The tavern was open for business but there were no patrons. Not even Old Pete had shown up. Ben looked around the ground floor that was littered with sheets and towels, and chairs being used as makeshift beds.
It was nearly lunchtime and Isobel cleaned glasses that didn’t need cleaning. On occasion, she would glance at the piece of paper Ben had given her the day before, with thirteen names, addresses, and physical descriptions. He had quizzed her about them; it must have been immediately obvious which Alex Sinclair was her husband. She told him she wanted to check out one particular address.
Ben fought the urge to close the tavern early and help Isobel find her husband. But if he did, Albert would, in his words, tan his hide. As usual Kevin was out again, and of no help.
A low whisper of conversational Italian filled the ground floor.
Ben turned to Isobel who straightened up, folded the paper and put it away.
‘I don’t know what to do, Isobel. Albert’s still not back and I’ve no idea where Kevin went.’
‘It’s important that I find him. But I can go alone.’
Ben shook his head. ‘You won’t get past the gate without me, and you don’t know how to get there.’ There was no way Isobel was ditching him; he’d gone to a lot of trouble to get the information. ‘But we really should go today.’
They could delay the trip until tomorrow, but Ben couldn’t go through another sleepless night.
‘I am fast and I have a good sense of direction,’ said Isobel. ‘You don’t have to come with me. Stay here and wait for Albert.’
‘I told you already. They won’t let you out of the neighbourhood by yourself. The guards at the gates follow Marcus’ orders. The Devolved must be accompanied by a regular human. It’s the rule.’
Isobel frowned. ‘Since when?’
Ben shrugged. ‘Since you arrived, I guess. We’ve never had Devolved staying in Waverley before.’
Isobel’s gaze hardened. ‘Why do you keep calling me that? Is that everyone’s opinion? That I’m no longer evolved? That I’m a worthless reject who cannot be trusted to leave Waverley?’
‘No, I don’t think that... Jesus.’ He ran a hand through his messy hair. ‘I’m sorry, Isobel. It’s just what they call you. What I’m trying to say... not me or Albert or Sal. We would never... The rest just don’t know you.’
The Italians had gone quiet. Where the hell was Albert? They had to go soon if they were to make it there and back before curfew.
Isobel relaxed a fraction but she kept her yellow-flecked eyes on him. Then she looked away. ‘Okay, so if Albert doesn’t make it back in time, what’s the alternative?’
An alternative. Of course. Why didn’t he think of that?
Ben smiled. ‘Stay here. I’ll be back as fast as I can.’
He pulled on his coat and left the tavern to go to talk to Sal. It was barely afternoon and the dark and gloomy sky made the day too dark, but in the last six months, the clouds had parted enough for new light to break through. Ben could almost feel a breeze on his cheek whenever the murk lifted. Whenever a weak column of light broke through, he would stand under it and try to remember what sun felt like. But the light never lasted and the clouds quickly reformed, rendering the air thick and claustrophobic.
But it marked a change. Industries no longer operated on Earth, or if they did it was at a much lower rate. The air still lingered with poisonous carbon dioxide and the promise of slow and painful death. But it was a start.
Ben ran to Sal’s cottage—no easy feat with a leaky oxygen canister on his hip. He banged on the door.
‘Please be here, please be here.’
A passing middle-aged woman called to him.
‘She’s not in. You might find her in the old school.’ She pointed to the large building just beyond Central Square. ‘She’s helping to organise refugees from North Compound.’
‘Thanks.’
He half-ran to the school that was once a factory which, according to Albert, used to recycle high-end military hardware. The factory had been converted in the early days after the World Government left, and the original walls remained. It stood alone against the giant perimeter wall, accessible only by an old road entrance.
Ben walked up the short driveway and passed through a weak environmental force field on his way inside. He removed his mask and an instant clamminess hit him. His skin broke out in a sweat while his tight chest forced him to slow down his breathing.
Hundreds of people with flushed cheeks occupied the largest room in the building. They didn’t move much amid the thick and heavy air; it was clear the life support couldn’t cope with the numbers.
Sal was in one corner directing the older people to a row of temporary beds, favouring those caring for young children. She wore her gel mask. Except for the occasional foreign voice in Spanish, German and Italian, the room was quiet.
The layout reminded Ben of the orphanage: one giant bedroom with no privacy.
‘We can house maybe ten more in here,’ Sal said to a helper. ‘But the rest will have to go someplace else. The air is already too thin.’
She turned when Ben got closer to her. Her gaze sharpened. ‘Any news from Albert? What did Marcus say?’
‘He’s not back yet.’
Sal’s gaze softened. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. ‘I should have gone with him. But I’m needed here.’
He hated to see her worry. He was sure Albert was fine. ‘I heard someone say he was on his way back,’ he lied.
‘Are you sure?’
Ben nodded. That earned him a small smile.
He hoped he was right.
‘That’s not why I’m here, though. I came to ask you for a favour.’
☼
Ben and Isobel walked towards Waverley’s main gate. Isobel wore a full-length coat and had a scarf wrapped around her head. She looked almost normal except for her unusual height, her yellow-flecked eyes and the sporadic growth of hair in her eyebrows.
The guards were quick to make their feelings known about a Devolved in their presence. The gestures weren’t the worst of it, though. It was the vile things they whispered to each other, knowing full well that Isobel could pick up the sound of a pin dropping halfway across the neighbourhood.
If it bothered her, she didn’t show it.
‘What did you say to Sal?’ she asked Ben when they made it past the gate.
‘I told her I’d found your husband and we needed to go today.’
He clutched the bag, filled with oxygen canisters. The guards had been too distracted with Isobel to bother checking it. Sal had promised to stay at the tavern until Ben or Albert returned.
‘And she could spare the oxygen? Even with the life support problems?’
‘She understood that you needed to know.’
Isobel closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her gaze seemed sharper. ‘What’s our plan?’
‘Well, I’m sort of making it up as I go along, but we should be able to catch a ride with one of the military vehicles.’
‘And how will we do that?’
‘By hitching a ride on the back of one.’
They would need to find a vehicle with a red mark on the windscreen heading east. ‘It’s about forty miles to Long Island from here. We just need to get close enough. Then we can walk the rest of the way.’
‘What if he lives in a neighbourhood like Waverley?’ Isobel sounded nervous. ‘We won’t be able to get in with the identity chips we have.’
He wondered if she was looking for excuses not to see her husband again.
‘We’ve come this far. Let’s get there first and worry about the rest then.’
They walked along the pavement. Several all-black vehicles drove past, most likely carrying criminals on their way to do some illegal business. He explained to Isobel about ghosting, and nudged her when he spotted a vehicle with a red mark.
Isobel scooped him up in her arms. The wind tore through his hair as she ran for the back of the car. When the car hit a bump, she jumped and landed perfectly on the back. Crouching low, she set Ben down beside her and he grabbed the handle.
‘You meant this one, right?’
Ben could only nod. He gripped the handle even tighter when the car sped up. He smiled at Isobel’s timing to mask their weight displacement with the movement of the car on the rocky patch.
An hour and four red-marked vehicle changes later, they arrived at Long Island. Most ghosters rode the backs for only a short while. Everybody, except those inside the automated vehicles, knew it was how people got around.
In the heart of Long Island, Isobel pulled out the page with Alex Sinclair’s address. She looked up at a tall apartment block approximately sixty floors high. It seemed to be in reasonable condition. Long Island had not suffered the same dilapidation as the buildings in Waverley and its surrounds.
‘Where are the neighbourhoods?’ She looked around. She had no trouble breathing the same air that caused Ben difficulty. ‘Did you notice how this place doesn’t have Waverley’s crime and control levels?’
Ben looked around. She was right.
‘I don’t know, but this place gives me the creeps.’ He pulled his coat around him. Something felt wrong about Long Island, as if things were too normal.
Isobel pointed to a window halfway up. ‘The address is for Apartment 313.’ Her voice wobbled as she adjusted the scarf on her head. ‘What if he’s not the right Alex Sinclair? What if I don’t recognise him, or he doesn’t recognise me? It’s been eight years. I don’t look the same as I did back then.’
Ben linked her arm to reassure her. ‘There’s only one way to find out. Come on. Let’s knock on his door.’
Isobel eased her arm free and regained some of her steely composure. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I must do this on my own.’
Ben smiled. ‘Of course. I didn’t mean...’ He struggled to hide his hurt.
‘It’s not that I don’t want you there. I’ll come find you after. Stay close.’
She took a deep breath and fixed her scarf again, and walked towards the apartment block. She hesitated at the entrance to the block, then stepped forward and disappeared inside.
Ben checked his watch and worked out how long they would need to get back to Waverley. A car passed by: not black, not military. This one was blue and he could have sworn a civilian drove it. He stared at it for longer than was safe.
A row of stores sat opposite the apartment. Ben stepped up to the window of one and cupped his hands against the glass. A light flicked on and he jerked back out of sight. Someone was moving around in the back. And he had seen the place filled with crates of fruit and vegetables that the criminals sold at Waverley.
He pressed his back to a wall and shimmied down a side alley. Where was the black market? Why were civilians driving cars? Why were there crates of food in a small store?
A familiar low hum sent him further back into the alley’s shadows. Another brightly coloured vehicle passed on the street.
He glanced at the apartment block and hoped the Alex Sinclair in Apartment 313 was the right one.
He sat on the ground, and drummed his fingers against his wrist, wishing for Isobel to hurry.
Something was off about this neighbourhood.
Everything felt too normal.