Pipe Dreams (7 page)

CHAPTER 14

P
ast the living room, a
curtained hallway provided access to the bedrooms. Jeremy led Vanessa to an unoccupied one. When she was resting, he limped to his own small room. A red comforter lay in a tangle on his double bed, along with a few rumpled shirts and a plethora of pillows. Next to the bed, a reading lamp sat on a wooden nightstand. Hooks had been pounded into the concrete wall at the rear of the room. On them, jackets, pants, and sundry clothes hung in disarray.

Wearily, Jeremy heaved himself on the bed and gently pulled a pant leg over his injured foot. In his haste to reach Michael at the bottom of the stairs, he had stepped on a nail embedded in a rotting plank. It had pierced his flesh all the way to the bone. In spite of Mariah
’s careful treatment, the wound throbbed. The pain compounded a headache from hell. Ashley was gone, Michael’s injuries were grave, and he hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. Groaning from the exertion of undressing, he fell back on his pillows and turned out the light. He didn’t wake until Mariah came to check on him a few hours later.

“Any change?” he asked as soon as she touched him.

“No,” she replied.

Jeremy grimaced. “Where
’s Vanessa?” 

“Sleeping. I checked on her first.”

“Good. When she wakes, give this back to her and come get me.” He said swung his legs over the bed, reached for the worn backpack he had taken from her and handed it to Mariah. Then he picked up the crumpled cargo pants he had tossed to the floor. When dressed, he grabbed the crutches and hobbled to the infirmary.

They did not use the long, rectangular space often, but Mariah had insisted they maintain it in case of emergency. Well stocked with bandages, ointments, sutures, and other supplies, the only thing they didn
’t have was medicine, but that couldn’t be helped. Mariah was not a doctor, but she had been in her final semester of nursing school when the violence broke out. Ignoring the order to triage, she had braved gunfire, grabbed her daughter, and found Jeremy. In the years since, she had diligently administered to her patients, but this was the first time Mariah had really tested her skills. She readily admitted Michael’s injuries might be greater than her ability to help.

At the far end of the room, Michael lay on a narrow bed. In the thin hospital gown, he looked vulnerable and small. His leg had been set. The thick, white plaster contrasted with the gray blanket on which it rested. A giant lump protruded from his forehead, his skin was pale, and his breathing slow.

Jeremy laid a hand on Michael’s arm and winced. The arm was cold. He found another blanket and covered his friend, taking care not to wake him. Then he eased himself into a chair, ran his hands through his short, wiry hair, and blinked back tears. Michael was the only family he had left. Together, they’d survived the ghetto, the rebellion, and six long years of hell. If Michael died, what was left?

When Mariah c
ame, he was slow to move. Heavy-limbed, he pulled himself out of the chair and leaned over to stroke Michael’s head before grabbing his crutches and limping out of the infirmary. He couldn’t put off talking with Vanessa any longer.

Jeremy found her in his favorite chair in the library. She had showered, changed into clean clothes, and her thick, wet hair was pulled back from her face. Though shell-shocked, she seemed somewhat refreshed. He didn
’t waste time with small talk.

“Vanessa, I
’m sure you’ve got questions. I’ll answer what I can, but first I want to tell you some things about us,” he began.

Vanessa interrupted him. “Are you rebels?”

“No. Not really. Well, maybe we are, but it’s not that simple. We were part of the People’s Protest, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sighing, he settled more comfortably on the couch. He told her about being part of the organization, the thrill of trying to do something that mattered, and the frustration he had experienced when the protest began to fall apart. She listened without comment, twirling a lock of hair around a finger.

“The protests were collapsing,” he continued. “In some cities, they disbanded completely. In others, they rioted. Here, we were divided. Some of us wanted to lobby for change, but one cell thought we were wasting our time and wanted action – the real kind, with guns and bombs and shit like that.

We were pretty scared. We didn’t see how they could manage to get a revolution going, but there had been other rebellions around the country. Little ones sure, but what would it take for everything to get out of control?  We worried about something like an Arab Spring. Still, we didn’t want to be on the wrong side if it happened, so we planned for contingencies.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had a warehouse. My cell was responsible for getting things we needed – food, clothing, tents, office supplies – all the stuff we’d used for the protest, but we’d been careful with the donations. We had a lot stored up, just in case. Then the rebellion happened. At first, most of us thought the violent cell had done it, but without phones or internet, we lost touch with the other people we’d been working with. Nobody really knew anything and everybody went underground,” Jeremy replied.

“What happened to the other cells?”

“We’ve managed to stay in touch with a few. It’s not easy. The NSO has cameras everywhere. Besides, there aren’t many left. Without food and heat, winters are hard.”

“What about the others? The violent ones?” Vanessa asked.

“We don’t think they had the means or manpower to carry out any kind of real attack. Maybe they did. Maybe they got some shit going, but they couldn’t have killed the internet and phones and everything. They were more the window-smashing, bottle-throwing type. They talked big, but…”

“Then what about the rebellion? If the People
’s Protest didn’t do it, who did?” Vanessa interrupted. The table lamp cast a warm glow and emphasized the shadows under her eyes. She had pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, sitting like a child in the oversized chair.

“We don
’t know. The NSO is bullshit. That much is certain. We think they had something to do with it. That’s why we’ve wanted to talk to you,” Jeremy said.

“Why me?”

“Because you were an assistant. You had access.” He shot her a glance. She met his eyes and hugged herself tighter.

“How do you know?”

“Toward the end of the second year, an assistant found us. Or we found her. Something had scared her and she split. We picked her up, half-frozen and starving from the dumpster she’d been hiding in, and brought her back. She’s the one who gave us the first clues about what might have happened, but she didn’t know much, just pieces.

We knew we needed to find more like her who could help us put it all together. She gave us your name and helped identify the other assistants. Some of them we
’ve managed to pull in, but some disappeared before we ever got the chance to talk to them. As far as we know, you’re the last of them.”

Vanessa closed her eyes and gripped her knees. In spite of her shower, dirt was still trapped under her short fingernails. He looked away, focusing on the titles lining the giant bookcase behind her. When she shifted her legs, he refocused his eyes and waited for her to speak.

“Go on,” she said.

“Generally, we
’re just trying to survive. Finding food takes most of our energy. We don’t know for sure what’s true and what’s not. Information’s hard to come by.” Jeremy sat forward. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out before continuing.

“Vanessa, I think if we had a real picture of what happened things could be different. If we knew what was really going on, we might be able to do something about it. I
’m hoping you’ve got the missing pieces.”

“Where are the other assistants now?”

“They didn’t make it, Vanessa.” 

“I thought you took them in.”

“We did, but that doesn’t mean they stayed. You know what they’d been through. You’ve been through it, too. They were crazy. I don’t mean to be cruel, but they were. Shrieking and yelling and crying all the time, frightening the kids half to death, running around naked and coming on to the men in all sorts of ways. We did the best we could for them, but in the end, we couldn’t keep them. Most of them bolted once we let them back outside. The first one killed herself. Slit her wrists in the shower. Can’t say as I blame her. Can’t blame any of them really. When I saw you faint earlier, I thought you’d be like them, but you’re not, are you?”

Vanessa's
eyes glinted, but the tears did not spill. Ignoring his question she asked, “So what do you know?”

Jeremy frowned. He had watched her on many early mornings as she put fear aside to savor a few quiet minutes in the sun. Her attention to Isaac and the way she met his eyes revealed strength. She had been beaten, but she wasn
’t broken. She could be an ally.

“We don
’t know enough, that’s for sure.” He paused, gauging her reaction. She leaned forward with her hands in her lap and he continued.

“But we do know the
NSO is culling its own population. That’s been a problem for us. Too many people are wandering too close to our neighborhood and they’re hungry. Really hungry.

We also know supplies come into the Zone and nothing goes out. That
’s suspicious all by itself. If the rest of the world is fighting and diseased and shit, where are the supplies coming from and how do they manage to get here consistently?  Where’s the money coming from to pay for them? And why, after six years, are we still without communication with anybody else?  I mean, if the people on the mainland are well enough to supply the NSO, aren’t they well enough to fix things?  We still don’t have phones, internet, radio, or TV. That’s got to mean someone’s got a reason for keeping the city isolated. We think the administrators set up the whole thing, but we don’t know why or how. Until we do, we’re powerless against them.”

CHAPTER 15

R
amirez shifted positions, trying to
ignore his thirst. The waiting was tedious, the day uncomfortably warm. As the long hours of the morning stretched into afternoon, he had kept his eyes trained on the fire station, but no one had come in or out of the building.

His sweat had attracted a fly that hovered above his head. Ramirez cursed under his breath as missed the damn thing again. Suddenly, he jerked upright. Someone was singing. Forgetting the fly, he crawled to the edge of the alcove.

A figure ambled down the center of the street, swinging something from his hand. As it drew closer, Ramirez recognized the savage he had seen from the tree. “Well, hello, Blondie,” he muttered. The man swaggered toward him, carrying the same long, metal pipe. Ramirez scuttled back into the shadows and un-holstered his gun. Then he grabbed his discarded jacket and drew himself into a standing position. The savage’s atonal humming was getting louder.

Ramirez waited until the man passed before hurling the jacket into the street, where it landed with a thud. The savage turned at the sudden noise. “What the fuck?” he shouted, spotting the jacket. “Who
’s back there?”  Hefting the pipe, he hit the side of the building as he crested the short steps to the landing. The metal clanged against the stone.

He came closer, peering into the shadows where Ramirez hid. Ramirez
seized the opportunity to slam the butt of his gun on the savage’s head. Out cold, Blondie dropped to the ground. Ramirez climbed on top of him and cuffed his hands behind his back, noting the needle marks on the underside of his arms. Rolling him over, he dragged the limp savage further inside. Then, he risked being seen to snatch his jacket from the street. 

Back in the alcove, he waited for Blondie to stir. Grotesquely painted, barely clad, and decorated with jewelry made from bones, the savage was a strange anomaly in the already bizarre world of the
inner-city. His track marks puzzled Ramirez. With the city cut off from the rest of the world, how did he get the drugs that fed his obvious addiction?

When the savage groaned, Ramirez hefted his gun. “One word and I blow your head off,” he warned as the man opened his eyes. The cliché was effective. Blondie was silent. Crouching, Ramirez considered the situation. He couldn
’t interrogate the man while they were in the alcove and the bright sun made it unsafe to move. Would Blondie’s cohorts come looking for him? Ramirez didn’t want to be in the area when they did. He scanned the street, weighing his options. The sticky coating on his parched tongue decided it. If he didn’t get water soon, he was going to be in serious trouble.

“Stand up,” Ramirez ordered. “Now move. Quietly.” He shoved Blondie in front of him, keeping the gun at the back of his neck. A few blocks away, Ramirez spotted an old restaurant with a shattered front entry. He pushed Blondie through the opening, across the littered front room, and into the kitchen. There, he cuffed him to the bottom leg of a heavy shelving unit bolted into the floor.

Rummaging through cabinets, he found a roll of plastic wrap which he used to secure a mice chewed rag over Blondie’s mouth. With the rest of the roll, he bound the savage’s feet together. Finally, he moved to the triple sink and turned on the tap, praying water still ran in this part of the city. After a minute, a brownish stream trickled out. Ramirez fingered his cross and uttered a few words of heartfelt gratitude. When the water ran clear, he leaned forward and drank. Then he dunked his entire head under the faucet. Refreshed and dripping, he surveyed his surroundings.

The kitchen was small, shabby, and covered in grime
, but the serving counter that separated it from the dining area allowed a little light into the space. Relaxing for the first time since he had entered Vanessa’s apartment, Ramirez explored the storeroom, shelves, and closets, finding little of use. He did manage to locate a plastic bottle that would hold water. After cleaning and filling it, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. He did not want to be without water again. Then he cleared a section of floor and stretched out on the chipped linoleum. Using his jacket as a headrest, he lay back and sank into an uneasy sleep.

He woke in semi-darkness. Shaking off the sluggishness, he checked Blondie, who glared at him with sullen eyes. Even in the dim light, the glistening sweat on the savage
’s brow was readily apparent. Ramirez grimaced. He needed the man coherent and functioning, but Blondie was demonstrating obvious symptoms of withdrawal.

Ramirez crept across the dining room to the shattered front door. Soon, it would be dark enough to leave.
He hurried back to the kitchen, unwrapped the plastic around the savage’s head, and removed the dirty cloth from his mouth.

“Who are you?” Ramirez asked. The savage only glared in response
, so he tried again. “Look, I just want the girl. If you help me with that, I’ll let you go.”

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” the savage
sneered.

Ramirez slapped him, hard. “I
’m not fucking around! Who’s in the fire station?” When the savage spit at him, Ramirez replaced the gag. “Have it your way, asshole,” he said. If Blondie wasn’t going to play nice, he wasn’t either. “Let’s just see what the girl’s people do to you, you son of a bitch. I bet they won’t be nearly as nice as I am.” With his pocket knife, he slit the wrapping that bound Blondie’s legs. Then he freed him from the shelf and motioned him through the door with the muzzle of his gun.

Outside, the sun had set. The street was dark and Ramirez risked walking in the center of it. If someone made a move, being in the open would give him time to react. As they approached the spot where he had left Vanessa, he pushed Blondie toward the wrought iron fence bordering the park
and cuffed him to the railing. Then he sidled along in a crouch until he arrived at the tree. Standing, he hissed Vanessa’s name. When she didn’t answer, he swore.

Ramirez climbed onto the bench and made the short jump to the lowest branch. He hoisted himself up, swung a leg over the limb, and caught his breath. Placing his hands and feet carefully, he climbed as far as he could. She wasn
’t there. In that moment, a deep despair swept through him. He had failed in every way that mattered. He’d lost the woman and the girl. High in the tree, he cursed the night. The weight of years and the ache of longing pressed against him, ripping a heart that had dared to hope into thin, brittle pieces.

At long last, driven by hunger and duty, he dropped to the ground, retrieved the sweating, runny-nosed prisoner, and pushed him in the direction from which the girl and sentries had come. He would find Vanessa
’s pursuers. If they had her, he would convince them to trade.

A
few blocks from the tree, he resecured Blondie to a railing and made his way to the center of the street. As he walked, he yelled, praying he remembered the signal correctly. “Aieeee, woo, woo, woo! Aieeee, woo, woo, woo!” 

At the edge of the park was an intersection. Ramirez stopped in the middle of it, exposing himself in all directions. He waited, listened, and called again. Minutes passed as he sang his cry to blank buildings and silent streets. There was not even an echo. Then something made him stiffen. Hairs stood up on his arms as he twisted his head back and forth, trying to discern the threat in the darkness.

Someone slammed into his back and he crashed to the ground, struggling violently. A kick caught him on the jaw and he tasted blood. “Get his gun!” a voice shouted. Hands searched his body until they found his holster. A sharp click made Ramirez freeze. He put his hands flat on the ground and his attacker climbed off him. “Roll over,” a cold voice commanded.

Ramirez obeyed. Someone bound his hands with a rough, nylon rope, placed a blindfold over his eyes, and instructed him to stand. He cooperated in silence. Blondie was safe where he was for the time being and Ramirez wouldn
’t reveal more than necessary until he knew what had happened to Vanessa.

One of the assailants grabbed his arm and
dragged him forward. They did not travel far before they came to a stop. Ramirez was shoved into a tight space that widened gradually as they descended a slope. After a time, they stopped again. A door opened. He was forced into a chair. Someone removed the blindfold. In a small, windowless room, lit by a single, fluorescent fixture, the tall, skinny, black man and two sentries he had seen earlier in the day faced him.

“You
’re Detective Ramirez?” the black man asked.

“How do you know my name?”

“That’s not important.” The man motioned for one of the sentries to untie Ramirez’s hands. After rubbing them together to get the circulation going, Ramirez placed them in his lap, determined to keep his composure.

“I
’m Jeremy Thompson. Sorry for the blindfold and rope. Under the circumstances, we felt they were necessary.” Jeremy glanced nervously at the light above his head. Ramirez followed his gaze. The Fallen weren’t supposed to have electricity. If the administrators caught wind of their illegal wiring, it would be cut. The knowledge was to his advantage, but he wouldn’t use it, yet.

Instead, Ramirez asked, “Is your man okay?”

“What man?” Jeremy replied, scowling.

“The man that disappeared in the building. The one you all came running to find.”

Jeremy pursed his lips, stretching the thin skin on his face even tighter. A veil of sweat highlighted the sharp bones of his dark brow.

“He didn
’t disappear. He just got delayed.”

“Glad to hear it. I mean it. Look, I took a big risk getting your attention. You took a big risk bringing me here.” Ramirez gestured at the fluorescent fixture before continuing.

“You have something I want and I have something you want. This is your call. Do we jerk around all night, or can we put the bullshit aside and talk to each other?  I don’t know who you are, or what you’ve done with Vanessa Kovalic, but I know where your girl is. Maybe I have what you need to get her back.” Ramirez narrowed his eyes to slits. Jeremy returned the glare, his body language as old as time. The unspoken dialogue between two men pushed to their limits, unwilling to back down, and locked in their own bravado, heightened the tension in the room.

“Bullshit,” Jeremy said.

“Fuck you. I didn’t come asking for trouble. I saw enough today to know that whoever you are, you’re organized and your people aren’t starving. I don’t know what that means and I don’t care. I only want the woman. If you have her, I’ll trade you for her and disappear. But if you don’t have her, you might as well kill me now.”

Jeremy
’s jaw dropped and his hard face twisted. Then his eyes softened and his shoulders slumped. “Okay. I hear you. Neither of us have time for bullshit. What do you have?” he asked.

“No. I
’m not saying a damn thing until I know about Vanessa.”

“She
’s fine.”

“Prove it.”

“I will, but first you have to give me something more than maybe. As you pointed out, we took a big risk bringing you here,” Jeremy said.

“I took one of her kidnappers prisoner. I won
’t tell you where he is until I’ve seen Vanessa. If you release her, I’ll bring you to him. I also know where they holed up with your girl. Is that enough of a maybe?”

Jeremy
’s eyes went wide. “You have one of the bone people?  How the fuck did you do that?”

“Yeah. I got one. Why do you call them bone people?”

“Because bones are their symbol. Motherfuckers are cannibals.” Ramirez shuddered, revolted by something so unholy and vicious. He had heard rumors, but hadn’t believed them.

“If you know where my girl is…” Jeremy said.

“I know. I swear.”

“What about the one you caught. Is he alive?” 

“Yeah. He’s alive. Or was the last time I saw him. Your turn. Where’s Vanessa?”

Jeremy motioned to a sentry. The sentry ran out and the metal door slammed shut behind him. Ramirez sagged against the chair. Vanessa was alive. Until this moment, he hadn
’t been certain. The realization sapped his remaining energy and he stared vacantly at the floor. Then he jerked upright. “Why did you take her?  What’s Vanessa to you?”

Before Jeremy could reply, the door opened. Vanessa stood like a statue against the tunnel dark. Clean clothes hugged her shapely body. Rich, auburn hair framed her oval face. Her electric beauty was a bright light in the sordid dim of dingy concrete and angry men.