Archipelago N.Y.: Flynn (4 page)

Proper glass windows
could only be seen on the Upper Side, thought Tony. Buildings there didn’t have
barnacle-like housing extensions... But the Lower Side didn't look strange to
him… It was his home, all he had ever known. And yet, he wondered who had
braved these heights and built all this… Was there ever a plan, any logic
behind all the added constructions? Or did these homes simply grow out of each
other? And more importantly, how long would they be able to defy the laws of
gravity?

Shouts ahead made
Tony tear his gaze away from the shacks. Flynn had stopped the
Seeker
a
few feet from the back of a dingy boat. All sorts of drab floating vessels
lined both sides of the canal. No one was moving. A traffic cop on a rusty
water-bike pedaled past them, blowing his whistle loudly.

“What's happening?”
Tony craned his neck, trying to see.

“I think there's
been an accident ahead,” said Flynn, standing up on his seat to get a better
look. Tony got up and stood next to him. Then they saw it… A block away, one of
the suspension bridges, connecting two of the buildings on either side of the
canal, had partially collapsed. It was hanging upside down, dangling from its
broken cables. Both boys knew that whoever was on the bridge would have been
tossed into the water, with very little hope of surviving the fall. They
spotted the tiny, ant-like silhouettes of a few survivors, still clinging to
the bridge’s twisted frame. Several were slowly crawling up, inching their way
to the safety of the nearby building. Rescue Crews were rushing toward them, rappelling
down on ropes from the upper floors. The boys couldn't see what was happening
at water level, but could easily imagine the scene… The Waste Crews would be
there already, gathering all the dead bodies and taking them away to the morgue
at the Waste Pits.

Flynn and Tony had
seen this scene play itself out many times over…Accidents occurred almost daily
on the Archipelago… especially on the Lower Side. Constructed out of all kinds
of salvaged materials, most of the bridges and walkways were engineering miracles,
challenging any known structural law. Unfortunately, they were also death
traps, claiming their victims regularly, showing no mercy. But people continued
using them, fixing and rebuilding the broken bridges in the same devil-may-care
manner. It was the way of life here. And life on the Lower Side wasn't worth
much! Survival was simply a given and no big deal. You either made it or you
didn’t.

“Looks like we'll
be stuck here for a while,” Flynn said finally.

“I think I’m gonna
walk home, amigo.” Tony stepped down from the seat.

“You want to walk
on one of those bridges? After what just happened!”

“Can't wait for
all this traffic to clear…. My mom's probably worried sick by now.”

Flynn slumped down
on the seat. “Sorry, but I’m not coming with you… Can't leave the
Seeker
here, can I?”

“No problem, I'll
manage,” Tony said. He grabbed on to the corroded railing running along the
wall next to their raft and hopped off quickly. Having landed on a window’s
ledge a couple of feet above the water line, Tony stopped to see where he
needed to go next. A little to his right was another large gaping window. He
knew this would be his entrance into the building and the first of many
dangerous steps to getting home.

“Hey! Don't forget
your dinner!” Flynn tossed the bag of fish and Tony caught it without losing
his balance. “See you tomorrow, right?”

Tony hesitated for
a moment and shook his head. “Seriously, Flynn…you’d better go and see Madison.”
And then, before Flynn had a chance to reply, Tony disappeared inside the dark building.

Flynn pedaled past
the Waste Collection platform moored against the side of his apartment building.
It had been positioned directly under the gaping mouth of the garbage shoot. A
lone rat poked its head out from one of the filthy barrels that lined the
platform. The rodent stared indifferently at Flynn for a moment then
disappeared back inside. Another movement caught Flynn’s eye. He turned to take
a better look and was surprised to see the men from the Waste Crew… Their barge
was rounding the corner, coming to collect the barrels full of raw sewage that
the residents had thrown out that day.

The men looked
awful! Terrible! Even Flynn's torn and faded clothes appeared decent and new
compared to what these men were wearing… just pieces of burlap wrapped around
their hips, like deformed extensions of their skeletal bodies. Smeared with
unimaginable filth from head to toe, the Waste Crew moved silently around the
trash bins. Long strands of matted hair hung from their bony skulls. All of
them had scraggly beards, reaching down to their chests. With all the water
around the Archipelago, these men had not bothered to wash… And they stank to
high heaven… No wonder people avoided them at all cost, thought Flynn, holding
his breath and trying not to gag.

The Waste Crew
worked late at night, and Flynn knew their appearance at such an early hour was
because of the collapsed bridge. They had come out to pick up the dead bodies
and were now doing their rounds. But he had never seen them this close before. He
also knew that all these men were considered criminals…Lower Siders who had
broken the law… Men who had committed petty crimes like wasting fresh water,
illegal scavenging and trading goods on the Black Market…. activities Flynn was
quite familiar with himself…

He had recently
sailed past their living quarters, just outside the city limits and next to the
Waste Plots. The Waste Crew’s home was a large floating shack, its roof covered
in layers of sea-gull droppings and birds’ feathers. As for the Waste Plots,
those were huge open-top tankers full of human waste and garbage. The
Archipelago’s gardeners were the only ones who actually ventured out there, but
that was because their job required it. They had to make trips to the Waste
Plots and stock up on sewage for their compost tumblers. The thick humus they
produced then went to the numerous green-houses to help grow all the fruit and
vegetables on the Upper Side. Of course, the privileged bastards who lived
there would never dream of coming anywhere near the Waste Plots, thought Flynn.
And they would never find themselves in such close proximity to the men of the
Waste Crews…

Now, Flynn also wanted
to get away from them, but the Waste Crew barge had docked next to his building’s
platform and was blocking the
Seeker
. There were half a dozen men on it,
their eyes staring ahead, their bodies moving as one grim and soulless
apparition. A pack of rats scurried out of one of the barrels, dived in the
water and swam away. The men didn't even notice the rats. Slowly, they began to
empty out the garbage. One of them jerked his head and his watery eyes met
Flynn's. The Waste Crews were not allowed to approach and make contact with the
regular citizens… but the man didn't lower his gaze… he kept staring. His nose
twitched and his eyes darted to the plastic bag with the fish fillets on the
seat next to Flynn. The man licked his thin, dry lips and swallowed hard. Flynn
instinctively grabbed the fish bag and pulled it closer. He should leave, he
thought, get out of here! But the man's eyes were back on Flynn, hungry and
pleading.

“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.

A heavy-set man
stepped out of a shack, nestled at the base of the tower. He was dressed in
faded rags made from fish and seal skins. Chewing on a piece of dried rat’s
thigh-bone, Dino glared at Flynn. “Wadyawant Perry boy?” the man roared, his
voice as loud as thunder. “The water rations ain’t here yet!”

“I need a ride up.”

“Get lost!” Dino
spat a piece of bone and disappeared back inside his shack.

“C'mon, man… I
don't feel like climbing all the way up tonight!”

Dino's head popped
out. “I said get ...,” he began, but stopped and squinted. Like a pendulum, a
can of soda was dangling on a piece of string, inches from his face. He
scratched his hairy chest then dragged his feet towards Flynn. “Gimmy that!” Dino
cried, grabbing for the can. His massive hand closed over empty air.

Too late! Flynn
had jumped a step back and stood grinning at the man. “First, you give me a
ride in the elevator… Then I’ll give you this,” Flynn said and dangled the can
again for Dino to see.

Dino's eyes
followed the swaying can, hypnotized by the sight of the rare drink. Grunting,
he licked his lips. “Alright… Last time I'm doin’ it for you!”

Flynn was now walking
behind Dino toward the elevator. From the back, you could easily mistake Dino
for a gorilla, thought Flynn with a smile… He and Tony had come across a book
about a giant ape called King Kong, and they had spent hours looking at the
pictures inside. But it wasn’t just the ape that had fascinated the two boys.
It was the images of New York City, with its original skyline before it had all
changed. Dino was like a miniature King Kong, living on the roof and
terrorizing the residents who had to walk past him every day. His hunched back
was massive and covered with tufts of hair, his muscular arms reaching just
below his knees. Yet, Dino’s stout legs seemed wobbly, struggling to carry his
huge frame. He was getting old, Flynn thought. They would retire him soon, and the
man would be gone…

Dino stopped by a
rusty box frame that held an old truck wheel in its cradle. There was a crank
sticking out of it. A cable coiled over the wheel, went up to the top of the
tower, over another wheel, then down again, ending attached to a caged
platform. More of a crude hoist than an elevator, really. “Hop in!” Dino barked
and extended his open hand for the promised drink.