Pipe Dreams (15 page)

CHAPTER 28

T
he first trickle felt like
a worm and Ashley brushed it away. When she realized it wasn’t, she came fully awake. The floor of the drain pipe was slick and smelled of old, damp leaves. After a few minutes, the dirt and debris became a slimy ooze of cold mud and a steady stream of water cascaded over her.

As the runoff escalated, Ashley
’s body slid. She dug in, looking for purchase to keep from falling into the dark abyss that lay beyond the pipe’s end. Then, realizing her fall was inevitable, she used her hands to accelerate her motion, hoping she would avoid snagging herself on a sharp edge. With a final whoosh, she was in the air.

Her bare feet splashed into standing water and sank deep into the muck at the bottom of the retaining tank. Catching her breath, she felt the space around her and strained her head to listen. If the water came in, it had to go out, but the street runoff had become a thundering waterfall and she couldn
’t hear anything else.

Ashley inched her way across the dank, dark tank until her hand touched metal. She reached above her. The pipe that enabled the tank to drain would be well above the floor and she circled the perimeter, using her fingers as a guide.

The water kept rising. At first no higher than mid-calf, it was now past her thigh. She picked up speed, slogging her way around the circular container and reaching high to find the lip of the pipe that would free her. The water was just below her armpits when a breath of air brushed the tips of her fingers. She tried to jump, but the gooey substance at her feet prohibited anything but the slightest gain.

After a moment, she realized the water would lift her and
she held still, offering a small plea for the rain to continue. If it stopped too soon, she wouldn’t escape. She put her hands over her ears, blocking the furious noise. The water swirled around her shoulders, lapping against her neck.

When it reached her chin, she lifted her feet and floated. Just a little more, she thought. Then her body bumped against the wall of the tank. Using it for leverage, she explored until she found the bottom lip of the runoff pipe and pulled herself into its narrow opening.

Water flowed down the smooth surface and Ashley rode it until it dwindled to nothing. Then she wriggled forward, shivering. She was hungry, thirsty, and wet. The gash on her nose stung and her jaw throbbed. The confines of the tight space closed in around her and she moved quickly, anxious to be free of its constraint.

At an intersection, the pipe opened into a bigger one and she breathed a sigh of relief. The new pipe was slick with slime, but easier to traverse. As she crawled through it, crinkling her nose against the reek of decay, her hand touched the soft body of a dead rat. She stifled a scream and picked up speed.

The slight decline grew steeper and the air stirred. Finally, the pipe opened into the spillway that ran the length of the city. Crawling to the edge, she couldn’t believe her good fortune. She scanned both directions for signs of people, pulled herself onto the pebbly embankment, and scampered into the sand covered bottom. Gauging her direction, she jogged southeast. Lewis would be looking for her, but he couldn’t search the entire city so Ashley ignored the pain from her numerous wounds and hurried toward home.

When she could no longer see the lights of the Zone, she climbed out of the spillway and wormed her way through a section of torn fencing and onto a sidewalk. The neighborhood was unfamiliar. Abandoned cars riddled the street and windows on many of the buildings were smashed. Exhausted and aching, she entered an old dry cleaning establishment and explored until she found a bathroom. When water ran from the small tap, she shouted with glee.
She drank her fill and relieved herself before continuing to the back where garment racks stood amid a sea of tattered plastic bags and wire hangers. 

Ashley shuffled
through the debris, searching for something to wear. In a hamper against the far wall, she found a bundle of chewed shirts that reeked of mice droppings, mold, and years of dirt. As she untangled the clump, chunks of fabric came off in her hands, but she didn’t care. The sweat from her run had dried and goose bumps covered her skin. Fighting the shivers, she shook out the shirts, found one that covered her private parts, and put it on. She shredded another to wrap her bleeding feet and returned to the street.

She walked most of the night, darting into doorways or under bushes when she heard a noise. A pale moon, peeking beneath a blanket of clouds, guided her. Every step was an agony, but she did not stop. An hour after sunrise, she heard big engines rumbling in the distance.

“Oh my god!  It’s starting,” she cried, breaking into a sprint. Only a mile from the Gate, she knew every back alley. With her heart pounding, and a deep fear propelling her, she navigated the twists and turns of her neighborhood until finally she was home.

Wasting no time, she bolted into the tunnel and through the basement door, shouting for Jeremy. Her shrill cries roused the sleeping cell members. They surrounded her, staring in horror at her battered face and filthy body. Pushing her way through the group, Mariah wailed, “
Oh my god!  What did they do to you?”  She took Ashley in her arms, but Ashley pushed her away.

“Mariah, where
’s Jeremy? We’ve got to get out of here! We’ve got to get out now!” 

“Slow down, Ashley. What are you talking about?”

“The purge! They’ve started the purge! Mariah, WHERE IS JEREMY?”

“He
’s in his room, but you can’t…”

Before Mariah could finish, Ashley barreled through the living room and i
nto the sleeping quarters, skidding to a stop outside Jeremy’s bedroom. Jerking open his privacy curtain, she collapsed on the floor next to his bed.

“Jeremy, wake up!” she shouted, shaking him. Smelling the sour odor of illness as he rolled toward her, she cried, “Jeremy, what
’s wrong?  Wake up, damn it!  Wake up!”

He sat up slowly, fumbling with the lamp. In the low light, his glazed eyes, glistening skin, and listless movements horrified her. “Your sick!” she blurted. Jeremy rubbed his eyes and focused.

“What the… Ashley?  Is that you?” he asked.

“Yes it
’s me and you have to get up. There’s going to be a purge! They’re coming now!  I heard the trucks. We’ve got to go!”

Jeremy swung his legs over the side of the bed and massaged his face.

“Ashley, you’re not making any sense. How did you get here? What the hell happened to your hair?”

“Jeremy, I need you to listen to me. There
’s a purge. He told me, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon. Please, Jeremy, you have to get up!”

Mariah stepped into the room. Her face was grim as she asked Ashley to start from the beginning and speak slowly so they could understand. Ashley turned, her bright eyes blazing, and grabbed Jeremy
’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “There’s no time to explain, Mariah. Don’t you get it? We have to go! We have to go now!”

CHAPTER 29

R
amirez had left the basement at
dawn. His pistol was tucked beneath a baggy sweatshirt and he carried a pack containing his uniform and a two day supply of food. Paul hefted his own supplies and they made good progress toward the rendezvous.

The previous night, Ramirez had argued fiercely with Michael and Mariah, finally achieving a weak compromise. He would go after the antibiotics Jeremy needed, but only after exhausting all reasonable efforts to rescue Ashley from the bone people. Mariah had grudgingly agreed that Jeremy could wait a few days and additional delay might eradicate all hope of Ashley
’s recovery. Incensed, Michael had argued passionately. Vanessa had ended the debate by reminding them that Ramirez didn’t belong to the cell and was free to do what he wanted. She had been right and her soft voice had carried.

In the bosom of the cell, the woman had blossomed. Heartened by her fledgling happiness, Ramirez was also dismayed by her growing affection for Michael. Somewhere, in a tiny, locked recess of his heart, he had believed his efforts to save her would spark her romantic interest. That hadn
’t happened, and while Ramirez was glad for her, something in him had hardened again.

He had no such latent feelings for Ashley, but felt responsible for her abduction. If Blondie had proved to be a worthwhile source of information, his decision to wait might have been justified, but the stinking, blubbering wreck of a man had been more burden than help.

Early morning light sparkled on the wet grass edging the sidewalk. Washed clean in yesterday’s rain, it lifted his spirits as he and Paul hoofed it toward the rendezvous. Ramirez had insisted they leave earlier than necessary because he wanted to be in position well in advance of the other teams.

Silent and sullen, Paul yawned conspicuously as they tramped up the street. Ramirez ignored the posturing. Regardless of Jeremy
’s admonishments or Paul’s petulance, he would do this his way. The success of the mission depended on assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the other teams before they began reconnaissance.

By the time they arrived at the designated location, both men were sweating under the weight of their packs. They scouted around for a hiding place that would also afford a clear view of the intersecting streets. The bed of an abandoned pickup truck met their criteria. Settling in, Ramirez took a long pull from his water bottle and wiped his face with the back of his arm.

“What do you think our chances are?” Paul asked.

“I don
’t know. It’s been a week. That’s a long time. Still, the other cell – the one who saw the van – hasn’t seen it since, so maybe luck’s on our side.” They sat in silence, watching the slow arc of the sun as it ascended toward its peak. Then Ramirez stood and scanned the buildings around him.

“Paul, do you smell something?”

“What?”

“Smoke. I smell smoke.” Ramirez licked his finger and held it up to determine the direction of the wind. 

Suddenly, Paul pointed. Ramirez followed his gaze, catching sight of a thin, brown line rising into the sky. It grew quickly, becoming a thick, black plume that menaced the bright, blue morning.

“That
’s in our neighborhood!” Paul shouted, leaping to his feet. As he hauled his pack onto his shoulders, Ramirez grabbed him.

“No. We don
’t go back. It’ll take too long to get there and we’d just be in the way. If it is close to the basement, Jeremy will handle it. We stay here and wait.”

“Fuck you, man!  I
’m going back!” Paul shoved Ramirez’s hand away. Hoisting his pack, he took off in a sprint. Ramirez cursed the man’s stupidity, but was unwilling to go after him. He had a job to do and the other teams would be along soon.

The wind picked up and the smell of smoke grew stronger. As minutes ticked by, the plume in the distance billowed and swelled, along with Ramirez
’s concern. The other teams had still not arrived. When the sun was well past its meridian, he stood, searching the surrounding streets for any sign of movement. All was still. Cursing loudly, he made a decision. He would go it alone. He swung his pack over one shoulder and climbed out of the rusty pickup truck. Then he jogged up the street to his left, making careful note of his surroundings.

In the slums, loose concrete, razor wire fencing, and bullet ridden cars were everywhere. Shattered glass lay in the corners of doorways where rain and snow had failed to wash them away. All around him, time and neglect wreaked their havoc.

Without the gangsters and their bling, the dealers on the street corners, and the faded women hanging wash out the windows, it resembled the aftermath of a holocaust – abandoned and exhausted. Ramirez couldn’t believe any organized cell would choose this part of the city for its home. 

He walked in the center of the street, whistling to draw attention to himself. A toothless old man with crazed eyes made a brief appearance before shuffling back inside the building from which he had emerged. Ramirez chased after him, but the man had vanished.

Changing direction, he turned onto a side street. The tall buildings were close together and obscured most of the sky. He stopped to rest, leaning against the bland, brown brick of a dilapidated apartment complex and readjusted his gun, just in case. Setting his pack down, he took another drink from his water bottle and assessed his position. The street dead ended at a rundown complex of cinderblock buildings. Before turning around, he knelt to retie a loose shoelace. In the gutter, a peculiar object caught his eye. He grabbed it and pulled it close before flinging it away. Covered with tiny black ants, the gristly bone was eerily human.

Ramirez quickly zipped his pack and hoisted it. He had inadvertently stumbled into what might be the bone people
’s lair. They were known for leaving bones in their wake and finding one this close to where he suspected the van had gone was no coincidence. He pulled his pistol free and removed the safety. Holding it against his leg, he crept toward the enclave.

Near the end of the block, Ramirez heard the rumble of trucks moving in his direction. Thinking quickly, he sprinted across the sidewalk and shoved his weight against a door, forcing it open. He located a staircase, bolted to the roof, and ran across soft, black tar to the parapet. The noise of the engines was fainter from this height, but still audible. Dropping to his knees, he scanned the street below. A line of vehicles crawled toward him – a black SUV followed two transport trucks and an armored car painted in camouflage.

For a few minutes, their progress paralyzed him. Then Ramirez crawled back from the parapet. Once out of sight, he dashed across the rooftops, hopping from one building to the next. He did not stop until he reached the last in line. From there, he had a clear view of both the cinderblock cluster and the street below.

The buildings facing him were painted a faded, peeling yellow. Crudely drawn skeletons and skulls covered the walkways and walls. The armored car and transport trucks stopped in the middle of the paved turnaround in front of the enclave. Behind them, the SUV hovered in the street with its engine idling like an impatient parent.

Several men, clad in military uniforms and armed with riot guns, piled out of the vehicles. They jogged into formation and aimed the weapons at the center building. On a signal, the soldiers fired. The loud report echoed off the concrete blocks as glass shattered and people screamed. Smoke trailed out open windows and the building’s occupants poured through the front door, covering their faces and coughing. They came face to face with the soldiers, who pointed rifles at them and barked orders. “Put your hands up. Stand still or you will be shot.”

Most of the people cowered and obeyed, but one skinny man bolted away. Ramirez recoiled as a rifle cracked and the man fell to the ground. The soldiers stepped forward, arranging the group in a line. When they knelt with their hands behind their backs, a well dressed man exited the SUV and approached. Pacing in front of them, he yelled, “He
’s not here. Find him!”

Two of the soldiers broke rank, pulled gas masks over their faces, and hurried into the building. When they returned, they dragged a man between them. The bright sun reflected off his fire-red hair as he struggled without effect. When the well dressed man stepped up and slapped him across the face, the redhead slumped to his knees, protesting loudly. A tall man, dressed in black, climbed out of the SUV. When he got close, he pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip, took aim, and shot the redhead point blank. Ramirez gasped as the two men calmly returned to their vehicle. The soldiers herded the rest of the terrified people into the transport trucks. Ramirez thought they would leave, but instead a few men guarded the trucks while the others marched down the street. They were going to search the buildings.

Shedding his weapon, pocket knife, and borrowed clothes, Ramirez donned his dirty uniform and ran back across the rooftops, putting distance between him and the riot guns. When he deemed it safe, he emerged onto the street, raised his hands, and cried, “Help. I’m from the Watch Tower. I’m a detective. I’m one of you!”