita stood up. “Poor pup,” she said, “hope he’ll be okay.”

  Tom nodded. “Me too. If I knew a vet— but we’re running low on time. We need to find a truck and get it loaded. I’ve found the cars, follow me.”

  They passed the string of factories, their hulking structures casting the only slivers of shade onto the baking tar.

  The parking lot for the factories was massive. Thinking of how many people each faded parking space represented made Sevita dizzy. A corner of the lot was occupied by two dozen neatly parked automobiles. She was a little surprised to see that they were nothing special. No antiques, no sports cars, no motorcycles. Just a few farm trucks and some boxy looking family cars. She supposed something flashy would only draw attention. Cars weren’t allowed except for emergency personnel or with special dispensation from the military governor. There just wasn’t enough gas or parts left.

  “What do they use them for?” asked Sevita.

  Tom shrugged. “Don’t know. Unapproved scav missions maybe? I’ve seen a few hauling stuff. Mostly for the Farm. We were told to ignore vehicles that helped the Farm even if they were untagged. I heard about a racetrack once. Never found it, it was just a rumor, but maybe…”

  Sevita laughed. “These would make pretty boring race cars.”

  “Do you remember going fast in a car?” he asked, “the wind roaring past your ears? My mom used to yell at me for sticking my hand out the window and letting it ride the air current. The roads around the City are too short. You never get up enough speed for that feeling anymore.”

  Sevita smiled. “Christine’s favorite thing was putting on the sirens in her ambulance and flying down a straight stretch of road when nobody was around. I’ve become convinced that love for fast cars is written in the DNA of Americans.”

  “You don’t miss them?” asked Tom.

  “I miss other things more,” said Sevita.

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Nightclub dance lights. Music from other people’s radios. That weird sense of herd comfort you get from squishing into a bus seat or a subway car when there’re too many others. All those little bits of the world that constantly scream that you aren’t alone. That’s what I miss.”

  “Heavy,” said Tom, “I mostly miss cheese.”

  Sevita laughed. “I guess I miss that too,” she said.

  Tom walked up to a large pickup. “Let’s take this one.”

  Sevita shook her head. “No, that’s too open. Let’s take the delivery truck.” She pointed at a dusty box truck. “Will that run on ethanol?”

  “Guess we’ll find out. I doubt it’d be in the lot if they hadn’t fitted it to. This doesn’t look like where they repair them.”

  Sevita walked over to it and opened the cab door. She was about to check the mat and visor, but the keys glinted and swayed in the ignition. That was a little too easy, she thought. She got in and turned the key and was surprised when the engine roared to life.

  “Huh,” said Tom, “thought we’d at least have to go look for keys.”

  “Me too,” said Sevita. “Maybe they figure no one’s going to steal a car, it’s too easy to get caught these days.”

  Tom walked around and got into the passenger seat. “Okay, now the ethanol. We need to hurry, it�
��s already noon and those barrels aren’t light. With any luck, we’ll find a big batch, but we still have to move them and have energy left over to take care of the boats. I have no idea which building is the actual still, though. We’re going to have to check the factories until we find them.”

  “It’s probably the one near the dog,” Sevita grumbled, putting the truck into gear and trying to find the sweet spot on the clutch. She left it running as they stopped in front of the first building. Tom jumped out and walked inside one of them to check. Sevita checked across the way. Hers was filled with empty glass bottles, crates of them in different sizes and colors. A huge pot hung over an open furnace. She wasn’t certain if they were washing bottles or making new ones by melting the others down. It didn’t matter, this wasn’t the building. Neither was Tom’s. It took them three tries before they found the barrels. Sevita parked the truck and walked into the cool, dark factory.

  Like everything else, the factory was organized and clean. The floors were swept, the old equipment pushed to the sides of the assembly room and straight rows of barrels took up the center. Even so, the building was thick with the sharp sour smell of the alcohol mixing with the sweet, musty green of stored wheat. Sevita popped open a cap and tried to peer inside.

  “I think some of these are plain wheat for the bakery,” she said.

  Tom spotted a hand truck and rolled it to the front barrel. “We can see if they slosh or not.” He slid the barrel onto the hand truck and lifted it slightly. “This one is liquid,” he said and rolled it toward the door. Sevita ran to open the truck’s loading door. They struggled to get the barrel up the short step into the truck, but she couldn’t see anything to make a ramp.

  “This is going to take too long. And I’m going to be slower because of this,” she growled holding up her wounded forearm.

  “We’ve still got time, there’s no need to make your injury worse. First we’ll sort the wheat from the ethanol and then you can take the hand truck. Just roll as many as you can over here. I’ll get them into the truck. If we leave some, we leave some.”