“Please… Flynn… please,” the man said, his voice hoarse and full of pain.
Suddenly, Flynn recognized the face under the thick layers of dirt! The man used to be his neighbor. Lived in the very same building… before disappearing a few years back. Mullins was his name, Flynn remembered, and he had worked as a doctor’s aide in the Infirmary. Once a healthy young man, big and strong and full of energy, Mullins was now a shadow of his former self! The sight of his gaunt face and sunken eyes sent shivers down Flynn’s spine. He remembered all the whispering that went on after Mullins had disappeared… That he might have been involved with a rebel group… planning some kind of an uprising against the Government… talking about change, a new beginning! And then, Mullins was gone! Everybody thought him dead, killed by the Van Zandt militia… But here he was, alive… just barely so! A crushed and broken man… an example of what awaited those who dared to rock the boat!
Slowly, the man raised his arm and extended a hand toward Flynn. The hand was shaking like a leaf, begging silently. Flynn threw a quick glance around. There was no one else, just him and the Waste Crew. The men had stopped moving and were staring at him and the fish. Flynn stood stock still. To his surprise, an overwhelming sense of pity began to choke him. Normally, Flynn would ignore other people’s misery and carry on with whatever he was doing. Hardship on the Lower Side was taken for granted… you just got on with your life… But now, without thinking, he dug into the bag, took out the largest of the fish steaks and tossed it to Mullins.
Trembling with excitement, the man caught the fish, bowed his head and whispered his thanks. Flynn nodded and stepped on the pedals, somehow managing to squeeze his raft past the Waste Crew’s barge, without retching his guts out. Just before going round the corner, he glanced back over his shoulder. All four men were tearing at the fish like a pack of wild animals, grunting as they gnawed at the raw meat.
Shaken from his encounter with Mullins, Flynn turned and steered the Seeker into the entrance of his building. Its large doorway was nothing more than a gaping hole in the outer wall, with rusty armature wires sticking out from its broken edges. Once inside, Flynn realized he was still holding his breath… Not that the place smelled that much better, but compared to the Waste Crew’s barge, the stench of rot and decay inside the building was a lot more bearable. Flynn was now moving through the building’s docking area, where the entire sea-level floor had been gutted out to make room for dozens of boat slips. With all partition walls removed, Flynn’s building boasted one of the largest and most cavernous spaces on the Lower Side. The only remaining parts of the original structure’s interior were its staircase, the elevator shaft and the support beams. Those were covered in black slime and barnacles, rising from the murky pool of water and reaching two stories up. Before the Flood, the docking area had been the thirtieth floor. Testament to this was the stenciled number ‘30’, still visible on one of the columns. Now, it was known simply as the “Marine Floor”.
A few dim lights flickered on the damp walls, barely illuminating the floating slips. This was where the boats and rafts of the residents were safely moored for the night. Flynn’s raft glided through the greenish-brown water, pushing away the floating garbage in its way. It bumped gently against the car tires that lined Flynn’s designated docking spot. After securing the Seeker to the tires with some rope, Flynn bent over the side and reached under the raft’s platform. His hand found the hatch to his secret compartment hidden inside one of the rusty barrels. Flynn pulled it open. With a brief glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking, he started taking his stash out, stuffing it inside a mesh sack. He worked quickly, his movements well practiced. A minute later, the compartment was empty. Flynn closed the hatch, shouldered his sack, collected the rest of his diving gear and headed for the stairwell.
The smell in the air changed as he climbed higher up the building. He was now negotiating the rusty metal steps of the fire escape which ran all the way to the main roof. Gradually, the stench of the sewer barge and the rot in the basement were replaced by the delicious smell of cooked food. The whiff of fried fish and mussel stew was so overpowering, it made Flynn’s stomach rumble loudly. He had also picked up the very distinct aroma of fried meat… Rat meat and squab. Flynn felt his mouth water and remembered the day when Madison Ray had sneaked a couple of pigeons from her farm for them to cook…. Squab was a rare treat… Rat meat was more common on the Lower Side. But rats were hard to catch, no matter how many traps were set around, usually using fresh water as bait. They were clever little bastards, thought Flynn. And how did they manage to find drinking water was anybody’s guess… But having seen them in the waste barrels, Flynn had gone off rat meat. He was no longer tempted even by the delicious, Peking-style ones, cooked in spicy seaweed and octopus ink.
Flynn climbed past the first few floors, trying not to stare at the people who lived there. This had once been a magnificent office building, but by now nothing remained of its former glory. It was an indoor maze. All kinds of junk had been used to create partitions and to turn the open spaced floors into tiny, makeshift apartments. What was considered an apartment on the Lower Side was more or less a small cubicle of a room, and not much else. Residents who were single weren’t allowed an apartment of their own… Like it or not, they had to share bunk-beds with others… Sometimes as many as seven occupants would cram into one unit and call it their home… Those who were fortunate enough to occupy cubicles next to the outer walls had built extensions and could enjoy a little bit more space. These add-on living quarters would protrude outward from the building, some of them reaching so far out as to create a bridge to the building across.
Clotheslines, heavy with the day’s laundry, were strung everywhere. The washing of clothes was done in the canal waters below. There were hoists with baskets at the backside of each building, used by the occupants to lower their clothes to the Laundry Platform at water’s level. That was where everybody washed too, but personal hygiene was not top of the list on the Lower Side… Well, those who cared to stay clean did their best, thought Flynn… The ones who didn’t, simply went about their business, not giving a damn, stinking of rancid sweat and dirty feet. Most of the kids Flynn knew fell into that category… Unlike them, he was proud of his overall appearance. He would spend so much of his time diving that his skin and hair were in excellent condition. He had only two pairs of shorts and three shirts, but he made sure they were always clean and mended… And people were beginning to comment on how handsome he was looking… Flynn had to admit he was enjoying all the attention… especially from some of the girls in the building… Just now, he had caught a couple of them peeking from behind their cubicle doors, giggling and blushing as he passed.
But instead of stopping to chat, Flynn chose to ignore them. He kept climbing, taking two, three steps at a time. Finally, he emerged onto the main rooftop and looked up at the building’s tower extension rising before him. It was an awkward, shabby construction, crooked and tilting dangerously to one side, wrapped in its tangle of ladders, walkways and cables. Built out of scaffolding poles, covered with sheets of corrugated metal and plastic, the tower was almost as tall as the building on which it stood. Halfway up the tower was Flynn’s tiny apartment… the home he shared with his father and luckily with nobody else. He placed his foot on the first ladder rung, hesitated for a moment then stepped down. It had been a long day… with at least ten difficult dives, all at a depth of two hundred feet… Starving and truly exhausted, Flynn wasn’t looking forward to any more stairs… “Hey Dino!” he shouted, then blow-whistled.