Infinity's Reach (14 page)

“Caps always work,” he said. “Look, I can take you to the bridge, but you on your own getting across. Bridge closed unless you have papers, mon.”

We settled on 30 caps to take us the three miles to the bridge. We could have walked that far, but I wanted Pilgrim out in the open as little as possible, so this seemed as good a way as any to get there.

He rumbled onto the old Interstate 55 and headed toward the Missouri border. When we got about 100 feet from the bridge, he pulled over.

“This is it for me,” he said. “War is coming this way, and I want to be going the other way.”

“I understand,” I said. “Thanks and good luck.”

“You too.”

We got out of the cab and looked off the edge of the interstate at the bridge, the St. Louis skyline and the famous Gateway Arch. Infinity stared at it for a long time before I realized something was wrong with it. A section of the span was missing, as if someone had taken a shot at it. The edges where the chunk had disappeared were blackened as if it had burned at one time. It looked like a gap-toothed smile, only upside down.

“Well, it wasn’t that way four months ago,” I said. I then pointed down at the water below us. A flotilla of boats, both large and small, were crossing the river, all of them going east to Illinois rather than west to Missouri.

“Let’s go talk to the guys at the gate here and see what we can learn,” I said.

The cab driver had stopped at about the limit for civilian traffic. Ahead were only Humvees and antiquated jeeps. Four men in Missouri National Guard uniforms stood at the gate with a white wooden beam dropped down in the way of traffic.  They were talking to the soldiers in the front Humvee, examining their documents.

I walked up to them, until one held up a hand for us to halt.

“Let’s see some papers,” he said, apparently all business.

I shook my head. “We’re just headed west after walking the past 300 miles. We don’t have any papers.”

The soldier smirked. “Then you’re not getting through. Besides, you don’t want to go this way anyway. Fighting west of here.”

“Who’s fighting?” I asked innocently, even though I had an idea who it was.

“A warlord named Ajax decided that St. Louis belonged to him. Broke into an armory in Kentucky. Now the National Guard is the only thing between him and the only free city in North America.”

“Only free city?” I echoed. “What about Minneapolis?”

He grinned without a shred of humor. “Guess you didn’t hear. Nuke took it out a week ago.”

I stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. That had been where I was supposed to report. If I hadn’t taken my time with Pilgrim….

“Look, if you guys need to get across, try downriver. Not here,” the soldier said. He then waved and smiled. “Good luck.”

I was still stunned and Pilgrim led me away, back toward Illinois.

“That’s terrible about Minneapolis,” she said.

“It’s more than terrible,” I responded. “Central Command for the Midwest was located in Minneapolis. That’s where I was headed.”

I felt numb for a long time as we walked down the Interstate until we found an off ramp and were once again back in East St. Louis. I wondered about the boats that were arriving in Illinois, and suggested we walk down to the docks. It was getting dark, but we found our way simply by going against the flow of refugees that was escaping east. By the time it was completely dark, we found a central location that was accepting the boats, with a few men helping people out of the boats and organizing them to go back to Missouri.

When I first saw the boats traveling east, I had two thoughts. First, what came east could just as easily go west. Second, there was one man who had a reputation for organizing such efforts, sometimes for humanitarian reasons, but mostly for monetary reasons.

I saw Madrigal surrounded by other men, barking out orders as he usually did. I smiled when he saw me and he laughed and held out his hand, and then hugged me.

“Edward, you old bastard,” he muttered, slapping me on the shoulder.

“Who’s the bastard?” I said. “At least I’m not in it for the money.”

“Hey, these people needed help,” he said. “What’s wrong with me making a little cash along with helping them?”

I laughed and turned to Pilgrim.

“Pilgrim, this is Madrigal. He’s a profiteer, an ex-Marine and my cousin. He’s the only other person in the world that I would trust with your safety.”

I turned to Madrigal. “My man, this young woman is your package. You are to deliver her to the House of the Interpreter, safe and sound. And if there are any problems or any hair on her head is hurt….”

Madrigal smirked. “Edward, I’m crushed. You know me. I’ll protect her with my life.”

“You’d better.” I turned to Pilgrim. “This man will take care of you, but remember, don’t let anyone know who you are.”

She nodded. “And you’ll meet me at the House of the Interpreter?”

“I promise,” I said, knowing that promises were becoming harder and harder to keep.

“That’s—.” My words were cut off as she wrapped me in her arms and kissed me hard on the mouth. I didn’t push her away, because I somehow sensed that we would be apart for longer than either of us imagined.

And then I did push her away and ran off into the night.  
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17. INTO THE FIRE

INFINITY: ST. LOUIS: DAY 788

From the moment I saw the big man in baggy cargo pants and gray T-shirt helping others out on the docks, I knew that was Madrigal. And I knew that seeing him signaled that it was time for Evangelist to leave. I was trying to be brave; philosophical, in fact. But the reality was that Evangelist was the only sane, reliable person that I knew in the world. Oh sure, Daddy was always there, but where was he? I knew that he was doing his best to help me, but the cold, hard fact was that all I had was Evangelist, and now he was leaving.

I’d known it for weeks, of course, and the rational side tried very hard to take over. Despite however much trust Evangelist had in Madrigal, I didn’t know him and I didn’t trust him. Isn’t that what he had told me? Trust no one, confide in no one. And so that became my mantra. In the meantime, I’d realized that the only way I would survive was to learn everything I could as quickly as I could.

I hadn’t planned to kiss Evangelist. When he turned to me, I knew that our time together was over. And somehow I sensed that it would be a long time before we saw each other again. And so I had to do it. It was less of an I Love You kiss and more of an I’ll Never Forget You kiss. And once I’d done it, I was glad.

And then he was gone. Evangelist was standing in front of me, and then he wasn’t. And I was standing in the middle of strangers, staring across the black water of the Mississippi into a city under siege. And I was depending on a man I’d never met to take me into that city and out the other side.

I looked at the man called Madrigal. He was a little over 30, tall, built sturdily enough, with a receding hairline, close-cropped sandy-blonde hair and massive biceps. And I disliked him immediately. I stood there for a long time, just watching him as he continued to organize people coming out of the boats, as well as men getting ready to take them back. After a minute, he noticed that I hadn’t moved from the spot where Evangelist had left me, and he came over to me.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said, taking hold of my arm. “We have a little more work to do before we can leave. So why don’t you sit down over there?”

“I’m not your sweetheart,” I growled. “So why don’t you let go of my arm.” I jerked it away.

He looked at me, a slight smile coming onto his lips, then he chuckled.

“Oh-kay,” he said. “Do what you want, Princess.” He bowed before me and went back to his work. After a long minute, I turned and sat down where he’d invited me to. Twenty minutes later, a man came running up to Madrigal and two other men with a sheet of paper. He told him something that apparently wasn’t good news. Madrigal came up to me.

“It seems our timetable has been moved up. Ajax and his crew have broken through on the north side of town. They’ve apparently got tanks.”

He stared at me, as if waiting for me to react, then turned to his friends.

“Two minutes,” he shouted, then turned to me.

“If you’re coming, you’d better get your butt in the saddle.”

I followed him to an ancient cabin cruiser that was docked alongside a dozen others. We climbed on board and he turned the key. A minute later, we were turned around and out in the main channel.

The water was black, and at first, there was only the sound of a dozen boats headed back toward the Missouri shore. I could see him motioning to the others around us, trying to keep the boats in an organized pattern. I saw him turning the wheel one way and then another, as if he were steering around something. I looked over the side, and realized that he was steering left and right to avoid hitting bodies floating in the water.

“Look,” he said, finally, pointing ahead of us. Heads poked above the surface.

“It’s people,” I said, amazed.

“Idiots, is what they are. People so desperate to get across that they decide to try and swim it.”

“Do any of them make it?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “If they do, they are in the minority. All I know is that the swimmers and their bodies are making it harder for us to get boats across. Hitting a body in the water is hard on a prop and an engine.”

“Don’t you want to stop and pull them in?”

“Sweetheart, there are paying customers on the other side waiting for us. Thousands of them. If these idiots want a ride, they can swim back and get in line.”

I saw a man struggling to help a woman and a little girl, all trying to swim in the powerful current. They were a dozen feet away, and they looked like they wouldn’t last another five minutes. In the darkness I heard the man struggle to get out two words: “Help. Please.”

Madrigal stared straight ahead as if they weren’t there. And I knew that he wouldn’t stop. So I did the only thing I could think of. I reached behind me and grabbed two floatation cushions off the bench and threw them to the man and his family. They fell two feet in front of them, the wake of the boat washing over them as they grabbed the cushions.

“Feel better?” Madrigal asked. “You going to do that for all the people out here? Have you ever considered that we might need those if one of those artillery shells were to hit us?”

“Those shells are hitting well to the west,” I said. “Aren’t they?”

Madrigal shook his head. “They were. With that breakthrough on the north, no telling where the battle line is.”

“But we’re going to get through the lines. Aren’t we?” I asked.

Madrigal stared at me silently for a long minute before finally nodding. “I got tricks I haven’t even used yet. I know St. Louie like my old girlfriend’s backside.”

“So that’s a yes?”

He smiled thinly. “That’s a yes.”

I had my reservations when I saw the crowd that waited for us at the St. Louis docks. A thin line of men with automatic rifles tried to hold them back from the boats and one man with a megaphone kept yelling for order. But the crowd was a mass of people that stretched all the way back as far as I could see. Madrigal shouted something to the other boats, then suddenly turned south with our cabin cruiser.

“Change of plans,” he said. “We’ll never get through that crowd.” He steered the boat to a small dock that jutted out beneath the bridge that Evangelist and I had been on earlier today. I climbed out onto the small, waterlogged platform. Madrigal shut off the engine and jumped out, rope in hand, to tie the boat off. He reached behind him and grabbed my backpack and rifle and handed it to me, while grabbing a backpack and automatic rifle of his own.

I followed him up the embankment and to the street above. To our left, up near the bridge, I could see a crowd of people trying to get across, but for some reason, being held back behind a barricade. Madrigal headed off to the right at a trot, and I fell in right behind him.

We jogged for a half dozen blocks until he saw a familiar yellow vehicle driving alone on the street, coming our direction. The vehicle didn’t attempt to stop, but began to drive right by. Madrigal lowered his rifle at the driver, and the car stopped.

“What are you doing, mon?” the black driver in dreadlocks said. “It’s time to get out of town.”

“I know that, and you’re going to help us do that,” he said. “But we are going north.”

“North? You crazy?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m going to do you the courtesy of giving you a choice. You can drive us, or you can give us your car.”

The man stared at Madrigal, then shook his head, put the car in park and jumped out. “It be all yours,” he said.

I grabbed him by the sleeve, mystified. “Didn’t we see you on the other side of the river?”

He chuckled. “No, that be my twin brother. Orville. He be the smart one.” Then the man ran off toward the bridge.

By this time, the sound of cannon fire and small arms fire was unmistakable. I heard it along the waterfront to the north and to the west. The night sky was occasionally lit with explosions as well.