Eldorado (8 page)

“No – I go hunting and gather the food, collect firewood, keep the fire going, cook the meals – there’s always something to do…”

“But you don’t have anybody to talk to…” said Danny. Suddenly his strength seemed to drain away. He lay down with his head propped up on a pillow.

“Is something wrong?” she said.

“Just a little shaky – and tired. It’s unbelievable. Just talking to you for a few minutes wiped me right out.”

“I think you’re lucky to be alive. You’ve been sleeping off and on for two days.”

“What?” said Danny, suddenly awake. “That's not possible!”

He tried to raise himself up in bed. “I gotta get back. I got business to take care of.” He immediately fell back down.

“You're too weak to do anything right now. Get some rest. Maybe you'll feel stronger tomorrow.”

“You don't understand,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It's not like here. There’s stuff I gotta do…” Once again he tried to rise, but collapsed, and within minutes was asleep.

Lacy smiled. She adjusted the blanket on his sleeping body, gently repositioned his head on the pillow, and brushed back his hair.

Already an idea was forming in her mind.

Lost in Suburbia

Richard was drowning under a wave of despair. Lost, alone, paralyzed with fear, he replayed the horror of Keller’s shooting in his mind. Not only did he grieve for his uncle, but Keller was to be his guide – the only one with the knowledge and experience to get him to King George alive. Keller – stand-in father to him and Danny since their own father died and one of his best friends, was probably dead – murdered before they had even begun their search.

By force of will he calmed himself and examined his surroundings. He stood at the edge of an open expanse almost entirely covered with tall grass about three feet high. The sun was rising and the air was heating up. The space immediately around him was empty, but in what he judged to be the northeast corner stood the crumbling remains of several buildings. Only the jagged remnants of their concrete walls showed, jutting out of the earth like rows of broken teeth, wildly overgrown with vines and brush. It was as if the vegetation was devouring the ancient bones of the structures, drawing them into the ground and toward oblivion.

A wall of dense underbrush surrounded the field, and in the distance oak and poplar trees clawed and thrust threateningly into the sky. The grass around his feet was so thick he could see almost nothing. He decided he wasn’t safe in this place.

Crouching down again, he pulled out the map he’d sketched based on the entries in Danny's journal and traced his finger along the red line marking the Sky-train route.

The dot at the very end marked his goal – the hub that once pumped fifty thousand passengers daily into the heart of Surrey – King George Sky-train station. Steeling himself he took off and headed north, keeping low to let the grass act as some measure of cover.

He guessed that the Sky-train line would be about a mile from his current position. The elevated track averaged about thirty feet above the ground, so he should be able to see it from here, but the swath of trees ahead would block his view until he got closer. Once he had the track in view, he could simply follow it until he hit King George – the end of the line.

There were no discernible trails, but the terrain was flat, so for the most part the going was easy. The ground under his feet was strangely hard and uneven. When he bent down and pulled aside the layer of grass, he could see that long ago this space must have been covered with asphalt.

He hiked for half an hour, and to his relief saw no-one. Finally, as he emerged from a clump of trees he smiled. The monolithic columns of the Sky-train line towered over the surrounding undergrowth. They reminded him eerily of pictures he'd seen of Stonehenge in England – man-made slabs of rock projecting starkly from the surrounding wild landscape.

He almost laughed when he considered the parallels. Like Stonehenge, the giant pillars were monuments to a dead civilization. He wondered if someday the purpose of the line would be forgotten and if, as with Stonehenge, scholars would theorize about its function.

Approaching more closely he saw that the columns, and even the rail-bed itself, were plastered with ancient graffiti – a testament to the days when spray paint, like food, shelter, clothing and transportation, had been plentiful and inexpensive.

Along with spray-paint and Sky-train, there were a million things once so common as to be taken for granted that could only be dreamed of now. Some of the graffiti was in the form of slogans. One said:
This Sucks!
Another, scrawled and badly faded, said:
Welcome to Die-off!

To know how far he was from his goal at King George he needed to find the nearest station. Disintegrated as the line was, he hoped the stations would still bear some indication of their original names. He could match these names to the ones recorded on his map.

He approached the nearest column, but stopped short when he heard voices. He crouched behind some scrub to have a look. In the space beside the column was a semi-permanent camp, with a fire pit and a few shabby tents. The Sky-train rail-bed above provided shelter from the weather; there were probably camps all along the line. Several people sat around a fire with a metal pot hanging over it. One of them, a ragged middle-aged man, unexpectedly glanced up and spotted him. The man pointed, jumped up, and yelled something. The others turned to look.

“Shit,” said Richard, and took off. Several of the men chased him for half a mile. Finally, apparently satisfied that he wasn’t coming back, they abandoned the pursuit.

He hiked parallel to the line at a distance of about a quarter mile – close enough to keep it in sight, but far enough away to minimize the chance of contact with other people. He wasn't sure what he would do when he reached a station. There would almost certainly be people living in the station structures, which would provide excellent shelter and be easy to defend. At some point he’d have no choice but to approach close enough to find some hint of a station's name. It was a problem he’d tackle when it arose.

For a long time he moved through open fields, passing the occasional tree or clump of brush, seeing no structures other than the Sky-train track. After hiking for an hour he began to encounter the crumbling ruins of what were once buildings, roads, and parking lots. Eventually he spotted what he guessed must once have been a light industrial manufacturing complex. Sliding garage doors, probably once loading bays, were spaced evenly around the outside.

He approached it warily, guessing that wherever there was shelter, there would be people. He’d planned to make a wide berth around it, but as he passed he heard the sound of laughter. His instincts told him to ignore it and continue on his way, but his curiosity took over. He couldn't resist investigating.

He entered the grounds and followed along the rear walls toward the laughter. Within a few minutes it was clear that the action was just around the corner from where he stood.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he realized that the laughter was mingled with a woman’s screams. This was no innocent fun – he’d walked into an attack. Again he told himself to back away and leave this place, but he couldn’t just leave without helping her.

He crouched down and poked his head around the wall. A cluster of small buildings faced an inner courtyard. Near the northeast corner, no more than thirty feet away, two men were attacking a lone woman. A bicycle and a backpack lay on the ground nearby. Near the backpack lay a hunting knife. The woman's pants were undone and her shirt torn open. One man held her arms behind her back while the other slunk toward her.

“She’s a feisty one, Karl,” said the one advancing.

“No kiddin', Bert,” said the one holding the woman, “an’ a tight little body on ‘er, too.”

“It's nothing you'll ever lay your hands on,” the woman shouted.

“But, honey,” said Karl, “I’ve already got my hands on you.” He transferred both her wrists to his left hand, and grabbed at her breast with his right. She screamed, and tried to bite his arm, but he twisted it out of her reach, laughing.

“So you’re too good for the likes of us,” laughed Bert, approaching closer. He licked his lips and wiped his mouth on his shirt. “Well, you know what Princess? You’re gonna take ol’ Bert up inside you and you’re gonna scream for more. Then Karl’ll have his turn. Give us the ride of our lives, and maybe we take you along with us for later – maybe we keep you alive for a while instead of wastin’ you once we’re done.”

Richard knew he should act, but he was terrified. Bert swaggered to within easy reach of the woman and sneered as he grabbed for her breast. With unexpected speed she hauled back and kicked him hard between the legs. He howled in pain and collapsed in a heap on the ground. This was no longer a game.

Richard knew it was time. He would have to move – in this position his approach would be too far away and in plain view of the attackers. He crept around the back of the building to come up on the men from closer in. Seconds later he was peeking around another corner within a few yards of the men and their victim. He wasn't a moment too soon. Bert had recovered and he charged at the woman in full fury.

“You fucking bitch!” he roared, slapping her brutally across the face. “I’ll teach you to fuck with me!”

Bert and Karl were in full attack now, wrestling the woman to her knees and tearing at her clothes. They weren't having an easy time of it. She fought with a fury Richard had never witnessed before. She freed a hand and punched Bert hard in the face, sending him flying, and elbowed Karl in the stomach, though not hard enough for him to release his grip.

Still under cover of the building, Richard rifled through his pack for the gun Keller had given him. Shaking with fear, he stepped out from the behind the corner, gripping the gun with both hands.

“Let go of her!” he yelled.

Bert, still lying on the ground, stared up at him. Bert jumped up, and at first looked like he was going to attack, but reconsidered. Karl turned, spotted Richard holding the gun, and let go of the woman. The two backed up slowly with their hands in the air. Richard stood anchored to the spot, the shaking gun straight out in front of him. Bert and Karl assessed the situation and apparently decided they were at a severe disadvantage. They ran behind one of the buildings and out of sight.

The woman turned in Richard’s direction. He judged her to be in her early twenties, but she had a weather-worn look, as if she'd spent a lot of time outdoors. Her body was slim and muscular, yet surprisingly feminine.

His impression was of a cat – powerful, but lithe and agile. Her expression was hard, as if she'd experienced a lot of sorrow in her life, but there was a hint of compassion somewhere behind her startling blue eyes. Her light-brown hair was cut short and streaked with gold by the sun. Richard felt his heart race. It was a sensation he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

She didn't look friendly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she said.

"Uh – saving you from being raped?" he said, annoyed at her tone.

The woman did her best to re-button her shirt, hitched up her pants and re-fastened them, then strode over and picked her knife up off the ground. She turned again and faced him.

"I don’t remember asking for your help."

"What? You didn't want to be saved?"

"By you? I think I'd stand a better chance with the outlaws."

Richard was incredulous. "Well next time I'll be sure to ask before I step in and risk my life to help someone."

"You're not just risking your life, you're risking mine. Those two oafs I could handle. When you're thrown into the mix I’ve got a new unpredictable element to worry about. Do you even know how to fire that thing?" She nodded at the gun in his hand.

"Of course," he said.

"Really? Well, fire it, then. Try it. Fire it into the air."

Richard was confused.

"Go ahead," she snapped. "Fire it!"

He pointed the gun in the air and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She shook her head slowly.

"Lucky those two cretins didn't notice you still had the safety on."

"Oh – yeah,” Richard said, half to himself. “Keller told me but I guess I forgot."

"If they’d snatched the gun away from you it would have been the end for both of us. What are you doing out here anyway? You’re obviously not from around here. You got a death wish?"

“I jumped the Food Train. I'm headed for King George Sky-train Station. My brother is missing."

"Well, I hate to be the one to tell you, but now you're missing too."

"Look, I'm sorry if you didn't want to be saved, but I did risk my life…"

"Just stay out of my way, okay? I've got a feeling you're one of these babes-in-the-woods who come out of a war without a scratch after a dozen savvy people have died trying to look out for them."

"Hey, gladly,” said Richard, raising his hands. “I don't need this."

She strode over to her bike, picked it up, and rode off.

"Christ!" he said. "What the hell was that all about?" Then, realizing that Bert and Karl, or someone worse, might still be around, he shoved the gun into his belt and took off.