by Martha Carr
“What became of your family?” asked Ned.
They got to the stairs of the El and descended underground where they would be able to catch the Redline. A few people were standing on the platform, everyone keeping to themselves. A woman looked a little too long at the bags of food that Ned was carrying, and Ned gave her a cold hard stare till she turned away.
Father Michael was right, he thought, better to end things quickly and heard a few feelings then let them go too far and end up smashing your hand.
“So, you never heard from your family again? No news at all?”
Father Michaels took on an uncharacteristic scowl, and he stomped his foot again. He started to speak, and stopped, and started again. Ned thought about letting him off the hook and telling him it didn’t matter but he wanted to know. He wanted to know if it was possible to still be happy if everyone you loved lived somewhere else. Somewhere too far away to catch a bus or take a subway and be able to knock on their door, and be taken in by those who knew you best.
Father Michael looked at Ned as if he wanted to change the subject, and go back to talking about high school graduation. Ned gave him the same cold, hard stare he’d given the woman.
“I know that look,” said Ned. “I’ve seen it before. It’s the same look everyone gets when they talk about George Clemente. This has something to do with him, doesn’t it? He’s the reason you joined the Order, isn’t he?”
Father Michael looked surprised but only for a moment.
“I have never met a young man quite like you, Ned Weiskopf. It’s a blessing and a curse. You see right through people, which makes it hard to lie to you. Hard to change the subject and act like a soft spot didn’t just take a hard jab. But in the end,” he said licking his chapped lips, “this is better. Better that you know what you’re up against.” He pursed his lips as if he was trying to figure out how to start.
“There was no one to miss,” he said, in a low, soft rumble. “Before I could make it to college, they were all gone. All destroyed.”
“What?” Ned felt that same rush of blood throughout his entire body that he had felt when he woke up the next day after the virus started to take effect. For a moment, everything had seemed normal until he realized just what the world would look like when no one could believe in anything anymore.
“Why did George Clemente murder your family? That’s what happened, wasn’t it?”
Father Michael grasped his hands in front of himself, squeezing his hands together. He pressed his knuckles into his chest and shut his eyes.
“They were innocent bystanders. It was a management operation that had gone sour. George Clemente was the area director who is in charge. He had been cutting corners on a construction project buying a cheaper brand of concrete that was never meant for commercial use. Even then, he held a tight grip on all the Management associates that worked for him. He didn’t even need to pay them off. I’m not going to drag this story out, more for my sake more than yours. But, there was one day, one day when my entire family had reason to be in that building. On the wrong day. Once the building started to collapse it took only minutes. Almost no one survived. And no one that I was related to survived at all.”
Ned could feel the cold through the space in his coat where the button had fallen off, despite his best efforts. The small circle of sharp cold bothered him, despite his efforts to think about something else. He folded his arms across his chest trying to cover the hole.
“Then, tell me about graduation day. Tell me about the world before everything had changed for you. That would be one of the last days you believed in everything.”
Net could hear what sounded like running water coming from not too far down the platform but he knew that was impossible. Water had become heavily regulated, even though most people couldn’t understand why that had happened.
George Clemente had managed to start a worldwide panic about something that people needed just to stay alive.
He turned to see where the sound was coming from and realized a woman was peeing off the edge of the platform onto the tracks. She was carefully balancing her naked butt over the edge and peeing, hunkered down in a slight crouch.
The smell of ammonia wafted through the air.
Father Michael turned and looked as well. But everyone else acted as if they didn’t hear anything and turn their shoulders so they didn’t see anything. Ned turned away and gave her some privacy, even if it wasn’t something she wanted.
“Tell me about graduation day,” said Ned.
“I can’t remember it the same way it happened, you know,” said Father Michael. “I remember the joy in such great amounts but it’s always mixed with the grief that I would feel so strongly just months later. I can’t separate one from the other.”
“Then tell me the best memory of the day. Tell me just that,” said Ned, as he saw the light from the train approach from further down the tunnel.
“I remember that part really well.” Father Michaels eyes glazed over as if he wasn’t suddenly standing on the platform in the middle of the cold in downtown Chicago. His face softened, and he even looked years younger.
“We stood under a large elm tree, they still had those back then. They were everywhere. Someone wanted to take our picture. There were so many of us they kept saying, bunch up closer together. We were all laughing, grabbing each other, squeezing in close. In those days they took a few pictures because you couldn’t be sure you got a good one till you got the pictures back from the store. My mother kept telling all of us to behave and smile and look at the camera. My father told all of us to say whiskey and was showing all of his teeth as he smiled as broad as he could. My mother would frown at him, and then let out a laugh. It made the rest of us all laugh harder. It’s still the best moment of my life. For that moment, I was right there, thinking about nothing else, just being happy with my family.”
The train stopped in front of them and the door slid open as the conductor’s voice came over the intercom and said, “Doors closing, doors closing.”
“Come on,” said Ned, as he gave the priest a nudge to get on the train quickly.
The train was full, as it usually was, with people who were trying to stay warm, and others who just needed something to do and rode the train all day looking at the passing cityscape or when they were underground just at the long dark tunnel.
Ned moved quickly and found one empty open seat and sat in it until Father Michael could catch up, maneuvering around people, who had hoped for the open seat.
Ned gave him the seat and rested the bags in the Father’s lap as he held onto a pole.
“I guess, for now, you’re my family,” said Ned. “And I’m yours. That will have to be enough.”
“Yes, we will make the best of it,” said Father Michael, smiling again, the creases reappearing around his eyes.
Chapter 3
Ned made sure that Father Michael was settled in before he went to check the computer to see if there were any messages on Pastebin from any of the Butterflies who were located all over the world. On his way to the small bedroom they shared that held two narrow cots, he stopped at the bathroom and tried the tap in the sink to see if the water was flowing. It had become a habit. A row of empty plastic gallon milk jugs scavenged from various dumpsters stood at the ready, just in case.
Brackish water gushed out of the faucet and Ned immediately turned it off. Water was too precious to waste anymore.
He grabbed a jug and turned on the faucet in the bathtub holding the jug underneath, giving it a second so the sediment from the pipes could pour out, before filling the jugs to the brim.
“Is the water running?” asked Father Michael. Ned realized Father Michael must’ve passed him on his way to lie down for a while. The sound of the rushing water already gave away what Ned was doing, which meant the old man was really looking for conversation with someone. Most of his days were spent in a small apartment, and even though he was dedicated to the resistance and a life of servic
e he wasn’t used to being so alone.
Ned thought about what Father Michael had told him on the walk back from the store, about losing his entire family, and what that must mean to someone who had grown up so happy among so many people. Now, he found himself with one skinny teenager in a tiny apartment and yet he still found moments of laughter, and spoke of gratitude.
Ned wasn’t sure he could do the same.
He didn’t immediately answer Father Michael. He wanted to focus on filling the jugs just in case there would only be a few minutes of water. It’d already happened to him at least once before, when the water immediately and abruptly stopped flowing before he could fill the last jug. He didn’t like feeling frustrated and besides, it was hard to hear the old priest over the sound of the rushing water.
Next, he filled the basins that would be used to help the toilet flush, wash the few dishes, or let them take the occasional bath out of the sink with a dingy wash rag and a sticky bar of Ivory soap.
Once he was done filling the basin, Ned jammed an old plug into the drain in the bathtub and started to fill the tub with water. This was the most water he’d been able to collect since the Great Relief had started.
It was the one thing he didn’t anticipate when the Butterflies were going over every scenario. That there would be a general panic about natural resources, started by someone unseen, someone besides George Clemente.
Ned suspected it had more to do with creating an illusion that things were going wrong than with any actual shortage. He knew all about the deal that George Clemente had made with China to ship in water from Angola, as a means to overcorrect for all that China had done to their own ecology.
The tub was filled before the water stopped flowing and Ned shut it off reluctantly, wondering if maybe the shortage was coming to an end. He knew it had to end sometime but he doubted the time had come just yet. Someone was laying the groundwork for something else they wanted more. Once the general population was sufficiently convinced that their very lives depended on coming together as a group and agreeing to some proposition that would have seemed outrageous to them before, then the shortage would end.
Ned knew a bargaining tool when he saw one.
He headed into the bedroom and open the top drawer of the old dresser they dragged in from the alley. Ned had grabbed it immediately when he saw it, knowing someone would use it for firewood if he didn’t act fast. It was painted a baby blue and still had contact paper on the sides of brightly colored elephants that seems so out of place, they may Ned feel a little sad for what was lost. Normally, he tried not to look at them.
He pulled out a sweater and threw it on as a third layer.
“Are you heading out?” asked Father Michael.
Ned slowly closed the drawer, more to give himself a moment than anything else. He could feel his sense of peace slipping away, and he wasn’t even sure why. But he knew he wasn’t going to take it out on this old man, so he needed a moment to just take a breath.
“I am in a few minutes. I need to check the computer first. I want to see if there’s been any progress from any of the other Butterflies to see if someone’s come up with a solution as to what we should do next. Even if it’s a small step I want to see it.”
“Tell Juliette hello for me. Is your phone charged? Take some pictures along the way if you don’t mind. Not of anything in particular, just anything you find interesting.”
Ned sat down on the edge of the cot tipping it toward the floor but not so much that it made the old man roll too far to one side. The cots were so low to the ground that Ned’s knees came almost to his chest. At first, they weren’t very comfortable but Ned quickly grew used to it. He wondered how the old man with all of his scars and all of his pains was able to tolerate it.
“When I get back we can go for a walk,” said Ned. “It’s not good for you to stay indoors all day long. We would probably get more done if we got out a little more often, even in this cold.”
Father Michael shut his eyes for a moment. Ned suspected he was trying to find a good spin for what he was about to say.
“You and I make an odd pair,” said the Father.
“Only because you insist on wearing a cassock and a collar,” said Ned. If you would change into a sweater or layers like I wear, you would look like my grandfather. No one would look twice. No one, except those who might want to take something from us. And they are looking at our faces, but only to guess what they can take from us.”
Father Michael nodded and said, “which turns out to be, not much. How is your hand, by the way?”
Ned instinctively started to put his hand down by his side but realized there was no point to it. He held it up and peeled off the glove he was still wearing, which he rarely took off anymore. The hand was turning purple and green in the very center but the swelling had gone down.
“How does the other guy look?” said the priest, with a smile.
“He looks fine. What matters is, I kept the can of soup,” said Ned, examining his hand more closely. “The jug is in the basin and even the tub is full of water now. That should last us for a week. We’re doing really well today. We even have enough food for the week. As long as the electricity stays on, none of the food will go bad. But if we have to, we can cook all the meat at once, and that should make it last longer.”
“I don’t think we’ve reached the apocalypse just yet. I suppose you’ve figured out that there is no real shortage, at least not here in North America, and we are all just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I see George Clemente’s hand in all of this, and I have to wonder if this was really his endgame. Perhaps it was not power in China, after all, and that was just a bonus for him. The United States was always what he coveted and every defeat only made him more patient.”
Ned slid his hand back into the layers of gloves, the ends cut off like he had seen others do. Even in the best of times, Chicago was a cold place to be, even indoors and the old three flat that they were staying in had poor insulation at best. The wind seeped in through cracks in the doors and from around the windows and it was rare that Ned ever felt completely warm.
“Do you have enough money for the Metra?” asked Father Michael.
“Cash is not our problem. I put aside enough of it before I spent the rest of what I took from George Clemente. If everyone was still accepting cash we would not have any problems with getting supplies. Fortunately, the city of Chicago is still accepting cash. Either they know something we don’t know, or they just don’t know how to barter.”
He pulled a Metra card from his pocket and checked it to see how many rides were left. The train still used the old-fashioned system of punching a hole for every ride. There were three left.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take plenty of pictures for you. But were going for that walk when I get back.”
Father Michael rested his hands on top of his chest as if he was laid out in a coffin. It was the way he usually slept. On the first couple of nights, Ned had checked to see that the old man was still breathing. It was strange enough for him to be away from his family, and find himself sharing an apartment that was stripped down to the basic necessities, and with an old man that he barely knew, and had only met a few times. But it would’ve been worse to realize he was staying with a corpse.
The Circle had put them together. First Esther Ackerman, an old zwanzig, had taken him aside to explain to him why this was a good idea. Then his uncle, Tom Weiskopf, the standing Keeper and the current head of the Circle, had asked him to do it as a favor.
“Father Michael is determined to stay in Chicago,” said his Uncle Tom. “He feels it’s the best place to put together information about George Clemente. Clemente is originally from the area and he seems to feel the need to return every now and then. He still has ties there.”
More than he realizes, thought Ned, thinking of Daniel Kozak, the son Clemente never knew he had, and what’s more, didn’t know was the one who betrayed him.
Ned was staying in Chic
ago to be near his friends at the orphanage that stood on the outskirts of Chicago in Elgin. If he was being honest, it was also to be near Juliette. He suspected the elders and the Circle didn’t want him staying at the orphanage because George Clemente was still looking for him. It would have put them in grave danger. Ned was coming the closest that anyone ever had to defeating George Clemente and was probably at the top of his hit list.
Father Michael was probably there to protect Ned as much as Ned was trying to protect Father Michael.
“I won’t be gone long. I’ll be back in time to make dinner. Is there anything else we need while I’m out?” asked Ned.
Father Michael’s eyelids fluttered open. “There is always something we need. If you see something, I would pick it up, if I were you.” He shut his eyes again and let out a half snort as if he was already asleep, and snoring, which he was prone to do.
Ned crept quietly out of the apartment, shutting the heavy door as quietly as he could behind him. He hunched his shoulders and pulled the hood of the sweatshirt over his head pulling a knit cap down over the top. It helped to hide his real identity as much as to keep him warm.
The Metra train that headed toward Milwaukee was overcrowded and very few people got off at Elgin. Ned had stood most of the way unable to find a seat and when he did, he gave it up at the very next stop to a woman who was carrying packages and holding onto the hands of a small child. No one else had moved a muscle even though they all watched her get on.
He hiked the last few miles to the orphanage, winding down the narrow looping side streets of Elgin, not to be mistaken with South Elgin that sat next door.
He had made that mistake with a man who owned a deli and had to listen to a five minute lecture about what the differences were, before he could get the meat he was there to barter for with a small amount of nine mm ammo that he happened to have on him when he spotted the deli meat in the front window.
Shops in Chicago didn’t display what they had so openly, and would have asked far more in the barter.
