by Eliza Green
A woman in her early fifties with short brown hair and a smile appeared on screen.
‘Hey,’ said Eleanor. ‘How’s it going out there?’
‘The usual. Everything okay where you are?’
Eleanor was in one of the old subway tunnels once home to New York City’s transit system. Behind her was a sign that read Liberty Avenue and a discarded train that the movement used for accommodation. The underground medical facilities would have been their first choice, but Greyson said it was likely World Government had destroyed their secret facilities before they left.
‘Grey and I have some news.’
Eleanor smiled wider. ‘You found her.’
Jenny nodded.
‘Where?’
‘In Waverley neighbourhood. She evaded the Kings by lying about her skills. A man who owns the local tavern there took her in.’
Jenny followed a bead of water that trickled down the wall behind Eleanor. ‘Do you and Grey trust him?’ Her daughter, a former lawyer, could usually see the truth in people before they revealed anything about themselves.
‘Time will tell. He promised to bring her here to see us. He’s a proud old man but he is good. With persuasion, he’ll see reason. I’m sure of it.’
Jenny had transported criminals before she became a courier of goods. Her former job had taught her a few things about who to trust.
Eleanor spoke to someone off-screen. Jenny noticed the increased activity behind her.
‘What’s going on, love? Have you injured among you?’
‘Nothing serious. A couple of the team ran into some trouble up top. When will you meet her?’
‘Tomorrow, I hope. Grey and I will be back this evening. I just wanted to let you know. Grey will want to talk to her somewhere in private.’
Eleanor nodded. ‘I’ll let the others know to expect you soon. What do you think she is?’
‘If Bill and Stephen sent her, she’s more than an empath. She resisted their attempts to break her. That’s all they’ve said.’
‘Or all they know.’
‘Grey and I just need to talk to her. Ask her if she’s on our side.’
‘What makes you so sure about her? We thought the same about the last few. But it’s been eight years and no progress with the devolved humans. What makes Stephen so sure about this one?’
Jenny understood Eleanor’s concerns. Several Indigenes had been sent back from Exilon 5 to help out the movement, but all were too traumatised by their experiences on Earth, a planet that had changed so drastically since their time as human. Many had never made it to the underground movement. Others had been killed by the Agostini family because they’d retreated inside themselves too much to be useful to anyone.
But one male had made it through. Grey had spent time with him to understand how he could help the people of Earth and other Devolved like him. But the Indigene had been a spy for the criminals, and his intel had led to a raid by the Kings on one of their hideouts. Jenny and Greyson, who had been in a different hideout, had separated themselves from the movement. Soon after, they had immersed themselves in local life to keep an eye on the Agostini family. They refused to let anything like that happen again.
‘There’s something else,’ said Jenny. ‘A serious problem in Waverley where our Indigene is staying. I’ve been told the life support is failing there.’
Eleanor frowned. ‘Randomly or systematically?’
‘Systematically. There’s a definite pattern to it. I didn’t have too much time with the residents to ask much about it. Look, it’s too coincidental, but this encrypted message we’ve been seeing on the DPads started broadcasting a few days ago. I’m not saying the two are linked, but it’s a possibility. Decrypting the message is the key and Grey and I need an IT expert for that.’
‘And you think this Indigene may be the expert we need?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘I still believe there’s an IT expert hiding out among the skilled workers in the Fortress. How we can use her to reach them, I’m not sure how to do that yet.’
Eleanor smiled. ‘I should have made the time to get to know you before. I always thought you were too soft to make a change.’
‘Well, you are your father’s daughter. So that makes you part mistrustful. But at least you get your tenacity from me.’
14
The tavern was open for business but there were no patrons. Not even Old Pete had shown up. Ben looked around the ground floor that was littered with sheets and towels, and chairs being used as makeshift beds.
It was nearly lunchtime and Isobel cleaned glasses that didn’t need cleaning. On occasion, she would glance at the piece of paper Ben had given her the day before, with thirteen names, addresses, and physical descriptions. He had quizzed her about them; it must have been immediately obvious which Alex Sinclair was her husband. She told him she wanted to check out one particular address.
Ben fought the urge to close the tavern early and help Isobel find her husband. But if he did, Albert would, in his words, tan his hide. As usual Kevin was out again, and of no help.
A low whisper of conversational Italian filled the ground floor.
Ben turned to Isobel who straightened up, folded the paper and put it away.
‘I don’t know what to do, Isobel. Albert’s still not back and I’ve no idea where Kevin went.’
‘It’s important that I find him. But I can go alone.’
Ben shook his head. ‘You won’t get past the gate without me, and you don’t know how to get there.’ There was no way Isobel was ditching him; he’d gone to a lot of trouble to get the information. ‘But we really should go today.’
They could delay the trip until tomorrow, but Ben couldn’t go through another sleepless night.
‘I am fast and I have a good sense of direction,’ said Isobel. ‘You don’t have to come with me. Stay here and wait for Albert.’
‘I told you already. They won’t let you out of the neighbourhood by yourself. The guards at the gates follow Marcus’ orders. The Devolved must be accompanied by a regular human. It’s the rule.’
Isobel frowned. ‘Since when?’
Ben shrugged. ‘Since you arrived, I guess. We’ve never had Devolved staying in Waverley before.’
Isobel’s gaze hardened. ‘Why do you keep calling me that? Is that everyone’s opinion? That I’m no longer evolved? That I’m a worthless reject who cannot be trusted to leave Waverley?’
‘No, I don’t think that... Jesus.’ He ran a hand through his messy hair. ‘I’m sorry, Isobel. It’s just what they call you. What I’m trying to say... not me or Albert or Sal. We would never... The rest just don’t know you.’
The Italians had gone quiet. Where the hell was Albert? They had to go soon if they were to make it there and back before curfew.
Isobel relaxed a fraction but she kept her yellow-flecked eyes on him. Then she looked away. ‘Okay, so if Albert doesn’t make it back in time, what’s the alternative?’
An alternative. Of course. Why didn’t he think of that?
Ben smiled. ‘Stay here. I’ll be back as fast as I can.’
He pulled on his coat and left the tavern to go to talk to Sal. It was barely afternoon and the dark and gloomy sky made the day too dark, but in the last six months, the clouds had parted enough for new light to break through. Ben could almost feel a breeze on his cheek whenever the murk lifted. Whenever a weak column of light broke through, he would stand under it and try to remember what sun felt like. But the light never lasted and the clouds quickly reformed, rendering the air thick and claustrophobic.
But it marked a change. Industries no longer operated on Earth, or if they did it was at a much lower rate. The air still lingered with poisonous carbon dioxide and the promise of slow and painful death. But it was a start.
Ben ran to Sal’s cottage—no easy feat with a leaky oxygen canister on his hip. He banged on the door.
‘Please be here, please be here.’
A passing middle-ag
ed woman called to him.
‘She’s not in. You might find her in the old school.’ She pointed to the large building just beyond Central Square. ‘She’s helping to organise refugees from North Compound.’
‘Thanks.’
He half-ran to the school that was once a factory which, according to Albert, used to recycle high-end military hardware. The factory had been converted in the early days after the World Government left, and the original walls remained. It stood alone against the giant perimeter wall, accessible only by an old road entrance.
Ben walked up the short driveway and passed through a weak environmental force field on his way inside. He removed his mask and an instant clamminess hit him. His skin broke out in a sweat while his tight chest forced him to slow down his breathing.
Hundreds of people with flushed cheeks occupied the largest room in the building. They didn’t move much amid the thick and heavy air; it was clear the life support couldn’t cope with the numbers.
Sal was in one corner directing the older people to a row of temporary beds, favouring those caring for young children. She wore her gel mask. Except for the occasional foreign voice in Spanish, German and Italian, the room was quiet.
The layout reminded Ben of the orphanage: one giant bedroom with no privacy.
‘We can house maybe ten more in here,’ Sal said to a helper. ‘But the rest will have to go someplace else. The air is already too thin.’
She turned when Ben got closer to her. Her gaze sharpened. ‘Any news from Albert? What did Marcus say?’
‘He’s not back yet.’
Sal’s gaze softened. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. ‘I should have gone with him. But I’m needed here.’
He hated to see her worry. He was sure Albert was fine. ‘I heard someone say he was on his way back,’ he lied.
‘Are you sure?’
Ben nodded. That earned him a small smile.
He hoped he was right.
‘That’s not why I’m here, though. I came to ask you for a favour.’
☼
Ben and Isobel walked towards Waverley’s main gate. Isobel wore a full-length coat and had a scarf wrapped around her head. She looked almost normal except for her unusual height, her yellow-flecked eyes and the sporadic growth of hair in her eyebrows.
The guards were quick to make their feelings known about a Devolved in their presence. The gestures weren’t the worst of it, though. It was the vile things they whispered to each other, knowing full well that Isobel could pick up the sound of a pin dropping halfway across the neighbourhood.
If it bothered her, she didn’t show it.
‘What did you say to Sal?’ she asked Ben when they made it past the gate.
‘I told her I’d found your husband and we needed to go today.’
He clutched the bag, filled with oxygen canisters. The guards had been too distracted with Isobel to bother checking it. Sal had promised to stay at the tavern until Ben or Albert returned.
‘And she could spare the oxygen? Even with the life support problems?’
‘She understood that you needed to know.’
Isobel closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze seemed sharper. ‘What’s our plan?’
‘Well, I’m sort of making it up as I go along, but we should be able to catch a ride with one of the military vehicles.’
‘And how will we do that?’
‘By hitching a ride on the back of one.’
They would need to find a vehicle with a red mark on the windscreen heading east. ‘It’s about forty miles to Long Island from here. We just need to get close enough. Then we can walk the rest of the way.’
‘What if he lives in a neighbourhood like Waverley?’ Isobel sounded nervous. ‘We won’t be able to get in with the identity chips we have.’
He wondered if she was looking for excuses not to see her husband again.
‘We’ve come this far. Let’s get there first and worry about the rest then.’
They walked along the pavement. Several all-black vehicles drove past, most likely carrying criminals on their way to do some illegal business. He explained to Isobel about ghosting, and nudged her when he spotted a vehicle with a red mark.
Isobel scooped him up in her arms. The wind tore through his hair as she ran for the back of the car. When the car hit a bump, she jumped and landed perfectly on the back. Crouching low, she set Ben down beside her and he grabbed the handle.
‘You meant this one, right?’
Ben could only nod. He gripped the handle even tighter when the car sped up. He smiled at Isobel’s timing to mask their weight displacement with the movement of the car on the rocky patch.
An hour and four red-marked vehicle changes later, they arrived at Long Island. Most ghosters rode the backs for only a short while. Everybody, except those inside the automated vehicles, knew it was how people got around.
In the heart of Long Island, Isobel pulled out the page with Alex Sinclair’s address. She looked up at a tall apartment block approximately sixty floors high. It seemed to be in reasonable condition. Long Island had not suffered the same dilapidation as the buildings in Waverley and its surrounds.
‘Where are the neighbourhoods?’ She looked around. She had no trouble breathing the same air that caused Ben difficulty. ‘Did you notice how this place doesn’t have Waverley’s crime and control levels?’
Ben looked around. She was right.
‘I don’t know, but this place gives me the creeps.’ He pulled his coat around him. Something felt wrong about Long Island, as if things were too normal.
Isobel pointed to a window halfway up. ‘The address is for Apartment 313.’ Her voice wobbled as she adjusted the scarf on her head. ‘What if he’s not the right Alex Sinclair? What if I don’t recognise him, or he doesn’t recognise me? It’s been eight years. I don’t look the same as I did back then.’
Ben linked her arm to reassure her. ‘There’s only one way to find out. Come on. Let’s knock on his door.’
Isobel eased her arm free and regained some of her steely composure. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I must do this on my own.’
Ben smiled. ‘Of course. I didn’t mean...’ He struggled to hide his hurt.
‘It’s not that I don’t want you there. I’ll come find you after. Stay close.’
She took a deep breath and fixed her scarf again, and walked towards the apartment block. She hesitated at the entrance to the block, then stepped forward and disappeared inside.
Ben checked his watch and worked out how long they would need to get back to Waverley. A car passed by: not black, not military. This one was blue and he could have sworn a civilian drove it. He stared at it for longer than was safe.
A row of stores sat opposite the apartment. Ben stepped up to the window of one and cupped his hands against the glass. A light flicked on and he jerked back out of sight. Someone was moving around in the back. And he had seen the place filled with crates of fruit and vegetables that the criminals sold at Waverley.
He pressed his back to a wall and shimmied down a side alley. Where was the black market? Why were civilians driving cars? Why were there crates of food in a small store?
A familiar low hum sent him further back into the alley’s shadows. Another brightly coloured vehicle passed on the street.
He glanced at the apartment block and hoped the Alex Sinclair in Apartment 313 was the right one.
He sat on the ground, and drummed his fingers against his wrist, wishing for Isobel to hurry.
Something was off about this neighbourhood.
Everything felt too normal.
15
Albert wheezed and his arms and legs shook. Just metres from the gate to Waverley, the iron bar fed through the section of cloth slipped from his hand. Héctor stumbled with his end, and the stretcher hit the ground with a thud. Albert straightened up, pressed a hand to his chest and closed his eyes.
His heart hadn’t been through this much exertion since the
days when he’d lifted barrels in his functional and profitable tavern. He wiped his clammy brow with a sleeve. The satchel with Jenny’s apples clung to his back. He rubbed his aching hands together and stooped to re-lift the stretcher.
Their arrival at the gate had stirred curiosity among the residents waiting to enter Waverley. A guard appeared at the back of the group and waved the onlookers away with the threat of an Impulse Taser. He approached Albert, with a mask pressed to his face.
‘What the hell’s this?’
Albert set his side of the stretcher down and looked up at the guard. The guard pointed the Taser at Albert’s head.
‘I asked you a question.’
‘He intervened in a row between Marcus and one of the vendors at the black market,’ said Albert in a flurry of words. He repeated the story Jenny had told him to say.
The guard narrowed his gaze and looked down at Hans. The German was still unconscious. A second guard watched from the slightly raised booth.
The first guard knelt down beside Hans and peeled back the fabric covering the wound. He laughed and turned to the guard at the gate.
‘Did you hear that, Tash? One of the Germans messed with Marcus. Check out the size of this fucking blast wound.’
Tash strained his neck out of the booth to see. They both bellowed with laughter. The nearest guard kicked the stretcher. Héctor pressed his fists into his sides and bent down to pick it up.
Albert had often considered trying to overpower the guards at the gate, but the Agostini family would only have replaced them with more vicious thugs.
‘Get up.’
The guard shouted at Hans. When the German didn’t move, he bent in close.
‘Hey! Sprechen Sie Englisch, asswipe?’
Albert slowly picked up his end of the stretcher and Héctor readjusted for the weight.
‘You don’t need to worry about him,’ said Albert. ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’
The guard kicked the stretcher again and waved the Taser at Albert. ‘Get out of my sight before I use this on you.’
