The Exodus Towers (55 page)

The address he’d spied turned out to be an office complex, full of dead terminals, decaying bodies, and more mold than he’d ever seen. The windows had been left open to the humid air for six years, and lizards scattered when he stepped inside. Nothing useful would be found there, and more to the point there was no power.

A day passed, then a week, without any more encounters with subhumans. No one spoke of it aloud, but Skyler could see the fear on all their faces of being stuck here. Or rather the acceptance of that possibility. The fear, he thought, might well be his alone. Pablo certainly wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life on a quiet island. Vanessa probably wouldn’t, either. Ana, Skyler thought, would just take whatever cards were dealt her, and in her youth probably would think it would be a good life. He knew she was too restless to be happy somewhere like this, though.

Each morning Skyler woke two hours before sunrise and
set out to search the surrounding neighborhood for a building with power. Three times he found lights, only to discover the source to be isolated, cap-powered installations. Security floods, a child’s night-light, that sort of thing.

Pablo found a few solar panels on a nearby roof and managed to rig them up to charge
La Gaza Ladra
. A well-intentioned project he’d undertaken while everyone else had been out searching, and Skyler took care to praise the effort before letting the man know it would take roughly four years to get a full charge from the source. Still, he didn’t disconnect them. If they found nothing else, at least they might get enough of a charge in a few months to be able to fly to one of the other islands in the Azores chain.

One day Vanessa returned from scouting with a slate computer in hand. “Still has a charge,” she said as she handed it to Skyler.

“We can’t siphon it into the Magpie,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be thick. Read it.”

Intrigued, Skyler glanced at the screen. The island’s daily newspaper was on the display. The article in the center of the page caught his eye. “Council upholds policy against thorium reactors,” read the headline. His heart sank. He scanned the paragraphs below. Talk of mitigating risk to the island’s fragile ecosystem. Sensational and unfounded rants against the possibility of nuclear meltdown.

“We’re not going to find any power here, are we?” Vanessa asked.

He sighed, and against his better judgment tapped the option to continue reading. The reporter listed quotes from various islanders about their mistrust of nuclear energy. A holdover, he knew, from fears that began with the earliest forms of the technology, when reactors would fail every few decades, usually due to some act of nature. Once a particularly disgruntled French worker had sabotaged the planet deliberately, leaving an uninhabitable zone in Western Europe that made earlier accidents look like child’s play.

“We’re going to be here awhile,” Vanessa said. “Aren’t we?”

Frustration boiled within Skyler. Granted, that old tech was dangerous and irresponsible. But the backlash, if the history
books had it right, was beyond ridiculous. A century and a half of willful ignorance toward the best energy source imaginable. The West shot itself in the foot, allowing China to pioneer pebble-bed technology first, then thorium. And finally miniature thorium reactors that could run unsupervised for a thousand years, and power a few modern skyscrapers. While Europe and America struggled to attach a solar panel to every roof and burned every last drop of oil, China and the developing world suddenly had no energy problem to speak of. Then came ultracapacitors, and the ability to store all that power.

By the time the Darwin Elevator touched down, Europe was still in catch-up mode. America was a distant memory. “North Mexico,” Skyler’s schoolteacher had jokingly called the former superpower. At least Australia hadn’t been so closed-minded.

Even here in the Azores, just six short years ago, the local population still mistrusted the technology.
A good thing Belém hadn’t been so stubborn
, he thought as he skimmed the rest of the article.
And they had the bloody Amazon to protect. All this place has is a few scraggly hills and a dormant volcano
.

The thought of the volcano brought an image to his mind of the island as viewed from satellite. Gears turned in his head, squeaky things in need of lubrication. He grinned. “Ana?”

She looked up from the dismantled weapon she’d been cleaning.

“Can you pull up the nav maps again?”

Ana frowned. “What are we looking for? We’ve studied the whole island.”

“Not the island,” Skyler said. “The ocean. We’re looking for giant white propellers. Or …” He racked his mind to recall the methods used to harness such energies. “Long tubes floating in the surf. Wind and wave power collectors.”

By noon he set out with Ana to the target location, all the way across the island on the western shore. A forty-kilometer hike, one way.

Wave-power generators had been easy to spot, once they
knew to look. Long, dark disjointed lines a kilometer offshore. Tracing a simple, straight path to shore revealed the collection station that transmitted the energy out to the rest of the island.

At first they’d all planned to go, until Skyler changed his mind. “This plane is our ticket off this island. Leaving her alone makes me nervous.”

They’d seen no other immunes, but the possibility remained that someone might be out there, watching them, waiting for a chance to escape.

“Let’s just take the plane over there,” Pablo suggested.

“Can’t do it,” Skyler said with a frown. “We’ve got enough juice to move her once, if we’re lucky. I’d rather save that for when we’re sure.”

Skyler offered to stay, but the group collectively decided he was the best person to scout the site. This was no time to fool around, and since the handhelds only had a six- or seven-klick range, there’d be no consultation with the others.

Naturally, Ana came along.

She’d been unusually silent after seeing the base of that cliff through his binoculars. She’d seen dead bodies before, they all had, but something about the mass suicide chilled her. Chilled all of them. Maybe it was the manner of death, or the apparent way the towers seemed to power through the crowd with callous indifference. It was easy, Skyler thought, to imagine the subhumans as somehow on the Builders’ side, their creations, after what had happened in the rainforest near the Belém Elevator. But this threw that notion back into the fog of confusion that surrounded everything related to the aliens.

Skyler fought to keep the image out of his mind, but like a catchy, horrible song, those corpses seemed to reappear every time he tried to forget them.

“Hey, look,” Ana said. She’d stopped in the street. They weren’t even at the edge of town yet, still a full day’s hike ahead of them.

From the excitement in her voice, he expected to turn and see a light on somewhere. A power source. All he saw, though, was the dark windows of abandoned stores. Ana moved
closer to one window, picked up a chunk of broken asphalt from the road, and threw it into the glass pane.

The sound of it shattering echoed along the narrow street.

“What are you—” Skyler started. Then, “Oh …”

She’d found a bicycle shop. Touristy things, many with signs hanging from their handlebars indicating daily rental prices. She crawled inside and, after a minute or so, came out the front door with a rugged mountain bike. She laid it against the outside wall and went back in. A moment later, she emerged with a second bike, larger than the first. A man’s bike. Expensive looking with huge spring shocks and knobby black tires.

Skyler remained still, listening for any sounds of subhuman presence after the cacophony of breaking glass. He heard nothing, though. After a week he didn’t really expect to. It was as if that one pathetic sub scratching at the door of the ship was the poor, lone survivor. When Skyler looked down the empty street he found it easy to imagine that he and his crew were the last souls on the planet.

Ana went inside a third time, and when she came out she carried a kit of some kind as well as a tire pump. She tore it open and produced a small white tube, discarding the rest. Kneeling by the bikes, she began to oil their chains.

They rode in silence. The bikes made the trip much easier, but Skyler insisted they keep a slow pace in case they needed to ditch the transportation in a hurry. Once out of the city, though, that fear diminished. They cruised along an ocean-front road, swerving around derelict cars and the occasional skeleton. Seagulls drifted overhead, calling to one another as they flew in lazy arcs. A perfect, post-apocalyptic day in paradise.

After an hour riding on the bumpy road, Ana called for a break. A small strip of sand on their right marked a break in the otherwise rocky shoreline, and it had caught her attention.

They left their bikes on the roadside and she led the way down steep, weed-choked steps to the beach. Without a word she stripped and trod carefully out into the surf, diving under the first wave that threatened to drench her. When she
came up she wrung the water from her hair and motioned for Skyler to join her.

He was one of four people on the entire island, yet still he looked up and down the beach before pulling his clothes off.

They swam together in frigid water under a blazing sun, and made love in that soft place where dwindling waves just managed to kiss their toes and soft sand cradled them like pillows. Then they just lay there, holding hands, staring up at the endless blue sky until the sun and wind dried them.

From when they’d left the road to when they returned, Ana had said nothing. Back on the bikes, she rode a few meters ahead and shot him one quick, simple, wicked grin.

Skyler knew in that moment two things: He loved her. That, and she’d probably be the death of him.

When Skyler saw the red beacon light just above the tree line he almost fell off his bike.

The power station was a squat building tucked back into a thin forest on the inland side of the road, on the edge of a town called Mosteiros.

Ana thrust her arms into the air and shouted something in Spanish. Her bike swerved, forcing her to cut the celebration short and focus on remaining upright.

The coastline on this side of the island consisted of sheer cliffs that rose twenty meters from the turgid water below, only to then level off into a long, gentle grade up to the rim of the old volcano. The fertile land showed all the signs of human agriculture long reclaimed by the wild, with snakelike forests of cryptomeria trees winding their way down the slope. Copses of smaller mahogany dotted the fields of tall grass.

Skyler dismounted a safe distance from the nearly hidden building. Ana followed his example. He followed all the usual precautions of entering a structure that might be a heat source. Subhumans often dwelled within such places, like a cave with a built-in fire to warm their ragged bodies. He kicked in the door and went in with his rifle at the ready. Ana came in at his shoulder, a position and tactic now routine for her. The recklessness she’d exhibited in the past had
faded, perhaps for good. More and more Skyler viewed her as a study in contrasts to Samantha. Where Sam had swagger and strength, Ana displayed cunning and speed.

The windowless building proved devoid of life, save for a few field mice that scurried into the shadows in the presence of two humans. Skyler tried the light switch and laughed aloud when the LEDs mounted on the ceiling beams came to life.

“We did it!” Ana said, giving him a little pat on the behind.

“Let’s be doubly sure.”

In a basement room they found what they’d come for. A massive cable emerged from the floor of the vast room. There was even a ceremonial red rope around it, with signs in Portuguese that Skyler guessed said something about the wave-generation project’s success, and how this cable stretched well out into the ocean. None of that mattered. The lights were on, and in the quiet of that room he could hear the strong hum of electric power flowing through the banks of equipment in the adjoining rooms. High-voltage signs warned against entering, advice he heeded happily.

Skyler inspected the room like some visiting dignitary. Ana mimicked his steps, her eyes boring into him, waiting.

“Let’s go back and get the Magpie,” he announced.

Three days later
La Gaza Ladra
’s ultracapacitors hit full charge, and Skyler told the team to buckle in. On each of their faces he saw relief, but something else, too: wistfulness, like the final day of a grand if exhausting vacation. He felt it, too. A small part of him wished to stay, to spend the rest of his life riding a bike around the beautiful island with Ana alongside and grinning mischievously.

“Next stop,” he said as the aircraft lifted off the ground, “Ireland.”

Cappagh, Ireland

25.JUL.2284

S
KYLER HELD AT
three hundred meters, vertical thrusters wailing to keep the aircraft aloft and stable. He swallowed, his mouth dry as cotton cloth. A light rain dappled the cockpit window, threatening to obscure the view ahead.