Super Pulse (Book 4): Defect Page 12

  Matt already knew it was fish. He’d never been a seafood guy, but after six months of venison and cranberries it would be a nice change. Rollie carried the tub over to the table and pulled the cloth from the top just as Ellie approached. “There’s enough for two,” Rollie told her. Before long Matt and Ellie were tearing through their breakfast with the knives and forks provided by their host.

  “What kind of fish is this?” Ellie asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Rollie admitted. “I’m a city boy and I never really ate much of this stuff before. When it comes to fish, it’s all the same to me.”

  The fish was completely devoid of any spice or seasoning, but it was hot and tasty nevertheless. “It’s good,” Matt said with his mouth full. “We haven’t had anything like this in a while.”

  “Get used to it,” Rollie said. “We eat lots of fish. Crabs, too, from back in the bay.” His face crinkled. “Crabs are gettin’ harder to find, though. They overfished ‘em. Something about not throwing back the females or something. We don’t get too many of them anymore.”

  “You fish out in the ocean, I take it?” Matt asked.

  “Yeah,” Rollie said. “We found a bunch of fishing equipment on the boats in the marina up by The Basin. At first we couldn’t use the boats because we ain’t got much gas. But we have people who can sail, and others who could fish, so we put ‘em all together. Now we eat pretty good.”

  “And it ought to last,” Matt said. “Sometimes I wonder how long it’ll be before there aren’t any more deer left in the woods back home. But that ocean over there’s pretty big.”

  “Yeah, we eat good, but we still got problems,” Rollie said. “A few people die every week. We know we have to fix the water. That’s a big part of it. I’m not sure what else is going on.”

  “It’s only natural that some people don’t survive,” Ellie said. “No matter what they’re eating or drinking. For one thing, there’s no escape from the weather anymore. And before this all happened, there was medicine and hospitals and special diets that people needed to stay alive. That’s all gone now.”

  “And there’s a lot of hard work to be done,” Matt added. “A lot of regular people aren’t up to it. I had a hard time with that myself at first.”

  “How about at your camp?” Rollie asked. “A lot of people kicking the bucket?”

  “Not as many as here, it sounds like,” Matt replied. “We have doctors, and we hoarded drugs. And clean water to drink, of course. It was all planned real carefully.”

  “Doctors?” Rollie asked incredulously. “Nobody told us that.”

  Matt wondered to himself who Rollie would have expected to tell him that, or anything else about Tabernacle. Afraid to ask, he filed that remark away to think about later.

  “The drug supply will run out eventually, though,” Ellie conceded. “Like everything else. It can’t last forever.”

  “You said it, sister,” Rollie said. “Neither will the food, except for fish. We combed the hotels and restaurants and pulled out a huge load of food. It was like a swarm of locusts moving down the island and collecting every grain of rice we could find. Lots of canned stuff that won’t go bad. It’s all in one place now, under guard.”

  “That was smart,” Matt said.

  “But they say we’re nearly three quarters through that,” Rollie said. “So pretty soon we’ll be eating nothing but fish, I guess.”

  “You could grow food,” Matt said. “That’s what we’re planning. They’ll be gearing up for planting pretty soon back home.”

  “Yeah, somebody was talking about that,” Rollie said. “I’m not sure we have any farmers, though. We might have to send out for some.” He smiled at Matt, with a wink. “Kind of like how we sent out for somebody to fix the water.”

  Matt didn’t return the smile. Instead, he took a swig from the jar Rollie had placed on the table and immediately spat it out on the carpeted floor. “That’s what you all are drinking? No wonder you dragged me down here! It’s loaded with salt! That’ll kill anybody!”

  Rollie spread his palms helplessly. “Yeah, that’s what a lot of us are saying. But Levan – he’s the guy who processes the water – says he’s cooking the salt out as best he can.”

  “Well, it’s not good enough,” Matt said, forcing himself to calm down. “It doesn’t even make sense. You can’t cook the salt out. It doesn’t work that way. That’s what’s making people sick. That’s what’s killing them.”

  “But you’ll fix it for us,” Rollie said. “I mean, that’s why you’re here. Isn’t that right?”

  Matt didn’t answer. It sounded like a threat to him. From then on, he would force himself to choose his words carefully. The stakes were high.

  ~~~

  “You ready to work?” Rollie asked a few minutes later, after the fish was mostly gone. A gust of cold air from the hallway surged into the room. Matt walked over to close the door, but stopped when he saw the steely look on Chappy’s face. I’m still a prisoner, and this must be some kind of protocol they follow, he told himself as he backed away. Door open when there are visitors.

  Fighting the urge to signal Rollie to quiet down, so the boys could sleep, Matt nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready. But what about my boys? They haven’t eaten for at least a day.”

  “Relax,” Rollie said. “The food carts are making the rounds. They’ll get fed soon.”

  The tone of that revelation confirmed Matt’s suspicion about the nature of their current accommodations. “Are we living in your prison?” he asked. “And the food cart rolls from cell to cell?”

  Rollie extended his hands, palms up. Matt was learning that this was Rollie’s signature gesture when the questions got too tough. “That’s a scary word. Why go there? They’ll be safe in here while you’re out with me. Isn’t that good enough?”

  “We’ll be fine, Matt,” Ellie said. “Just get it done so we can go home.”

  Matt knew by her expression to leave it alone for now. They’d covered this ground not long before. “Okay, then,” he said. “Maybe we can talk about this again sometime,” he told Rollie.

  “Maybe,” Rollie allowed.

  Matt picked up his ragged coat and pulled it on. “Make sure they eat,” he told Ellie before kissing her on the forehead. “Even though they don’t like fish.”

  “Of course,” Ellie said.

  With that, Matt and Rollie turned and left. This time Matt made sure the door was closed behind them.

  ~~~

  “So where are we going?” Matt asked after they’d walked down at least ten flights of concrete steps and emerged into an indoor replica of a Cuban town square. Rollie’s smoky torch provided enough light for Matt to see that the fountain was dry. The restaurants and shops had obviously been ransacked. It wasn’t a good look. He’d be glad to get outside on the streets. It wouldn’t much better outside, but at least he could see the sky.

  “May as well get right to it,” Rollie said. “We’re going to the Water Factory. That’s where you’ll work your magic.”

  “How far is it?” Matt asked. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do, or the freedom to do it.

  “Fifteen minutes,” Rollie answered as they walked westward, away from the Tropicana. Might as well learn where things are in this town, Matt thought, looking around. He found a street sign and learned that they were on Iowa Avenue. “It’s a straight shot from here,” Rollie said after they took a left on Atlantic.

  The destruction in the streets was far worse than anything he’d seen over the past few months. There was rubble everywhere. Maybe it was simply because there was more there to be destroyed, but so much of the city, at least in this part, had literally gone down in flames. Even in the cold he detected the smell of death. People had died here, and their bodies left to rot just out of view. As they walked he averted his eyes from any place where there might be anything human, be it live or dead. It was too early in the day for that.

  “What happened here?” he
asked. “It looks like the place got bombed.”

  “You name it. Just about everything happened here,” Rollie said simply. “Same as every place else, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe it’s because we’re in a city,” Matt said. “But I haven’t seen anywhere that looks this bad.”

  “When our fighters first came here, they didn’t take any prisoners, if you know what I mean,” Rollie said. “That didn’t help. I wasn’t around yet, but somebody decided it was a good place to be, because they could defend it. So they took it.”

  They heard a crash and turned back to see four men emerging from a storefront, stepping awkwardly onto the sidewalk that was now layered with broken glass. They were close enough, only about twenty yards, that Matt got a good look at them. The men were a mixed bag in every way. Two were white, the others appearing to be Hispanic and black, respectively. Based only on their postures and disparate hair color, it was clear that this was a multi-generational group. Only their ragged clothing and gaunt, skeletal faces were uniform.

  “What’s going on?” Matt whispered as he backed up against the abandoned cell phone shop they were in front of. “Who’s that?”

  “They’re from the ghetto,” answered Rollie, who followed Matt over to the wall but didn’t bother trying to conceal himself as Matt had. “They usually only come out at night. They must have found a good stash of something in there.”

  “Can’t they see us?” Matt asked. “Are we in danger?”

  “Seems like the eyesight is the first to go when you’re not eating,” Rollie said. “But it won’t matter anyway. They won’t come after us. We should get moving. There’s gonna’ be trouble. If there’s one thing they don’t stand for around here, it’s looting.”

  Matt laughed out loud. “Coulda’ fooled me, by the looks of this place. Besides, didn’t you just tell me fifteen minutes ago how your people looted every restaurant and fishing boat on the island?”

  Rollie thought this over. “That’s different. We were doing it for the public good.”

  “It doesn’t look like it was very good for those guys,” Matt countered. “They look hungry.”

  “It’s a long story,” Rollie allowed. “I know what—”

  A violent patter of footsteps pounding the sidewalk cut Rollie off in mid-sentence. A motley group had appeared from nowhere and was charging right at them. Matt instinctively ran in the opposite direction without waiting for Rollie. After a few steps he turned to look back. Before he could size up the situation his feet tangled on some debris, turning him horizontal and sending him toward the sidewalk. He landed painfully on his hip, his cheek slamming to the dirty concrete at almost the same instant. He lay there, contemplating how to get back to his feet when a black fuzz filled his field of vision and turned the world dark.

  When he came back to consciousness, apparently having been out for just a few seconds, the four men from the ghetto had already fled. The noisy mob of about twenty men, all of whom looked like the ones who’d imprisoned him and his family the night before, followed in a stampede. Seconds later they caught up to the half-starved intruders, who were too weak to run for very long. One tried to escape into a building, only to be dragged back out. It wasn’t long before Matt could only see the backs of the pursuers as they surrounded their prey. The flying fists, feet and clubs told him everything he needed to know about what was happening out of his view. At least the screams of agony didn’t last long.

  By then Rollie had reached Matt and was pulling him to his feet. “Whoa,” he said after surveying Matt’s face. Matt touched his aching cheek and surveyed his fingers, which were coated with blood. It probably looked as bad as it hurt.

  “What’s gonna’ happen to those guys from the ghetto?” Matt asked. But he already knew the answer. It had already happened. “What did we just see, Rollie?”

  “They’ll drag the bodies inside,” Rollie said. “Next time there’s a body run they’ll get picked up.”

  “A body run?” Matt asked.

  “Yeah,” Rollie said. “They collect the dead and drive them onto the mainland. It ain’t healthy to keep them around here.”

  “Do they bury them?”

  “I doubt it,” Rollie answered. “Who’s got the energy for that? Hey, your face looks pretty bad. You wanna’ bag the field trip?”

  “My face isn’t the worst of it.” Matt pushed his coat away and gingerly patted his aching hip. “Aah!” he yelped with a wince.

  “You’re in bad shape,” Rollie said. “Let’s go back.”

  “No, I’m good,” Matt said. “It’ll hurt no matter where I am. I just need something to wipe my face off with. Hopefully they’ll have some clean water at your factory when we get there.”

  “Suit yourself,” Rollie said. “But it might be a little salty. It’ll be like rubbing salt in the wound. Ha ha.”

  The mere act of walking generated a tremendous jolt of pain with each step, but Matt endured it silently with gritted teeth. After they’d gone half a block the pain lessened, or maybe he was just getting used to it. Thankfully Rollie slowed down, making it easier for Matt to struggle along at his side with a pronounced limp. Funny how so many people walk with limps these days, he thought. And now I’m one of them.

  “What exactly just happened back there?” Matt asked. “Who were those men?”

  “Which ones?” Rollie asked.

  “What do you mean, which ones? The ones who just beat four helpless, starving men to death right in front of our eyes,” Matt said. “Those ones.”

  “Those so-called helpless men are leeches,” Rollie replied. “They came out of the ghetto.”

  “Yeah, you said that. What exactly is the ghetto?” Matt asked.

  “Remember I told you about how we took over the island?” Rollie said. “Well, I guess they were the ones we took it over from. Somebody figured, you know, these folks don’t have anything to contribute. So it got kind of ugly. A lot of them resisted. That didn’t turn out so good for them. Some of them left. I doubt that turned out so good, either. The rest of them got herded into a neighborhood on the northern end of the island. They’re all cooped up there now. Everybody calls it the ghetto. We keep ‘em penned in there because they’re dangerous.”

  “They didn’t look like the dangerous ones to me,” Matt said. “I think it’s the other way around. They’re dangerous because you keep them penned in there. Do you think they were just looking for something to eat?” Matt asked.

  “Who knows? I’m not a mind reader,” Rollie snapped.

  They were silent as they walked. The surging pain was giving way to a dull, powerful ache that he felt in his cheek and hip with every pulsing heartbeat, but it didn’t feel like any of his injuries were permanent, at least. A bag of ice would have done wonders for his cheekbone, but he knew that wasn’t happening, unless he happened to spot some that had formed naturally. It was certainly cold enough.

  “You know, it’s not like I don’t get the point about what they could contribute,” Matt said. “We did the same thing at Tabernacle, in a way. If the leaders didn’t think you brought anything to the table, you got left out. I’m talking neighbor against neighbor. But why lock them down in your ghetto? Why not just let them go?”

  “Hey, nobody’s stopping them,” Rollie replied. “They can leave any time they want.”

  “You don’t share anything with them?” Matt asked. “How do they survive?”

  Rollie shrugged. “They don’t, mostly. Hey, don’t look at me. This all happened before I got here. Just between you and me, I don’t like it. And it’s a ticking time bomb. There’ve already been some explosions, too.”

  “Oh yeah?” Matt asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Like what you just saw,” Rollie answered. “They trickle out of the ghetto looking for food and water, and some people don’t like it. I already told you, we got some tough customers around here. You saw some of them a few minutes ago. But eventually, they’re all gonna’ come out of the ghetto
at the same time. We might not be able to handle that.”

  “They don’t want to starve to death, and they’re trying to do something about it,” Matt said in disbelief. “And you have a problem with that?”

  “Do I? No!” Rollie answered emphatically. “You’ll see how it works. Just wait a day or two and you’ll see it for yourself. And we’ll see if you do anything about it when it’s your kids on the sidewalk in their path. And that’s all I’ve got to say about it, okay?”

  Matt shook his head. “It must not be as bad as you’re making it sound. Otherwise, I don’t know how you can live with yourself.”

  “Sometimes life ain’t fair,” Rollie said.

  By then they were approaching a weathered, classical rotunda that stood gracefully in a sea of unkempt grass and weeds. Matt remembered it from his past visits, but was never sure exactly what it was. “That’s the border of the city, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Nah,” Rollie replied. “AC goes about a mile further. But it’s the end of downtown, I guess. The nicest part of town is south of here.” He gestured to the right. “The Water Factory’s over here. You can practically see it from the memorial. We’re just about there.”

  Fourteen

  Squid, Lou and Plankton crossed the border into the Garden State about a week after commandeering the truck. Just as they’d planned, they’d been able to siphon gas out of abandoned cars along the way, once they’d found an old garden hose and a few metal pails. At a battered gas station they acquired six three-gallon gasoline cans, in which they stockpiled fuel whenever they came across it. This enabled them to continue moving south through barren sections of roadway that offered no gasoline for the taking, and, more importantly, the flexibility to skirt areas where there looked to be trouble.

  “What are you collecting all the bottles for?” Plankton asked Squid one day. Ever since they’d fought off the three men he’d noticed Squid storing every bottle he could find in corrugated boxes, padded with leaves to prevent breakage. “Water?”