“We have fifty-three people altogether. Forty-eight adults and five kids. I’ll start in alphabetical order: Greg Andrews, Sandy Chia…”
Suddenly, Dr. Zamora was interrupted by rapid tapping sounds coming from outside one of the boardroom’s big windows.
“Hold on Oscar,” Van Zandt said, getting out of his chair. “Looks like we’ve got some urgent mail…” He walked briskly over to the window where a steel-grey pigeon was waiting. It had landed on a small perch attached to the window’s sill. The bird tapped its beak on the glass again. Van Zandt opened the window, scooped the bird in his hand, and then carefully retrieved a folded scrap of paper out of the pouch round the bird’s neck. All eyes were on him as he opened the note and silently read it. “It’s from Jenkins,” he said, frowning. “Another tower’s partially collapsed on the Lower Side! It’s taken down two bridges… Quite a lot of casualties!”
“I’m on my way!” Duncan Roth stood up immediately and was already half way out of the room.
“Me too!” Jordan said and followed the Rottweiler.
“Go to work, gentlemen!” Van Zandt peered out of the window in the direction of the Lower Side. “The Departure List will have to wait.”
SEVEN
“Antonio’s not feeling well today, Flynn!” Mrs. Romero shook her head, her eyes full of worry and pain.
Flynn was trying to peek inside Tony’s apartment, but his mother had now completely blocked the low doorway with her body. “Can I come in and see him? Just for a minute?”
“Better not…. I want him to rest… not get too excited.”
“But we’ve got to…” Flynn began to say something and stopped. “Never mind, I’ll go and get him some more medicine… That’ll fix him.”
“It won’t help much, Flynn!”
“Then what will, Mrs. Romero?”
“Dr. Omar says Tony needs stronger food, mountain air… whatever that is anyway… we don’t have it,” said Mrs. Romero wringing her hands. “And he’s had to report Tony’s condition to the Government…. to Dr. Zamora’s people!” The poor woman choked up, her eyes filling with tears.
“Mom, who is it?” Tony’s voice came from inside the apartment. It sounded weak.
“Nobody, son,” Mrs. Romero said over her shoulder, never taking her eyes away from Flynn. “I’ll be right in.”
“Well, I’ll drop by tomorrow, then,” Flynn said.
“Please, don’t! He’s not going out any time soon!” She hesitated then grabbed Flynn’s hand and leaned closer. “Tony doesn’t have a pair of lungs like you do… made out of steel… he can barely breathe, Flynn!” she whispered, her voice full of bitterness. Mrs. Romero let go of Flynn, stepped back inside and closed the door flap.
Flynn felt terrible. He had truly believed the medicine would help Tony get better, keep him going…. It had been Tony’s last hope after all those visits to Dr. Omar and the Lower Side Infirmary, the miserable little hospital ward on the corner of Bridge and Broad Street Canals. It occupied the lowest two floors of the building, so patients didn’t have to be carried up and down stairs and walkways. The Archipelago had a much better medical facility on the Upper Side, but it was off-limits for the Lower Siders. Dr. Omar did all he could for the sick and those wounded in accidents around town. He was another ancient, spared from the Departure List, like Mr. Kowalski. Over the years the man had performed miracles, considering the lack of medical supplies and the appalling conditions he was working under. He had even come up with a few break-through medical solutions… using algae and various types of jellyfish, he had successfully developed replacements for conventional and long lost medicines. And he had also done an amazing job with Flynn, stitching him up after the shark tooth incident… Flynn could easily have lost his arm if it weren’t for the good doctor… But there wasn’t much the old man could do for Tony, apart from suggesting the boy continue with the nightly algae inhalations. Every time he examined the ailing boy, he would look at Mrs. Romero and shake his head in despair. Dr. Omar knew he was helpless and had pretty much given up on Tony.
Flynn stood in front of the Romero’s door, scratching his head… Now what? Mountain air? Where the hell was he going to get that from? Mountains didn’t exist, he knew that. Only in pictures and in tales of what the world was like before the Flood… Flynn remembered staring for hours at the faded photographs of snow-capped mountain peaks, green valleys and fields covered with flowers… of dark blue lakes and lush forests… They were all in the old magazines and books his father kept hidden away in their apartment. Allan Perry had used them for teaching Flynn to read and write. There were no schools anymore… Parents on the Lower Side were left to their own devices when it came to educating their children. Most didn’t bother at all. Those who did would stick mainly to the basics — reading and writing. No one cared about teaching Geography and History. Who needed to know about things of the past, buried under tons of water and never coming back!
Yes, Flynn had seen the pictures of what used to be out there, but they were just that… pictures. You couldn’t breathe fresh mountain air from a picture, could you! Last night, he had eavesdropped on the conversation between his father and Mr. Kowalski… heard all that nonsense about some magical healthy Dry Land far in the West… Mr. Kowalski was getting old and losing his mind, Flynn thought. There was nothing out there! Nothing, but ocean and tiny outposts with contaminated waste.
He glanced once more at Tony’s door, turned away and slowly started to climb up the filthy steps of the Romero’s apartment building. He had to stop fooling himself. Tony wasn’t going to be fit to partner him in the Trials. But who else was there? All the boys his age had teamed up already. Except… Flynn stopped suddenly, sucking in his breath… This wasn’t going to work, but what the heck… It was worth a try, he thought as he rushed up to the roof of the building.
He had not come with his raft to check on Tony, since the boy lived only a block away from him. Flynn had walked the distance. He had used the big bridge over Greenway Canal and then a couple of suspended walkways between buildings to get to Tony’s… Now, he had to cross all the way to the east corner of the Lower Side… and walking was out of the question. Flynn knew that he had no other choice, but to get on one of the cable cars.
The Baldwin Cable Car system was the brainchild of Dan Baldwin, a member of the First Government and a close associate of Van Zandt Senior. The man was long dead, but his cable-car system lived on. It was regarded by the Government as the work of a genius, a great achievement in providing public transportation and helping to ease the traffic on the waterways. They were especially proud of the cables connecting the Upper and Lower Side. Those ran the length of the submerged Midtown section, on both sides of the Van Zandt’s Pipeline, with cable cars crawling up and down above Midtown Bay.
Well, Flynn hated the cable car service. It was slow, unreliable and often dangerous, he thought as he climbed onto the shaky station platform. The platform jutted out from the roof of the building and its corrugated sheets of metal wobbled under Flynn’s feet. Stepping cautiously toward the edge, he grabbed the side railings to steady himself. He took a look around and felt dwarfed by the wind turbines, towering above him from the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Half a dozen huge fans, covered in grime and bird droppings, rotated slowly, the shadows of their blades dancing all around Flynn. Coils of power cables hung from the turbines’ motors and stretched down to the Lower Side Generator building. Relics from the past, some of the generators still worked, providing energy alongside the clusters of solar panels. But, one by one, these machines were failing, due to the diminishing number of spare parts needed to keep them up and running. As hard as they tried, the Free Scavenger crews weren’t bringing up anything that could help Mr. Kowalski and his team help fix the problem.