“Mike?” she said, fumbling to undo her line. The bubbling cough came again. She sprinted to him, no longer noticing that she was stepping on scattered pieces of him as she did. She knelt beside him and quickly unlooped the rope from around him, tossing it down next to them. She was relieved to see his chest expand with a deep gasp. She didn’t notice the rope slither back down into the hole. “It’s okay, Mike, I’m going to get you help.”
Mike was a pale yellow-gray. His head fell sideways in a feeble attempt to shake it. He raised one hand and dropped it directly onto his wound. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“What is it, Mike? I couldn’t hear you.” She bent closer to his face.
“Look out for Ben. Something wrong with his head—”
Jenny lifted his hand. It was clammy and she held it in both of hers to warm it up. “You don’t have to worry about Ben, he fell down the shaft. We’re safe now. Just rest while I find the radio.” She place his hand gently by his side and stood up to find the radio. Behind her, the rope twitched over Mike’s ankle. His eyes flew open, but he couldn’t catch his breath enough to shout to her. She opened their toolkit and shoved the heavy tools aside, looking for the small radio. The soldiers would know what to do, they had to have a medic with them. Hopefully, he wasn’t one of the ones who disappeared after chasing the crazy reporter.
She’d found it. The shiny black plastic felt warm and solid in her hand. She clicked it on and turned around to tell Mike.
“Jenny? Ben? You guys ready or what?” came a burst from the speaker. But Jenny wasn’t listening. She was watching the something that was Ben pull himself over the lip of the hole. She didn’t know how he’d done it. He had to have hurt himself in the fall. She’d thought he was dead. Yet, there he was, clinging like an insect onto her rope. He lifted his face and saw her. She felt a deep, primordial fear as their eyes met. She knew she was prey. She thumbed the button on the radio. There was only one way to stop him, to suck him away.
“Do it!” she screamed into the radio, “Do it now!”
The control room didn’t wait and there was a roaring whoosh as the water rumbled into the penstock. Jenny remembered the turbine valve too late, its red button barely registering amongst the black and scarlet of Mike’s blood, against the terror of Ben’s face. The water hit with a thundering boom that rocked the room. The something that was Ben lost its grip and slid into the turbine shaft.
Water hammer! Jenny’s mind shrieked and she ran for the valve, but it was far too late. Buckled metal suddenly gave and a massive plume of liquid came swirling up the shaft, turning the turbine, lifting first Ben, and then Mike and then Jenny as it came. The turbine spun and spun like a kid’s top gone crazy and the generator’s magnets zipped around the burnished coils. The flood had swallowed her and the last thing Jenny saw was the blue super-nova spark of the turbine exploding in the dark rage of the river. Beautiful, she thought.
Sevita stumbled up the hospital steps in the dark. She made her way to the parking garage’s exit just as the generators kicked on and the lights in the hospital glowed warmly, a solitary column of light in the City. And then there was another. A competing ball of flame that blazed at the mouth of the river. She squinted at it, but she knew the only thing over there was the power plant. As the fire grew enormous in the reflection of both river and harbor, consuming almost half of the horizon, she could only think of the people trapped inside. The City was just a bigger power plant. Just a giant quarantine. And there was only one thing to do with a quarantine once the disease spread through everyone in it.
Had she done the right thing? Had she done enough?
Twenty-seven
Margie shuffled over the cracked linoleum, her wide hips threading between the stainless steel counters and cold ovens, the large rolling plastic bins of lumpy flour and the foaming vat of sourdough starter in the dark. The path had become muscle memory long before. She flipped the light switch and swore when the lights didn’t wink on. She rubbed her bleary eyes and walked back out to the doorway, squinting down the street, suspicious that it was only the bakery that was skipped. But even the laundromat down the block was dark and silent. Next to the hospital and the Barrier gatehouse, that always got power first. She peered the other direction. Hospital’s lit up like Christmas, she thought, but they have generators. She ground her puffy hands into her hipbones. How’m I supposed to get everything done without power? Hospital sure hasn’t been shy about ordering. Nor the power plant. She shrugged. Well, if they’re lazing about down at the plant, they can eat last.
Margie walked around to the house at the back of the bakery. She padded back into the dark bedroom and shook her husband’s shoulder gently.
“Mmm?” he mumbled.
“John, power’s still out and we have almost a hundred orders already. I’ll get the water if you pull in the wood.”
He groaned and rolled over. She gave his shoulder a soft squeeze and left him to wake up.
Margie’d been running the bakery since before the Plague. When they’d built it, the wood ovens and private well had been gimmicks, something to attract the foodies. She’d made certain the bakery portrayed an “artisanal” atmosphere, bragging about the hand-thrown dough made with “fresh spring water.” It had been a losing strategy before the Plague, but now she and John sold as much bread as they liked. They even had enough to pay the military to ignore John’s brewing business. They’d been the only source of baked goods and uncontaminated water for the first few months, while the City rebuilt the power plant. The ovens were perfect and it had been a simple matter to fit a hand pump to the well. Margie watched the cool water spill into a large stockpot and stopped to crack her back before bending to pick it up. We’ll just have to make do again, she thought, maybe we should hire a Cured or two and go on a vacation when the power comes back on. We’ve saved enough tokens for a while. The thought made her more cheerful and she whistled as she carried the pot of water into the bakery. She lit the little camp lights on the counter and opened the dusty shades and the front door to let more light in. John had still not stacked the ovens with wood when she returned to the kitchen. She clucked disapprovingly but knew it was no good to nag. She just began scooping starter out of the vat and into the familiar stoneware mixing bowls (because metal hadn’t been “artisanal” enough). Margie was wrist deep in sourdough when John stumbled in through the back door.
She didn’t bother looking around. “Still not feeling great, hon? Wonder if we ought to run down to the hospital. Maybe it’s one of those- what d’ya call ems? Inner ear thingies.”
John just stood in the doorway, eyes glassy, slightly swaying. Margie looked around. “John, if you’re that sick, maybe you should go back to bed. I’ll get the wood myself.”
He shook his head. “No. Don’t fee’ bad. Jush slow.”
Margie put her floury hands on her hips and pursed her lips in disapproval. “You been taste testing again? You sound drunk. If it’s just a hangover, I’ve no time for sympathy this morning.”
John shook his head. “No. Nothing to drink in days. Something else.”
The light shifted as someone walked in through the open door.
“Sorry, Lou, eggs are going to be late this morning. Power’s out again,” said Margie, wiping her hands.
The elderly man shuffled slowly up to the wooden breakfast counter and sat carefully on a stool. “Power plant exploded last night. Fire crew’s been out there all morning,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.
“What?” asked Margie.
Lou just nodded slowly. “No one knows why. Everyone inside died. Fire’s still going. There’s going to be a town meeting in the square outside City hall in a few hours. Came to tell you. Don’t want the eggs right now, don’t think I could eat.”
“— the hell is goin’ on?” muttered John. “Fir’ the gate and now the plant. Someone’s attacking us. Where the hell are the soldiers? We damn sure feed em ‘nuff, what’re they doing for it?”
/>
“John! Calm down. I’m sure the Governor’s got it in hand,” said Margie, staring at her husband.
“Like hell he does. He let those thieving Cured run riot and then leave. Prob’ly them. Always said they were ungrateful—”
“This isn’t like you, John. Our best customers are Cured. Some of your best friends. Maybe you should lie down until your head clears—” Margie started moving toward him.
“No!” shouted John. Lou jumped a little on his stool and got up to leave. “Got to get wood, now that we have no power. Everyone else too lazy. They’ll be here for food soon. Forever. Got to get the wood forever now.” He turned and shambled out of the bakery, leaving his wife to gape after him.
“Sorry Lou,” she managed after a second, “he’s not been feeling himself.”
Lou nodded. “Tell him I hope he’s not ailing. I’ll see you folks at the square later. Got a few others to tell now.”
Margie nodded absently, still staring at the empty doorway after her husband.
Clusters of people milled around the square in the late morning sun. Margie shook her head. To think all the people of the City could fit in the square. And it wasn’t even packed tight. A year ago, before the power plant and before the exodus of the Cured, it would have been mostly full. Now there were large gaps between groups sitting on the cobblestones or standing near City Hall’s massive steps. Margie nodded and smiled grimly at people she knew, carefully leading her husband toward the center of the square. She hated not being able to hear. John was unsteady, but he hadn’t repeated any of his outburst, so she had chalked it up to crankiness at having to haul wood and shrugged it off. There was a podium with a bullhorn resting on it halfway up the steps. No microphones. Not now.
A sudden hush fell over the crowd as the governor exited City Hall and walked down to the podium. He took a moment to get the bullhorn working. “Good morning,” he said, and paused, as if expecting them to chorus it back to him like a group of school children. No one responded. Margie caught sight of the pretty reporter that John liked so much. She looked exhausted and Margie wondered why. It wasn’t as if she could do her broadcasts.
“Since we’ve lost power, I’ve called you here to give you some updates rather than broadcast it through the news station. I know the events of the past few days have made us all ill at ease, but I made the decision to confirm what was happening before having this meeting. The last thing we need here is a panic. I need you to remember that over the next few days. We will only get through this if we keep our heads. For your safety, we’ve placed personnel throughout the square.”
“You mean so we don’t riot,” grumbled John. Margie shushed him.
“I guess we should start with the Barrier gate and the harbor docks.” He paused and cleared his throat. “A few nights ago, just after the curfew was put into place, someone set fire to every boat in the harbor as well as the docks. Unfortunately, we were unable to salvage anything. What was presumably the same group, also caused a catastrophic collapse in the Barrier at the so-called ‘Smuggler’s Entrance.’ Luckily, there were no human injuries in either of these attacks. In a final act of aggression, the next day, a tank was driven from the airport to the City’s front gate, where it crashed, causing a large explosion. An attempt was made to stop the tank on High street, but to no avail. I have very little information about who is behind these attacks, but the intent certainly seems clear. We now have no clear exit from the City—”
“Why would someone do that?” shouted someone. The governor held up his hand.
“I’m coming to that. Last night the power plant was sabotaged. While workers there attempted to repair damages from an incident earlier this week, another explosion consumed the plant. I have no doubt that the same party is responsible for last night’s destruction as well as the harbor and Barrier incidents. I believe the motive is quite clear. The City is being quarantined.”
The crowd’s murmur swelled to a roar for a moment before dwindling away again into dead silence. The Governor didn’t need the bullhorn and the extra volume just made his words bruise the minds of his listeners that much more. “We are under attack because someone thinks we’ve all been exposed to a terrible disease. Most of you have seen the soldiers in biohazard suits around town.”
Margie watched as people began to tense and turn toward the edges of the square. It was now lined with armed men in yellow suits. She felt her breath squeezing into a shrill tea-kettle scream of panic.
“I know you’re frightened,” said the governor in a stern voice, “but please, keep calm. They are there to help you, to help all of us. It’s true that we were seeing some people exhibit certain disturbing symptoms. At first we thought it was the result of a chemical spill, so we took precautions, like the yellow suits you’ve seen. But this morning I was informed that the doctors have narrowed it down to a simple diet deficiency. One that can be alleviated with a simple adjustment of rations, which we will try to start today, with your cooperation.”
“What about the gate and the boats?” someone cried.
The Governor nodded. “The perpetrators have been apprehended. They were misguided, but the damage is temporary. In a few weeks, we will have repaired the gate and in a few months, the power plant and the boats. The loss of life deeply saddens me, but we can honor those we’ve lost best by recovering from this setback.”
As if on cue, a woman screamed near the back of the crowd. A ripple of heads turned toward her and one of the yellow suited men stepped forward to intercept her. Margie couldn’t see past the cluster of bodies between her and the screamer and she stood on her toes. John pulled her back down.
“Le’s get ou’ here,” he said tottering toward the side of the square and pulling her behind him. The screamer was still yelling, and Margie could hear the grunts of soldiers from the same direction. She glanced up the stairs to see the governor standing grimly behind his podium as if it were an everyday interruption. She looked around and saw other people headed for the edge of the square. The news lady was near them too, she seemed as unsteady as John did. Margie reached out to catch her arm when the woman tripped. She looked up and smiled at them. The sharp crack of a gunshot came from behind them. John didn’t even look around, just kept going for the edge of the square. The Governor began yelling for someone to cease firing. One of the soldiers took a step toward John.
“Just calm down now,” he said, his voice a breathy buzz behind the plastic mask. “It’s no good panicking, just stay calm until we sort this out.”
“Li’ hell,” said John, “We’re going home. Can still go home, can’t we? Or we prisoners here? You going to make us drink some punch?”
The soldier hesitated and looked around at his fellows. A few more closed in around Margie and John. “Th— the governor’s not done, he has instructions—”
“He’s full of it. He knows this in’t over. Didn’t protec’ us. Can’t. Don’t even care it’s those ungrateful Cured that attacked us, I know it—”
“John, please,” said Margie, tugging on his arm.
“Not staying here. Listen to that—” he paused as another set of screams split the air. “Can’t protect us. Going home.”
“In just a few minutes sir,” began the soldier, but John ignored him and tried to push past and through the yellow plastic that stood between him and the road. One of the soldiers shoved him back with the side of his gun. John careened sideways and Margie caught him.
“You can’t do this to us!” said Margie.
“Step back, Ma’am,” said one of the soldiers.
“I will not, I’ve done nothing wrong.” She took a step forward, angry and frightened. The soldier pushed her back, but there were others behind her now and they surged forward, pushing her with them. The soldier hit her with the end of a club. The others readied their guns.
“Don’ touch my wife!” shrieked John and he leaped at the soldier who had hit her. She saw them go down onto the hard cobbles and the soldiers helmet lifted f
rom his face. He struggled against John who wasn’t speaking anymore. Instead, a burst of thunder came from his throat and to Margie’s horror, he leaned forward and bit into the soldier’s neck. The people surged forward and carried her past them, until she tripped a few steps later. The crowd didn’t stop, her soft, ample skin punched down like over-risen dough. Margie was dead before she even had time to realize her husband had been Infected.
Twenty-eight
Sevita had watched the baker’s husband turn. She’d stopped to vomit when she realized that the sight of the bloody soldier was making her hungry. So she had been left behind with the other stragglers as the bulk of the crowd pushed its way free. She and the others were rounded up, too frightened and dispirited by what had happened to put up much of a struggle. She stood in a long line of confused people with a few soldiers at either end. The rest had been sent to search the rest of the City and bring back whoever they could find. “For extra rations,” the Governor had said. Sevita had wanted to scream at the lie. But she knew if she started, she’d never stop. And it wouldn’t do anything but make the people around her panic. She didn’t want them to die frightened. Instead she just let a soldier lead her into the line. She shuffled along with the others, not even entirely sure what she was hanging on for. Now that the City was cut off, now that she’d checked that Christine was safe, the disease seemed to slow to a crawl. Every hour was just a temporary stay. She stayed in the line because she thought they might help her, that the Governor’s extra rations were actually poison or a tranquilizer. She hoped that Dan had gone through with his plan, that he wasn’t somewhere behind her in the long, long line.
Poveglia (After the Cure Book 4) Page 15
