Beluga Fay (Dragon Bone Hill) (23 page)

“The argument doesn’t work for me, but I am not interested in debating the point. If there is a salient feature you are missing, it is that these people have not been directly involved in this before.” The group, now only ten people, was becoming uncomfortable with their objectification. In seeing this, Pym turned from Glenna to the group. “Let’s start by introducing ourselves.” As they did so, there were the usual names. But what struck him as he took in the cabal, there were more women than men. That made sense, but there were more men than had been suspected. The men would, if they survived the Sweats, have a future in the country’s government or industry—each and every one seemed to have had a university education, or part of a one, which they might pick up on.

Not being shy about his thoughts, he shared these with the group.

“They...” Glenna began, but Titus interrupted her.

“Let them speak for themselves. If I am to put my life in jeopardy for these people, I need to know what they are about.”

Yuri Torres, this was how Titus remembered the young man from the introductions, answered for the men. Torres was of middling height for a main islander, but his skin was almost white.

Though slight in size, he had a voice that was deep and articulate.

“There is,” he began, “no future in the city. We have all seen Salazar’s grasp on power falter and what he is willing to do to our own people in order to hold onto what remains of this.”

“You all feel this way?” There wasn’t incredulity in Pym’s voice, but it was difficult to keep the ambivalence from it.

“Is it so hard to believe?” SaRah Castillo answered. She was from southern island tribal stock, but her people had been on the main island long enough to have lost most of the obvious defining characteristics in their dialect and, in the case of SaRah, some of the darkness of skin typical of the region. However, the spelling of her name and its pronunciation—Sah-Rah—suggested a strong affiliation with the South. This probably coming from her father, since the naming of children was traditionally the province of the father. Castillo isn’t what Titus would have called beautiful, but there was a symmetry to her face and body that made up for their otherwise plain features.

“Yes, you are all the children of government officials and the major national and multinational industrialists. Each of you will have a bright future if you stay and survive. If you leave, you will not only lose this but you also will certainly become fugitives from your own government and those of the world.”

“We,” Castillo again, “realize what it means to leave the city while the quarantine is in effect. There is no choice. Between Salazar and the Sweating Sickness, we will die anyway.”

“It’s been over a year now, and they are no closer to curing the plague,” Yuri rejoined. “Even the international efforts to find a cure have been useless.”

Titus leaned back in the chair. Reasoning with them was useless—they were all, as the rest of the city, operating on fear. But not simply fear—this fear was of the mind-numbing variety that had taken the remainder of the city and had probably taken the country beyond the Wall. This fear was well entrenched with the member states of the blockade, but their distance from the archipelago’s death spiral had allowed them to maintain a veneer of objectivity and rationalized distance. “You’re right,” Pym answered, “but what you are contemplating with this escape is extremely dangerous. The lot of you will be hunted down.”

“We,” Joan de Guzmán answered, “have family beyond the Wall. They will hide us until this is over.”

“If the Sweats jumps the Wall, and it almost certainly will, then you people will be blamed—the lot of you will make convenient scapegoats for the other side of this plague.”

“Are you going to help us or not?” Rodrigo del Rasario, a squat and doughy young man with a lot of fear and anger in his voice. “Will you take me with you, just to the other side of the Wall?”

“Of course...” Glenna was interrupted by Pym’s raised hand. Rodrigo, SaRah, Yuri, and the others nodded in unison. There was something mechanical in the action, but there did not appear to be any purpose behind this that was other than what it appeared to be—xenophobic reluctance. They’d keep their word, not because they believed in keeping it but because they were consumed with a purpose they all suspected would fail, on one level or another, unless they focused their dwindling attention.

“Though I’m not impressed with your enthusiasm, I believe you.” Pym wasn’t certain sharing the sentiment a good idea, but the words were already out before caution reasserted itself.

Titus, as the others went silent, looked out the window and down onto the parking lot of the mall they were in—now abandoned. It was a mostly empty north central district that had been devastated in the early weeks of the Sweats. There was no A/C, and the heat was reaching boiler room levels, but a chill ran up his spine. “Okay.” The last was barely a breath.

“What does that mean?” SaRah asked, but with more anxiety than affront.

“There’s a last meeting with the guards we’ve been dealing with, and they want the final payment. It’ll be one more pouch of diamonds—same as the last.”

“They won’t be demanding more?” Thea Cruz asked. She was mousey and short, as well as being older than the rest by what might have been ten years. It was the first sensible question he’d heard since sitting down.

“They will attempt to. You people have been the proverbial milk cow, and the Wall will be reluctant to let you go.”

“What will you do?” Rodrigo asked.

“Refuse, then threaten to expose them to Salazar and the national government.”

“But...” Glenna again—and once more jumped on by Titus.

“They will not like that and counter with a threat.”

She nodded.

“That is how the game is played, but they have to know this is the end. Just make sure when you show up for evacuation you are armed.”

“What?” SaRah didn’t exactly scream this out, but Pym was grateful they were in an abandoned office in a derelict mall.

“They may attempt to rob and kill you.” Chaos descended on the group. Glenna eventually calmed them, but it took several minutes. Once she had done so Pym continued. “You will have threatened them, through me, with exposure. This may trigger an overreaction.”

“Then don’t threaten them,” Yuri returned.

“If we do not make it plain the bribery is coming to an end, they will not take the final offer—they will simply continue to milk you, and then they may attempt to extort more from you by threatening to go to Salazar and the national government with the information.”

“But...” Yuri didn’t know how to respond.

“No,” this time Pym’s voice did go up and the group went silent, “you have chosen to play a dangerous game. Now you are beginning to understand how dangerous. Sure you wish to finish it?” He hoped they would, since it was the best way out of town for him, but there was no way this would end well for all of them. That much he was certain of.

Of course, there was no way to be certain, but his major guesses, to date, had managed to keep Pym alive. This was no guarantee of the future, but if he were going to bet his life, Titus would have to continue calculating, or speculating about, the odds.

 “Yes.” Glenna’s voice was timid but strong as she signed on for the madness; the others nodded or whispered agreement.

“Okay, I’ll take the last meeting as soon as I have the final pouch.” With that, the meeting broke up, and the cabal almost ran for the stairs.

“You didn’t have to frighten them.”

“I fear I have done half as much as I should have.”

“But why?”

“We need to make certain they understand what they are getting into and how, in all likelihood, it will play out.”

“You believe we will all be killed?”

“If you go, arm only some—none if you’re smart.” He didn’t want to dissuade the woman, but he also wanted her to understand what was coming.

“We’re going.”

“Good—now when can you get the stones?”

Pym didn’t like it. Three blocks out he squinted through the lenses of the compact binoculars trying to see who’d come out with them. Tomás had promised to bring along the Wall Commander, Colonel Henry Torres, and only him. If there was one thing the man had learned not to trust, it was the Wall guards. Over the last weeks, the rumors of their behavior in the North had become very extreme; businesses that had relied upon their trade for survival were packing it in. So the Wall front street had no traffic, where even a month before it was nearly filled with customers and horse-drawn buses to deliver shoppers and day-trippers to the street.

More and more, gasoline and diesel were becoming things of the past. There had been a shift to electric cars for a while, but even finding the energy to juice these had become difficult—now the rolling blackouts were beginning to have a real effect. The result was more animal based power and all the negative consequences of this—most notably the waste. Still, there were others. Feeding the animals was a problem, and then finding enough to be of use was also an issue. Of late, the national government had been supplying these free of charge. Even then the guards were trying to auction these off. That bit of entrepreneurial spirit did not last long when the Salazar government had communicated the practice to the Federals. Nothing more, it was rumored, than a stern warning followed, but then no one expected this much.

Increasingly, the guards were demonstrating signs of wear and tear about the edges. Some seemed under-fed, while others’ uniforms were looking unkempt and worn. As Titus scanned the street and caught sight of Colonel Torres—he’d seen pictures—and Captain Tomás, they were both showing signs of these. If this was the case with the upper echelon of the Wall command staff, how would it go for the rank and file? Was their situation as bad as the city’s? Could it be worse? If it were worse, would it be worth Glenna’s group breaking out? He didn’t know, and he should care more than he did. As it was, Pym’s driving concern was getting himself out. Once out, he’d a plan for island hopping South and then skipping across the southern chain of islands and using a dugout to get to the unblocked island States to the South and West.

From there he’d have the world to choose from, but the southeast, north of the great southern ocean, was looking good. Lots of places to hide in.

Lowering the glasses, he put these back in their case and stood. Still staring down at the activity of the guards, Titus dusted himself off and walked down the hill to his car. Where others were finding trouble with fuel, he and the Fay’s command staff still had a steady supply—mostly based upon their raids on police and militia patrols. Even these were becoming less and less frequent. The columns were also becoming more desperate, so the fighting was almost fraught. Pym assumed failure was being met with stiffer penalties at the hands of command staff. He wondered what this meant. Were they attempting to discipline the rank and file and lower officer ranks, or was this a sign of desperation?

Mopping his face before getting in the car, Titus shook off the questions as he drove down the hill toward the eastern gate. For the most part, the Colonel had met the terms of the meeting—that they come alone—and when he pulled up, there were only a handful of guards that had not been scripted. Though he may have been angry about this, there was more information in their presence than he would have taken from a meeting with Tomás and Torres. The privates’ uniforms were worn, wrinkled, and dirty. It seemed a week or more they’d needed a good washing and pressing. The men looked equally unkempt—though they were freshly shaved. Pym was of the opinion this had been forced on them, while the rest nothing could be done about.

The whole affair spoke of a desperation which could only work in his favor—he hoped.

Without being challenged or stopped, he drove by these two and to the arranged meeting. Torres and Tomás, with some embarrassment, were standing outside of a closed coffee shop as Pym approached.

“When did this close?” the Colonel asked.

“Can’t say,” Titus answered, “I’ve not been to the East for some time.”

“Why is it closed?” Torres continued.

“Your guards.” Pym answered, and Tomás looked anxiously at the ground.

“Captain?” The Colonel seemed to have understood the latter’s discomfiture and, shaking his head, let it go.

“You didn’t know?” Pym found the lack of communication interesting—as though their command structure were collapsing.

“No.” An uncomfortable glance continuing in the Captain’s direction. “Nor any of this,” waving up and down the street. “But I now see why our resources have been dwindling.”

The Captain seemed about ready to speak. But appearing to think better of this in front of Pym, he stared at Titus a moment before pushing forward. “I suppose out here will have to do.”

“It is not as though we will be overheard,” the Colonel answered.

Pretending not to have heard the comment, the Captain continued. “You have the stones?”

Titus smiled. “When we’re on the other side of the Wall.”

“Was this what you agreed to?” Torres asked, looking at Tomás.