Ann Mason
Dangerous Waters
Dangerous Waters
A Quake Book
Shakin' up young readers!
First Echelon Press Publication / February 2012
All rights Reserved.
Copyright © 201 by Katherine Mason
Cover Art © Karen L. Syed
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ISBN: 978-1-59080-874-0
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To my wonderful husband Andrew and my great kids Eric and Jennifer. You're my favorite cheering squad.
Chapter One
The swamp fever struck the compound the way it did each spring. Half the disciples tried to sleep it off. I'd seen the yellowed faces, almost felt the heat baking off the forty or so bodies in the room. Some awakened in the middle of the night and crawled toward the walls in a futile effort to find coolness. The walls bled humidity and the air coming in through the open windows smelled heavily of dank water.
I wasn't affected, which had its points. The good–I wasn't lying in my cot twisting and turning to escape the dreams the fever brought. The bad–I had to help the others. Marco regularly drilled into our heads the importance of community, the necessity for those of us who retained an advantage to help the ones who had none. We could resent the obligation, but we couldn't duck it. The sick needed to eat and drink.
I padded to the grain barrel and pried open the lid. Damn. Down to almost nothing, which meant a trip to the village and an attempt to haggle with the wheat and barley vendor. Since other foods were so scarce, grain became the main staple of our diet. Boiled and flavored with fish fat and oil, it provided sustenance for a few hours. But not when only a thin scatter of hulls covered the bottom. I crouched down, filtered the particles through my fingers, and calculated.
Marco, as compound head, would eat first. I carried a portion to the fire, dumped it into the kettle, and added precious water from one of the vats. Clean, fresh water was another scarce commodity; the Hybrids used filtration, but we didn't. We jealously guarded the well out back (really a series of pipes Marco re-routed from down under to provide a more or less steady trickle of water.) We covered it with wooden planking and topped it with faded, and very thorny, scrub brush. I sustained more than one puncture wound from the protective scrub, which made me glad I didn't have to collect it this morning.
I stoked the fire, which soon felt unbearable in the close room-sure enough, those who slept too near the stove began muttering and crawling around. I dampened a cloth and went from cot to cot, wiping down brows, murmuring soothing words, occasionally wringing precious drops of water into open mouths. A pretty, round-faced girl named Isis opened her eyes. "Thanks, Elizabeth. God, this really sucks."
"You feel okay?"
"I've been better. I hate this. Makes you hungry and thirsty and tired and nauseous at the same time. Are you bringing food?"
"There's not much left."
She sighed. "Watch out for Fielder. This thing affects him like no one I've ever met."
I nodded. "I know."
She closed her eyes. "Thanks again for the water."
I went back to the fire and ladled the boiled grain into a bowl. Given the nausea, there would be no way Marco would want fish fat. On the way to his cot a hand shot out from beneath a blanket and snagged my wrist. "Come here, baby."
"Let me go, Fielder." We called him Fielder because he played baseball back in the old days. Now he was just another refugee from the floods, his muscle wasted, his dark hair thinning, his nose prominent in his thin face. But he still had strong hands.
"No way."
"I have to feed Marco," I said doggedly. "Cut it out."
He yanked me hard toward his cot. The bowl I gripped tightly in my free hand upended, spilling half the contents down my smock. I bent to keep from getting scalded. "You asshole!"
"I love it when you talk dirty."
I found myself half sitting on the metal edge of the cot, one of his sinewy arms wrapped around my chest. I struggled to stand up, but even suffering from swamp fever, he was too strong for me. "Let me go!"
"Not 'til you give me a little kiss, Ice Princess."
"You're sick." Again I tried to pull away. I gritted my teeth as something hot brushed the back of my neck, probably his mouth. "And I'm still well enough to help out, so leave me the hell alone!"
"No." He flipped me over and pinned me beneath him, the hard springs of the thin mattress digging into my spine. "You don't get it, do you? It's perfectly okay if I kiss you. And other things."
I stared at the yellowish whites of his eyes, at the grooves all those years playing in the sun had dug into his face. At the graying hair, the cracked lips, and I suddenly knew what to do.
As he leaned forward, I splashed the last of the hot gruel on his back. He shrieked and jerked off me like a fish yanked away on a line. "Bitch!"
"You know it." I rolled off the cot and scrambled to my feet, brushing the front of my smock and waving the empty bowl before me. "You should know better than to mess with me, Fielder. I'm called 'Ice Princess' for a reason."
I turned away and my heart sank. Marco sat on his cot, watching the whole thing. Including the fact I'd just wasted precious food to make a point.
Behind me Fielder hissed, "He's not going to be too happy with you, is he?"
"Screw you," I muttered and walked slowly toward Marco.
* * *
"I saw what you did," he said.
No kidding. I held the evidence in my hand. "I'm sorry."
"We can't afford to waste grain." He shifted uneasily on his mattress; I held out a cloth I'd picked up on my way over, intending to dampen his brow, but he shook his head. "Grain and water, Elizabeth. Our two most precious commodities and you just threw them away."
"He wanted to . . . ."
"I know what Fielder wanted. He does it every day with one girl or another. That's his way."
"And we're supposed to accept it?" My voice came out angrier than I intended. Over and over, Marco lectured me on controlling my temper. I lowered my head.
"We live in a different world now," he said, like I didn't know. "We have our enemies above and below. Mostly below, but . . . " His voice trailed into a hacking cough.
Marco suffered from asthma, a condition worsened by the conditions in which we lived. I waited while he caught his breath.
He continued, "We have our enemies up here. Look at . . . look at Maximus. He runs his own compound several miles from here. He pretends to league himself with the Hybrids, dealing with them on a daily basis, using their currency to do business, convincing them not to transact with our kind even though he is one of us. He even sends his girls down under, whores them out to the Hybrid wealthy." Marco frowned slightly. "This is not the ideal way for us to live. Not the ideal way for us to cement our society as separate and distinct from the Hybrids. He will rise against us all in a few years, I'm sure of it. And there are others like him who pander shamelessly to those down below."
His fever-yellowed eyes met mine. "And you think if you cause quarrels here it will help our cause? We must learn to live together harmoniously. Infighting will destroy us and ours."
I lowered my head again. I hated it when he talked to me this way; reproachful, stern. Always acting the part of the instructor. The thought rose in me, quick and unbidden, Who the hell does he think he is? "I understand."
"Do you, Elizabeth? It's important you do. Even if it means doing certain . . . things . . . which may be distasteful to you."
"What about Fielder?" I forced myself to sound calm. "Why can't he be told the same thing?"
"Because I need you both." Marco leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes. "And to rely on Fielder I need everyone's cooperation."
"Even if it means I have to sleep with him?"
His eyes opened again. "Isis did. And she's pregnant now."
I didn't say anything else. I didn't have to. Marco always said the same thing; in order for us to survive, we needed to procreate. Even if it meant having to be with Fielder, we were expected to go along without complaint. I turned away, not wanting my thoughts to show on my face.
"Elizabeth."
I didn't turn. "Yes?"
"You must go into the village to purchase more grain. And Isis needs citrus fruit." He coughed again. "Very few vendors are taking our money anymore. Especially the fruit vendors."
I understood. Oh, I could take whatever money I needed from our stores; stacks of bills and heaps of coins kept in a special box in the corner of the compound. But lately it seemed as if the money, all the accumulated wealth from the earlier years, had become just so much paper and metal.
We couldn't use it anymore in a lot of places. Which meant having to steal from the Hybrids who occasionally came to the surface to do business. It was a risky thing. If you got caught and brought underwater, you were subject to their laws. You had to be careful.
But I'd always been careful.
I went to our supply closet to choose the things I needed for a trip to the village. A belt with a sheath. A long-bladed knife to slide inside. A pouch to hang around my waist, which I took care to fill with coins and dollars from the box. Marco wouldn't want me to steal if I didn't have to. And neither did I.
Chapter Two
The center of the village was about a mile from our compound. A set of planks wound away from the steps leading down from the front door. On either side of the planks, the water smelled fresh and metallic when the temperature dipped below forty. Today it felt like seventy, the smell a mix of rotten egg and dead fish. It rose up in a cloud, embracing me as I walked. I'd gotten used to it over the years.
I kept close to the middle of the planks. Hybrids sometimes came to the surface. There were ladders for them to do so, of course, but sometimes their protective eye gear became clotted with sewage. Which meant they grabbed anything available to pull themselves out of the water. The ankle or leg of an unsuspecting above-grounder made a good prop. That the above-grounder got dragged into the water meant nothing to them, even if they drowned. I kept my hand on the hilt of the knife as I walked, the wood swaying gently beneath my steps. If someone caught me, a quick slash should be enough to break free.
Other above-grounders walked toward the village. I could see them from behind as they made their careful way from their own compounds. They all had the same look–shoulders hunched slightly, heads darting toward the treacherous water on either side. I probably looked the same way. For a moment my mind flashed to a book Marco showed me once, the pages swollen and blistered with moisture. People walked side by side along concrete walkways, heads held high, different ages, colors and sexes. What a life it must have been, like watching the seasons played out before you in human form. Not that I knew what seasons were except from what I'd read. They'd been lost to us when the icebergs melted and the climate warmed. Now we only knew phases–cool, warm, very warm.
A couple ahead of me paused and backed up a couple of paces before moving slightly closer to the edge of the walkway. It didn't take long to see the reason; striding into view, head high, was a Hybrid. A clear coating of protective scales covered most of his face. His hands even at a distance looked larger than those belonging to the above-grounders, with a neat line of webbing between the fingers. His nose was flat, the nostrils thin slits capable of closing underwater. Seeing him wasn't exactly a surprise, except for what he wore. The suit itself wasn't a big deal, since the Hybrids used water-resistant cloth, but they didn't usually wear the fancy stuff above ground. Perhaps he'd been to the Central Bank. We'd heard talk of merging the aboveground currency with the currency used by the Hybrids, something Marco hated. He wanted us to maintain our own separate economy, which meant keeping our own currency. Personally, I didn't care much one way or another–hell, if the currencies merged I wouldn't have to be walking along here with a knife at my side.
The Hybrid paused, pulling down his eye gear and leaping off the side. A few ripples in the greenish water, and he was gone.
But if there was one in the village, there had to be more. I knew where to go.
Chapter Three
The Central Bank was located in the part of the village near the largest, most brackish area of water. Marco told us once that the area used to be called the Financial District, with tall gray and glass buildings looming the narrow concrete walkways. Now most of the buildings had vanished, the tall ones anyway. In their place were small structures we called "patch togethers," buildings patched together with mud baked hard by the sun and bits of wood and rock culled from the ruins of the bigger buildings.
The Central Bank was one of the few exceptions. Formed of glistening white marble and only partially destroyed by the floods, you could still find traces of its old magnificence. Tall, arched windows, a heavy, polished oaken door with only a few cracks and splinters, but best of all was the inside. I wasn't allowed in, since the compound didn't transact its business there, but once I'd seen it when I passed by the door as it swung open. The floor glittered in the sun pouring from the window above, and the beams caught the crystals of a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I'd never in my life seen anything as beautiful as that chandelier. For days, I fantasized about it, wondering what it would take to have something so beautiful in my possession.
"More than you could even imagine." Marco had grunted when I'd stupidly blurted out the question one night. "And what good would it be to you, to own a chandelier? You're such a damn romantic, Elizabeth. The days of owning ostentatious crap like that are over."
He might be right. Still, it didn't stop me from collecting bits of beauty like a magpie when I saw them. A bit of greenish glass glittering in the sunlight, a white stone whose smoothness reminded me of the polished marble Central Bank building. Sometimes, when I was alone I brought my pieces outside to look at them, or to run my fingers along the smoothness of the stone.
Still, I hadn't been happy being called a romantic. It was Marco's worst insult. It meant you were living in the past, unable to connect with the current reality. I liked to pretend I was practical, at least.
Well, what I planned now was certainly practical.
Jingling the coins in my pouch, I stepped over to one of the patch-togethers. An above-grounder had fruit on display, citrus fruit. The smell of the oranges and grapefruits made my mouth water. "How much?"
He eyed me beadily. "Two Skonas for the oranges, three for the grapefruits."
"I don't transact in Skonas." I pulled three coins from the pouch around my waist. "This should buy me half a dozen oranges. Come on."
"In the old days, maybe. Not now." He eyed me again. "'Course there's other ways to pay. You know."
I did know. A lot of above-grounders whored themselves out for necessities, but I'd never gone down that path and I didn't plan to. Marco could try to force me to be with Fielder, I might have to do it, but damned if I was going to stoop to doing it with this filthy idiot. I swept the coins into my palm. "Your loss."
He spat on the ground. "No, lassie. Yours."
* * *
So much for not committing crimes.
I tucked myself into a secluded alleyway near the asshole fruit seller. From across the way I could see the glittering façade and heavy door of the Central Bank. I watched as a couple of Hybrids, a male and female, passed through the great door, and I mentally checked them off. Too dangerous to go after a twosome.
It took several more customers going in and out to see what I wanted. A male, older, his scales gone a little loose and gray, striding inside with a small black case. Older was better–in general they didn't run as fast. As he passed through the door his long over shirt flipped up, revealing a fat money pouch stuck in the back pocket of his pants. Perfect. I could only hope his pouch was equally fat when he came back out.
Which he did a few minutes later. He paused to check his watch, then hefted his case in one web-fingered hand and proceeded up the walkway toward the water. Damn. I'd have to get him before he started his commute.
Carefully I stepped out from the alley, trying to look like I had a destination. The key, Marco liked to say, was confidence. Not too much confidence, though–it would make you stick out. I kept moving, keeping my target in sight, almost knocking over another above-grounder who shot me a dirty look as she rearranged her bundle under her arm.
The Hybrid was moving more quickly now. Anticipating what? A quick swim, a blessed escape into one of the tubes separating the water from the city they created? Curling up in an armchair, leafing through a book not spotted with dry rot? Eating a hot meal consisting of more than boiled grain mixed with fish oil? I felt my stomach rumble but pushed thoughts of food away. Once I had the money, I could eat and buy oranges. Not from the jerk-off who refused me since he'd probably remember me and figure out where I got the money. There were bounties to be had for turning in above-grounders who broke the law. But there were other vendors. And maybe I could buy some meat . . .
The mark turned a corner, carefully shifting the case so as to keep his balance. Some of the boards were more rickety than others and they bobbed as he moved along them, me keeping pace close behind. Had to get him before he hit water . . . I moved closer and closer now. My hand restlessly touched the hilt of my knife, then darted away. I didn't want to kill him, just needed the money . . .
And then I was there, brushing past him with a murmured apology, my fingers closing on the thick sealskin pouch and lifting it gently so he wouldn't think anything of it . . . but even as I secreted the pouch in my own, I felt the Hybrid stopping as if to feel for something now missing, then shouting, "Hey!"
I ran. No choice in the matter. I darted down the planks, almost stumbling on a knothole before sharply turning right and racing down a walkway leading south. Our compound stood in the other direction, but Marco had drilled into us the importance of never showing the Hybrids where we lived. Especially not after we'd stolen from them, I thought grimly, feeling the planks rock beneath me as he pursued. I heard him breathing, not as hard as I would have expected from someone his age, and my own heart clutched in dismay. I definitely screwed up with this one.
"Come back here, you little . . ."
I stopped, gasping for breath, praying it would work. And it did–he tried to hold himself up as I leaped aside, darting away from the hand reaching toward me . . . missing me. I whirled around, running the opposite way, knowing I bought myself at best only a few seconds extra and I had to make the most of it . . .
At the end of the walkway, where the planks branched out in a star of different directions, was a tall thin figure. Not a Hybrid, I could tell as I drew closer, no, someone more familiar. When I was about a hundred yards away, I recognized him.
Fielder.
What the hell was he doing here? How had he dragged himself out of bed? Not that it mattered. He could help me. He had friends among the Hybrids–they liked the fact he'd once played baseball, that in the old days, he'd been one of the best.
"Fielder!"
He grinned at me. "Hello, Elizabeth."
I tried to force a smile, but I couldn't draw breath. When I saw his eyes, their expression, I knew he wasn't here to help me. I tried to dart around him, but he leaned into me, his shoulder slamming against mine, forcing me off the walkway and into the water.
Chapter Four
As children all the above-grounders learned to swim. A clean crawl, a breaststroke, a backstroke, and most importantly, we learned how to hold our breath underwater. For several minutes at a time.
As a child I'd excelled–I could hold my breath for up to five minutes. But five minutes was nothing to the Hybrids, who manage at least an hour without coming up for air. They built a network of underwater passages, but they didn't necessarily need them.
When I hit the water it streamed into my open mouth, a rush so foul it made me gag. Struggling to come up for air, I became aware of something pressing on me from above. A hand gripped my hair, forcing me down. That son of a bitch Fielder. I choked and grasped at his hand, clawing it, well aware my nails were nowhere near long enough to do damage. I reached for the knife, felt nothing. Probably fell from my hip when he shoved me into the water. The murky water filled my eyes and nose; I could barely see the disc of the sun angled above, shining thinly through the water . . .
An arm caught me around the waist and pulled me down, away from Fielder's grip. I thrashed, trying to pry it away, but it held me too tight, pulling me farther and farther down. The sun vanished as a cold hand pinched my nose and pulled me into darkness.
Chapter Five
When I woke up my head felt as if it were filled with stuffing. Not water, just cottony fibers making everything feel far away. I tried to lift my hand to touch my head, push the feeling away, but a hand caught mine and held it firmly. "Don't move."
I blinked to clear my vision and saw a female Hybrid standing over me. She wore glasses, which struck me as funny. We above grounders were used to thinking of the Hybrids as so much better off than us, so superior, it seemed odd they would have human vulnerabilities, like nearsightedness. Her eyes behind the thin lenses were a surprisingly vivid shade of blue. I'd never looked a Hybrid in the eyes before, certainly not this close up.
I tried to sit up and this time she pressed a hand to my shoulder, forcing me back down onto a surface softer than anything I'd ever laid on before. I closed my eyes then opened them when I felt her swabbing my forehead with something cool.
"How are you feeling?"
I tried to say "okay" but found my voice wouldn't come. I tried again but all that came out was a raspy croak.
She shook her head at me. "I should have known . . . I'm sorry. It's the disease."
What disease? I tried to form the question but again nothing came out. A knifelike pain shot through my head. I turned to the side and closed my eyes. Then I felt the coolness swabbing my arm, followed by the prick of a needle, and more darkness.
* * *
When I next woke up, no one stood over me, but I heard voices. At first I couldn't make out the words. As I lay there, eyes closed, they became clearer.
". . . amazing she survived. Not many do."
"True." Another voice, this one male. "She must have extraordinary recuperative powers. How long did she remain febrile?"
"A little over two days. We treated her with the usual medicines, but she didn't respond . . . it just seemed to break on its own."
"And she's an above-grounder." The male sounded considering, thoughtful. "It didn't occur to any of us . . . they always seemed more fragile."
"There's plenty of disease up there. Swamp fever, mosquito-borne plague . . . I'd like to get a history from her when she's awake."
"So would I."
A short silence, then the female said, "What about the other issue?"
"We can't turn her over to them right away." The male's voice turned flat and hard. "You know what they'll do. Haul her in for an interrogation, put her to trial . . . we have no idea if she'll survive it. So many of our people have this illness . . . we need to at least get samples from her, DNA. See if we can figure out how she recovered so rapidly."
The female spoke, the tone cautious. "But we still don't know if she'll suffer long-term effects. When it hits young people it can leave them brain-damaged."
"So run tests." The male's voice became softer, more distant, accompanied by the sound of footsteps. "The usual battery. See if she's made a complete recovery. Then see if there's anything inside her we can use."
"And then?"
"It depends." The voice grew fainter still; I strained to hear it. "If she proves useful, we keep her here as long as we can. If not . . . ." He let the sentence trail away. I didn't need to hear the rest. If I proved useful I'd be allowed to survive.
If not . . .
We heard stories of the interrogation techniques used by the Hybrids. Most of them involved water, which made sense; if you're surrounded by something, use it to your advantage. Especially when your victims don't have gills. Nothing more terrifying than holding an above-grounder underwater, watching them struggle for the surface . . . I felt cautiously at my hip for the knife. Gone, of course. I remembered groping for it and not finding it during my struggle with Fielder in the water.
But what had kept me here? And for how long?
"Are you awake?"
For a moment I debated. If I opened my eyes, she might know I'd been awake and heard the conversation between her and the male. If she thought I was still asleep, she might leave the room. Giving me a chance to escape.
Definitely the wiser choice.
I felt the coolness on my forehead again. Footsteps, then the sound of a door sliding open and shut. I waited a count of ten, then cautiously slit my eyes open against the glare of an overhead light so bright I could see a nimbus of rainbow color around it. When I looked more closely I saw the small open lens in the middle staring at me unwinkingly. A camera.
Damnit.
I pushed myself up, feeling my back and arms shrieking in protest at the pressure, and swung my legs to the floor. Tiles, icy cold. I hadn't felt such cold in years. Not since . . . well, I couldn't remember, that's how far back it was. But I couldn't think about it now. Not when I needed to run.
My legs decided not to cooperate. I managed a few steps before they folded seemingly of their own accord, suddenly gone all limp-noodle, and the door swooshed open again. A hand gripped my arm, a bigger one this time, pulling me to my feet. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm feeling better," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie; my voice sounded stronger even if my legs weren't. "And I, uh, have to go. My family . . . ."
He studied at me, and I suddenly realized he looked familiar. I didn't know how he could have been, given how few of them I actually saw above ground . . . but then, looking at his face, at the pinched nostrils and huge hand gripping my upper arm, I knew. The male I saw on my way into the village. The one wearing the suit, the one who inspired me to take a little trip to the Central Bank.
He wasn't wearing a suit now. He was dressed in a long white coat–the kind Marco told us doctors used to wear. Close up, he appeared fairly young. His scales were tight and smooth, his eyes large and free of the hooding that marked the older Hybrids. The eyes were the same dark blue as the female's. I wondered for the first time if all the Hybrids had eyes the same color.