Rise of the Transgenics

by J. S. Frankel

  They jumped into the middle of the moving tide, and Anastasia went under briefly before fighting her way to the surface. She came up spitting out junk and cursing. “This stinks! My toes can barely touch the bottom.”

  “You want to go back to the chamber?” he asked.

  She tossed him an extremely unpleasant look, which he interpreted as don’t mess with me or you get slashed. “I hope you can swim.”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he answered. “Let’s go.”

  Laboriously wading through the now faster moving river of sludge, they made slow progress and the tide grew higher, now up to their necks. This was not good, he thought. “We have to get to higher ground,” he said, chin barely above the filth and trying not to gag from the smell or swallow the dirty water.

  Anastasia puffed and panted as she moved, and her eyes roved back and forth. “This...is not what I call a romantic outing,” she managed to say.

  Harry almost laughed, but a roar cut short his reply, and stealing a look behind them, he saw a wall of water surge in their direction. “Oh crap!”

  With a roar, the tide caught and lifted them, and they went under. With his good hand, he clutched her arm tightly and didn’t dare let go for an instant. The current moved them along rapidly, and he fought not to breathe in the filth from the city.

  In a sudden surge, the current pulled him and Anastasia in a different direction. They seemed to be moving faster now, went through a series of turns, and with spots forming in front of his eyes from the lack of oxygen, he knew that he couldn’t last much longer and hoped some kind of tributary was up ahead.

  It seemed that his prayers were answered, as their path abruptly went down and they tumbled out of the pipe into a large basin. He came up gasping for air, and pulled Anastasia’s limp body up with him.

  “Oh hell,” he got out and put his ear to her mouth. She wasn’t breathing.

  Immediately, he performed a very clumsy cross-chest carry and towed her over to the ledge. Bad shoulder and all, he managed to heave her body up on the concrete, hauled himself out, and started mouth-to-mouth. “C’mon, breathe,” he urged between breaths. “Breathe! Don’t leave me here alone!”

  Continuing to work, he switched to CPR, doing fifteen compressions on her chest, and then switching back to mouth-to-mouth. Time passed, he sweated in spite of the cold, and finally, her body jerked and she immediately vomited out a large amount of water and kept retching as if her stomach contained half the sewer.

  Exhausted, he slumped back, and after she finished expelling the waste of the city from her guts, she rolled over with a groan and opened her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked between heaving in mighty gulps of air. His heart kept hammering against his ribcage and he hoped that it wouldn’t burst. “I thought...thought I lost you.”

  “I’ll make it,” she answered, and squeezed his hand gently. “I almost drowned back there. You saved me.” She sat up and regarded him with a look of wonder. “You saved me.”

  Pleased by the compliment, but shrugging it off, Harry mumbled that he’d merely hung onto her and done what he had to do. “Uh, well, that’s okay. You saved my butt a few times.”

  While he must have smelled horrible, Anastasia didn’t seem to mind and hugged him so tightly he felt like one of his ribs was about to break. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Embarrassed by the display of affection, yet still pleased, he put his good arm around her shoulder. “We should be okay here for the rest of the day. Let’s get some rest,” he suggested.

  Anastasia said nothing else, just snuggled into his chest, and soon, weary from their swimming and escape efforts, they passed out, with the sound of rushing water lulling them to sleep.

  Chapter Ten: Possibilities

  Mid-afternoon turned into dusk, and dusk turned into night. It got cooler in the sewer, but never freezing. Fortunately, where they were, the water remained at a constant level. Harry strained his ears, listening for the sound of footsteps from anyone, subterranean dweller or city official, coming their way, but heard nothing save the sloshing sound of the water.

  “I think we’ll be safe here,” Anastasia said. Her arms wound around his waist and he copied the move. Huddling together and sharing each other’s body warmth, they stroked each other’s faces until tiredness overcame them and passed out again in each other’s arms.

  Harry did wake up a couple of times, but his girlfriend slept deeply, and for once, she didn’t talk in her sleep or thrash around. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps she’d come to terms with what she was and what she’d done. The only thing that remained was what she’d do in the future. He was determined to be a part of that future.

  In the end, Harry became too tired to think about all the possibilities and passed out once more. Sometime later, he felt her hand shaking him. “Hey, get up, I think morning is here,” Anastasia said. “Let’s go up topside.”

  They carefully made their way to the surface. Anastasia led the way and cautiously pushed the manhole out of the way. Poking her head out of the opening, she glanced down and announced that they were still in the Bowery. “I remember the pictures I saw during my time in Russia,” she said. “We must have fallen into some kind of reservoir.”

  “So where exactly are we?”

  “In an alleyway,” she replied with a bright smile. “It’s gonna be a good day. Come on up.”

  Emerging into the light, Harry blinked, shivered from the cold, and watched as his girlfriend went dumpster diving. The garbage flew out of the container as she rummaged around, and her foraging efforts netted a few half-eaten hamburgers.

  Ordinarily, this would have been a big pass, but “when you’re hungry, you eat,” Harry said as he carefully bit into the cheeseburger she’d found. Hunger overcame him, and he ravenously devoured the rest of the pickings. Eating made him feel somewhat warmer, and he shook out his shoulder and moved around, figuring that would increase his body temperature somewhat.

  Glancing at the manhole, he reviewed the last few hours. Being in a sewer exposed a person to an entirely different way of thinking and acting. Almost drowning only solidified the idea in his mind that there had to be a better way of doing things.

  Practicality eventually broke through, and his mind raced through the possibilities. They’d already eaten, so the next step was finding somewhere to clean up, and after that, finding a car in order to get around.

  “I got an idea,” he said, peeking out of the alleyway. Yellow cabs dotted the streets and a number of passersby rushed here and there on their way to work. Judging from the sun’s position in the sky, it had to be around seven in the morning. Rush hour would be starting very soon. It was clear, cold, and he shivered in the morning air. He felt around in his pockets—yes, he still had some spare change.

  “What are you...” Anastasia asked, and then stopped as she followed his finger.

  He’d pointed to a car wash. “I’m guessing that it’s automatic. No one is going to wash their car at this time of day.”

  It seemed like a plan.

  Carefully stealing across the street, they encountered no one and entered the lot. A coin box sat on the wall and a hose with a spray gun below it. Feeding five quarters in, he heard the gurgle of water come through and picked up the spray gun. “You ready?” he asked. “It’s going to be cold.”

  “Better than stinking,” she replied. “Let her fly.”

  He did, and a burst of water came out, showering Anastasia from head to toe. She let out a faint hiss, but stood still and turned around in order to get completely wet. Noticing something out of the corner of his eye, he turned off the water and picked it up. It was a sliver of soap. “Here, use this,” he said, tossing it at her.

  Quickly she lathered up and he hosed her down again. Once done, she said, “Your turn,” and they switched positions.

  The water was freezing, and coupled with the winter weather, it came as a real shock to his system. He couldn’t help but tremble mightily at the cold. �
��You’re acting like a baby,” she said after the initial hose-down. “Here, let me help you.”

  She turned the water off and wrapped her arms around him, soaping him up. While this wasn’t the time or place, he felt her warmth, her animal as well as her human warmth, and, oh...this wasn’t the right time to get awkward about things...

  If she knew, she didn’t say anything about it, but a tiny grin emerged on her face and she purred into his ear, “Isn’t that better?”

  Stepping back, he looked down and found himself covered in suds. “Uh, yeah, I guess...”

  Once again, the spray gun did its work and he let out an angry squawk as the water rinsed away the soap. Anastasia shook herself off in the same manner a cat would, and started to groom her arms and hair. Harry’s teeth chattered and he figured hypothermia was just around the corner...

  “Hey, it’s them!” a voice rang out.

  Turning toward the source they saw two men standing at the entrance, one of them already in the process of whipping out a cellphone. It was a sure bet that he was contacting the police, giving them their location, and...

  “Oh, man, this is not going to end well,” he said.

  “C’mon,” Anastasia urged, grabbing his undamaged shoulder. She yanked him in the direction of the far wall and they ran quickly toward it. It had to be at least fifteen feet high.

  “Hang on,” she cried and jumped up with him in tow.

  From this height, he caught glimpses of the street life below. The two men were waving someone down—probably a squad car—while other people were staring in their direction. A bird flew by, and startled by their unwanted presence it chirped out its disapproval and kept going. They finally they landed in a small backyard. Covered in snow, it lay as a tiny oasis from the mean streets behind them.

  Shouts followed them, and they did the run-and-jump thing until they’d gone at least twenty houses down the block. She shifted direction and they veered off to their left, through more backyards.

  “We have to keep going,” Anastasia urged, and forcing his body to do what he thought was impossible, he managed to keep up with her. They scrambled over fence after fence in a desperate attempt to outrun their pursuers, but the shouts kept following them. “Run!”

  After they reached the thirtieth house or thereabouts, the sounds of shouting stopped and Anastasia stopped to look around. She wasn’t even breathing hard and could probably do this all day. On the other hand, he was winded, felt chilled beyond belief, and right now his muscles began to lock up and he could go no further. “I gotta sit down,” he said, and sank to the snowy ground.

  Gasping for air and feeling as though his lungs would burst, with his head down, Harry wondered what to do next. “Who’s there?” a voice called.

  With a sinking heart, he saw an old and skinny black woman come out wearing a housecoat draped over a nightgown. Heavy galoshes covered her feet, and she had a scarf tied round her head, covering wispy shoulder-length white hair. “I smell you, and you don’t smell all that great to me,” she stated.

  She was short and walking with a limp, carrying a cane in her left hand, but he wasn’t looking at that. He was looking at the pistol she held in her right hand. It was small, but very lethal looking, and at this range, she couldn’t miss.

  “Who’s there?” she asked again, her voice strong and sure, belying her age. Shuffling along slowly, one hand outstretched with the cane in hand, while the other firmly held onto the pistol, she cocked her head to one side and listened intently. With a smooth, unlined face even though she had to be at least eighty, she could have passed for anyone’s grannie. The pistol, though, that changed everything.

  When she blinked, though, he saw the milky whiteness of what used to be organs that could see. Blind...she’s blind.

  He tapped Anastasia on the shoulder and she nodded. She’d already figured out that the woman couldn’t see, but stood stock still as the house owner moved in, her nostrils flaring.

  “I’m legally blind,” she began. “I can only see shadows and can’t make out your features, but I can hear two people breathing,” she stated, her voice still sure. “One of you must be cold, because your teeth are chattering.”

  Harry clamped his jaws together, but couldn’t stop his body from shaking. Damn, this woman heard everything! When she spoke, it was in a clear, confident voice. “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I’m deaf. From the sound of your voices and that stink, I know your position. If I let loose with this,” she continued, the pistol never wavering, “at least one of you won’t be breathing! Speak up and do it now.”

  Taking a deep breath, Harry said, “I’m about five feet away from where you are, ma’am, to your ten o’clock. My girlfriend is standing next to me. And it was me chattering my teeth. I’m, uh, I took a shower before and didn’t have dry clothes.”

  Lame explanation given, he waited, heart thumping wildly. The woman cautiously approached, saying, “From the sound of your voice, you must be a teenager. And I smell someone different...have you got a pet with you?”

  “I’m not a pet,” Anastasia stated in no uncertain terms.

  The woman nodded, kept up the approach, and once directly in front of Harry, she reached out and touched his shoulder. “My, you are wet,” she said in a grandmotherly voice. “And you smell just terrible! What happened?”

  “I don’t think you’d believe me, ma’am,” he said softly, not really knowing where to start. He didn’t want to scare her, as the gun looked awfully lethal, but he had to phrase things right. Thinking of the simplest question he could, he asked, “Did you see the news?”

  Her head suddenly jerked up. “Let me repeat, I’m blind young man, I don’t watch television. I used to, but not now. I just turn it on for the noise. I’d rather listen to music on the radio.”

  Harry rubbed his forehead at his mistake. “Okay, did you hear about what happened to the FBI the other day?”

  Lines formed on her forehead as she digested the question, and then recognition dawned on her face. “Yes...I heard about some...animal coming in and killing people. It sounded so awful, and then I heard a news flash about a prison break.”

  Harry couldn’t take the cold much longer. A wind had sprung up, whipping against his back, and his muscles began to shake uncontrollably. “Ma’am, if we could come in for about ten minutes, I can explain everything...and I need a towel.”

  Seconds passed, the woman’s mouth moving wordlessly, and finally she stepped back, feeling the air behind her. “You can come in.”

  She obviously knew where to step, because once she started to walk her movements were quick and sure. It was a lot warmer inside the house, and after Harry and Anastasia entered, she shut the door. They were standing in a small kitchen, and the odors of baking bread hung in the air.

  Anastasia uttered a soft grunt and Harry listened to the rumble in her stomach. His stomach also began to growl, and their hostess laughed. “I heard that. I always do my baking in the morning so I’ll have something to eat at noon. The bread won’t be ready for another twenty minutes, so you’ll have to wait if you want to get fed. If you go straight ahead, you’ll see a set of stairs. Go up the stairs and look to the left. The first room is a shower room. Use it.”

  Not having any choice but to trust her, they did as she instructed. Anastasia went first, took her shower, and came out with a large towel wrapped around her torso. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she said and kissed Harry on the cheek.

  Stripping off his clothes inside the small room, he bundled them up and stuffed them into a small hamper with Anastasia’s clothes. He stepped into the shower—it felt glorious to get clean under the hot water. Lathering up, he washed away the sewer gunk in his hair and on his body, and then found a towel in a small cabinet under the sink.

  After he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist, he went downstairs and found Anastasia and the old woman waiting for him in a small living room. “If you’re clean now, wait here,” the old lady said. “
Wait here and I’ll get you some clean clothes, young man.”

  “Thanks,” Harry said, grateful for the assistance.

  “You’re about five-eight, aren’t you?”

  How did she...? “Uh, yes, that’s right ma’am.”

  She chuckled. “If you’re wondering how I know, it’s very simple,” she said. “I can always judge height from the direction of the voice.”

  Without waiting for an answer, the woman tapped her way up the stairs. As she made her way up, Anastasia whispered, “What makes you think she isn’t going to call the police?”

  “Do you hear her talking on the phone?”

  Anastasia twisted her head in the direction of the second floor and made a shushing gesture. “No, she’s not calling anyone. I just hear her opening drawers.”

  A few seconds later, the woman reappeared with a pair of undershorts, black slacks, a black hoodie, and a pair of matching black socks in her left hand. She also carried a pair of pink shorts and a long sleeved shirt. Oddly enough, she didn’t have the pistol anymore. “Here you are,” she said, after reaching the bottom of the stairs. “Get changed. I promise not to look.”

  Harry started to say something and then stopped. This woman had a funny sense of humor, and he couldn’t help but let out a tiny laugh while Anastasia giggled. Swiftly changing, he remembered the coins in his discarded pants, ran upstairs to get them, and shoved them in the dry pair of pants. They were a little long and baggy, but the hoodie fit well enough, as did the socks, and soon he began to feel like a human being once again.

  Just as quickly, though, he cut the thought short. Anastasia had it worse. “Uh, what should we do about our clothes?” he asked.

  “Leave ‘em,” the old lady commanded. “You let me worry about them. We have other things to talk about.”

  “Comfortable here,” Anastasia remarked as she looked around the living room.

  It was small and spare, with only a beat-up old couch, a television, and a few cushions around for comfort, all arranged on a threadbare carpet. In spite of the age of the place, everything was as neat as a pin and not a speck of dust could be seen.