Autumn in the City of Lights

by Kirby Howell

  “Are these boats big enough to take us all the way out to the rigs?” Shad asked, eyeing the wind stripping white foam from the tips of the large breakers in the gray ocean before us.

  Karl chuckled. “Of course they are. Why would I intentionally endanger myself?”

  After the boats set off, Karl turned to face me. His hair was getting so long that it whipped around his face in the wind. “I’m sorry about last night, Autumn,” he said, looking like he meant it. “You know, I can be a very reasonable man, if you just let me.”

  “Reasonable like intimidating everyone into joining your group and killing off the rest?” Shad barked. I put a hand on his knee to steady him. There was no room on the boat for a fistfight. Karl cut his eyes at Shad, and my heart went cold. Shad only had a fraction of an idea what Karl was capable of, and he was quickly getting on Karl’s bad side.

  “Whatever business you think you have with us, it’s not going to happen,” I interrupted. “We want nothing to do with you, ever.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Karl said, then turned around.

  Within half an hour, Castor and Pollux emerged from the dense ocean mist. In a weird way, the two adjoined oil rigs were beautiful. The metal beams holding them high out of the water were thick and crisscrossed for extra support, creating a stunning geometric pattern against the choppy sea.

  Shad pointed. “There’s a ladder on Pollux’s starboard side,” he yelled over the roaring motor and gusting wind. Our boat made a beeline for Pollux, and as we got closer, I noticed something else inside the maze of steel columns. There was some kind of mass hanging into the water near the ladder.

  “What is that?” I yelled.

  Karl stood up and stared ahead. “Slow down,” he yelled back at the man controlling the throttle.

  “What do you see?” someone shouted.

  “Looks like some kind of dead sea life,” Karl said. “Maybe a small whale or a sea lion.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Let’s creep up on it until we know what we’re dealing with,” Karl said. “I don’t like surprises.”

  It was the one time I agreed with him. But the boat in front of us was taking a different approach. They maintained their speed and went straight to the mass. I heard them cut their engines as they closed in on whatever it was, and Diego edged to the side to look at it. By this point, we’d crept up close enough to see for ourselves that it was a dead sea lion, bloated and dripping blood into the ocean beneath it. It appeared to have been caught in some kind of netting.

  At the same moment Diego leaned forward to grasp the net, Karl leapt to his feet, setting our boat rocking violently.

  “Get them out of there! Diego! Sit down!” Karl shouted, as we all grabbed for something to steady ourselves. “Cut that blasted motor so they can hear me!” he yelled at the guy in the back of the boat. The guy wasn’t happy to be taking Karl’s orders, but when Shad nodded his head, he did what Karl asked.

  “Get out of there!” Karl yelled again. We were all on our feet now, trying to figure out what was going on. This time, Diego heard Karl, and he looked in our direction.

  “Shark!” Karl screamed, waving his arms. “Shark!!”

  Before anyone could react, Diego’s boat rocked hard, hit from beneath. Diego, who had been holding the net, lost his balance and fell against the bloody sea lion carcass. He grabbed for the net, but it slipped through his fingers, and he fell into the water.

  “Get us over there!” Shad yelled, and the man controlling the motor started the engine.

  Several steel gray fins broke the surface and cut paths through the water toward the place where Diego had fallen. Diego’s head burst out of the water, and the boat tipped dangerously to the side as several people leaned to grab him. But Diego disappeared again beneath the surface with a furious splash. The water settled again, the dissipating white froth stained red with fresh blood.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Diego!” I screamed. “We have to help him!”

  Shad grabbed for the rudder to aim us toward the other boat.

  “No! Stop!” yelled Karl as he hurtled past me toward Shad, rocking the boat precariously. “Use your head. That sea lion’s blood is attracting sharks.”

  “We can’t just leave him!” Shad said, staring at Karl defiantly. “What if he’s not dead?”

  “There’s too much blood,” Karl said. “He’s dead.”

  I looked at the other boat. The people gestured like they were arguing about the same thing. A frighteningly large shadow darkened the water near them, then disappeared. I gripped the side of the boat, feeling sea sick and vulnerable.

  “Karl’s right,” I said. “We need to stay back.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Shad yelled. “Turn around and abandon the others?!”

  I steadied myself, then stood and started waving at the other boat, trying to get their attention, but they were still arguing, their voices carrying across the water.

  “Help me,” I cried to the others, who sat motionless around me. “We have to call them back.”

  Then I saw what they were staring at: a dull gray dorsal fin slicing through the choppy surface of the water between us and the other boat. It was headed straight for us.

  A firm hand grabbed my shoulder and forced me down in my seat. It was Karl’s.

  “Everyone sit down and brace yourselves!” he ordered. “If that thing hits us like it did the other boat, we could end up like Diego!”

  Shad knelt behind me, his hand still on the rudder. But this time, he spun the boat, put it at full power and got us moving away fast. But not as fast as the shark. It carved a smooth path through the water toward us, making a V-shaped wake behind it. Then the fin ducked below the surface only a few yards from us. I grabbed the bench with both hands, preparing for the impact.

  Seconds passed, and I thought maybe the shark had lost interest. Then the boat jolted hard, rocked sharply, and sea water gushed over the starboard side, flooding the bottom of the boat and soaking our feet. Hands reached for me, and I reached back. We used each other as an anchor to pull ourselves closer to the middle of the boat.

  Then came another jolt, more powerful and from the opposite direction. I gasped and instinctively grabbed hold of the person nearest me, who I now realized was Karl. It was a bizarre feeling, holding so tightly to the man I hated most in this world, but at that moment, I didn’t care. Then I realized he could project away if he really felt his life were in jeopardy. I wondered how long he would wait and if he’d risk being seen.

  A third jolt tilted the boat so far it didn’t right itself immediately, and Shad lost his grip and fell into the water. He managed to grab the side of the boat, and he kicked furiously to propel himself up enough to hook an arm over the side. I launched myself forward and grabbed Shad’s other arm, trying to pull him back in.

  Karl leaned down, grabbed the waistband of Shad’s jeans and helped me pull him out of the water. Shad splashed into the bottom of the flooded boat, just as a shadow appeared in nearly the same spot he’d just been. We’d sunk over a foot in the water, and the choppy waves were slapping over the now very low sides.

  “Get us moving!” Karl yelled. I jumped over Shad, who was still catching his breath. I found the cord on the outboard motor and yanked it. Nothing. I pulled again, harder this time. Again, nothing. I began pulling repeatedly, trying to coax the motor back to life. Then I heard a backfire. Was that the motor? I thought, wondering what we’d do if the boat became powerless.

  I turned to look at Shad and heard the sound again. Shad looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. Then I heard it again and saw water spurt into the air off the bow of our boat. Like someone was skipping stones. I turned and looked up at the oil rig. There were men standing at the railing. Two held long sticks aimed in our direction. Rifles.

  “Survivors!” I pointed.

  “I see ‘em,” Shad said, squeezing in next to me near the motor. He took the cord from me and ri
pped it back farther and harder than I had been able to. This time, the motor roared to life.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted, as he steered the boat away from the rig and toward the shore.

  “They’re shooting at us!” he yelled.

  “No, they’re not!” Karl said. “They’re shooting at the sharks. Look!”

  Shad slowed the boat, and we watched one of the riflemen shoot near the first boat but not at it. I looked back up at the men on the rig with more curiosity. One was waving us in.

  “Head to the rig, Shad,” I said.

  Shad nodded agreement and spun us around. Moments later, people came down the ladder, offering helping hands to those in the first boat, as a few of the riflemen still pelted down sporadic cover fire.

  My heart was thudding so hard I could feel it over the engines. The ride to the ladder must have taken less than two minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

  When we got to the ladder, the first boat was unloaded and tied to the bottom rung. A man with shaggy hair clung to the side of the ladder, helping everyone in my boat make the transition to the ladder. I could hear him guiding everyone as the boat dipped and lurched in the ocean. “Careful now. Quick.”

  When it was my turn, Shad steadied me, and I took the stranger’s rough hand. Once I was on the ladder, I was nearly face to face with him.

  “Don’t look down,” he said. “Up you go.” Then he urged me up with a push at my waist. I nodded and began my assent. The metal rungs were warm and the wind whipped my hair around my face, but the ladder was solid and stationary. I climbed and climbed, grateful to be putting distance between us and the sharks in the water below.

  When I reached the hole in the metal grated platform high above the ocean, hands reached down to help me through, and I allowed them to pull me up. I sat down immediately, leaning against the railing and hugging myself. I realized I was shaking. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the return trip we’d have to make.

  When we were all up, the sandy-haired man pulled himself through the opening in the floor with the ease of someone who did it every day and sat, legs dangling down next to the ladder.

  “Well, that’s one hell of a way to make an entrance.” He dragged a hand through his hair, smoothing the wild frays ever so slightly, and smiled around at us, his bright teeth shining in the morning sun. His face was deeply tanned, telling of a life spent outside, but his eyes were young and vibrant. His clothes were faded from the sun and salt spray.

  “Did Diego come back up?” I asked, tears threatening.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think he made it. That damned sea lion got caught in our fishing nets last night... killed itself trying to get loose. One of my boys cut it some when they were trying to free it. That blood’s been attracting schools of sharks all morning. You picked one hell of a time for a visit.” He stopped, noticing the pain on my face, “I’m real sorry about your friend, though.”

  No one said anything. The ocean heaved far beneath us, and I heard our boats bumping against each other where they were tied under the rig.

  “Why don’t we get indoors for a bit?” The shaggy-haired man hopped up with a burst of energy that surprised me. “My name’s Kevin. Used to run this operation.” He gestured out over the railing toward the sea. “Still do, though the job has changed a bit.” I looked past him and saw the twin rig not far away. I didn’t truly appreciate how big they were until just now. They were like two massive, adjoined islands lifted out of the water on stilts.

  We all got up to follow Kevin and met the two men who’d been shooting at the sharks. They both greeted us warmly, excited to see new people.

  “So where did you guys come from?” Kevin asked, after he ushered us out of the bright sun and into a dining galley. The room wasn’t big, but we all managed to find seats around the few plastic tables. Kevin chose to forgo a chair and sat on the table instead, his feet propped on the chair. It was almost like a throne, the way he was elevated and looking at us, and I might have been intimidated if it weren’t for his gentle demeanor and the deep smile lines in his face.

  “The Westside and Burbank,” Karl said. “How long have you guys been out here?”

  “Since the outbreak. We all worked here. You're the first sign of life we’ve had in ages. I wasn’t even sure there were people left on the planet, ‘cept me and the guys here. We’ve been cut off now forever it seems.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?” I asked.

  “Some did. A lot actually. Couple of the boats were supposed to come back, or send help if they couldn’t, but once people left the rigs, they had a bad habit of never being heard from again.”

  “What about a radio?” Karl asked. “Surely an operation this big has lots of those.”

  “We had a state-of-the-art communications room. It was toast though after a pretty good fire in that section of the rig about two weeks after the world went quiet on us. So tell me about what’s left. Are there any survivors in Oklahoma City?” Kevin asked. “I grew up there.”

  We all looked around, everyone unsure.

  “There’s still a lot we don’t know,” Karl said. “We’re talking on the radios again, but we haven’t spoken to anyone in Oklahoma.”

  “Here’s what we know,” I spoke up. “I’m sure you know enough from the few transmissions you had before your radios went silent. About one percent of the population was immune to the virus. They call it the Crimson Fever here in the States. The French call it the Great Scourge. It’s got lots of names. But it’s all the same. You get a fever, and a day or two later, you die. We don’t know why some people are naturally immune and others aren’t. It’s likely there are some people alive in Oklahoma, but probably not too many. But the good thing is, you guys made it. You’re alive. And if you want, we can take you all back with us. You can be part of civilization again. Houses, power, clean water, food... all that. We’re even trying to establish global cooperation. We talk regularly with several other cities around North America and just got in contact with Paris, where people have been reaching out to as many other communities on the other side of the globe as they can. There’s a Summit coming up in three months.”

  “Glad to hear politics are alive and well.” Kevin grinned. “Guess some things never die. So how you getting there?”

  “Well, that’s why we’re here,” I said. “We need a fuel source.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Kevin said. “Looks like this old place might be useful again after all. The fire we had was mostly maintained, so she’s probably still operational, though we quit drilling ages ago. My guess is, with a little luck, we could be good to go in a few days.” He slapped the table as if it were an extension of the oil rig. “You got a refinery up and running then?”

  “Working on it,” Shad said. “Our friend Ben is the brains behind this whole idea, but he couldn’t come. He told me what he knew, and we were hoping we could get one operational.” He held up his digital camera. “I’m supposed to take pictures of this place for him to look at.”

  Kevin smiled as if for the camera and slung an arm around me. “Go on. Take our picture,” he urged. Shad grinned and took two shots for good measure.

  “Aight, that’s a good first one. Feel free to snap off as many others as you need while you’re here. Me and the few boys left can easily manage Pollux, the smaller of the two, but it’ll be great to start teaching the next generation of workers, so we can get some relief sent in, and maybe get the big boy, Castor, up and running again. For now, you just need to tell us when you’ve got the transportation vessels and refineries up and running, and we can at least get Pollux going.”

  “How long do you think the whole process might take?” I asked, my heart sinking. I wondered if our plan was even feasible.

  “Well...” Kevin said, considering. “You got oil tankers?”

  “We’re looking into it,” Shad said.

  “So that’s a no,” Kevin said. “And the refineries aren’t ready either, I’m assu
ming. Okay, so I’d say... maybe two, three years and we’re back in business.”

  “Years?” I said, aghast.

  “Lot of work goes into the process. And I’m imagining everyone needs training on, well, everything. Not to mention all the cleanup the plants will need, let alone the tankers. Yeah, years sounds about right to me.”

  “There goes Paris,” Shad said.

  “Not necessarily,” Karl chimed in. “You know my people were able to store some fuel in the days after The Plague... I would have offered it sooner, but I didn’t want to be perceived as trying to dictate terms. And, like New Burbank, I was hopeful this would be a fruitful trip, providing us all with resources we need to continue rebuilding. But since this fuel can’t be refined fast enough, I’m happy to offer New Burbank what it needs to ferry us all to Paris.”

  A memory from the days shortly after The Plague flashed before me. I remembered looking down from the terrace of my secret apartment in The Water Tower and seeing men siphoning fuel from the gas station across the street. They’d known to hoard as much fuel as they could get their hands on then... because of Karl. He knew what the days ahead would be like, because he’d planned it out before releasing the Crimson Fever that took so many lives.

  “You waited until now to bring this up? After what we just... ” my voice trailed off as I gestured outside to the ocean. “You had a million opportunities to offer your fuel and now you’re just going to give it to us?!” I eyed him skeptically.

  “Yes, I am.”

  I sat back in my chair with an exhalation of anger and bewilderment.

  “What’s the catch?” Shad demanded.

  “No catch. You need something, and I happen to have it. After Paris, we’ll continue to work together here to solve the long term problem of oil refining, with the help of Kevin and his men.”

  “Convenient timing,” I muttered. “What else are you holding back until it suits you best?”

  “Sounds like there’s a little backstory here,” Kevin said with a widening grin. “Care to share it with a newcomer?”