Pollen
Chapter fourteen

The streets had changed since Rome had been brought in. He sensed panic, people hurrying in different directions, each with a personal mission, as news spread. All of them looked focused and concerned. Gangs of teenagers had armed themselves and were either huddled together on street corners or cruising in convoys to the walls.

Pres rode fast, skipping emerging makeshift roadblocks with ease. With no sign of the Union, Rome felt a trap was being set. But as they traveled, their allies multiplied. Pres had mobilized a small army of his men and other factions he’d connected with, including several bikes with tattooed guys and girls in white vest tops, cheering with their guns in the air.

When they pulled up at the wall, the situation seemed more in control. An advance party had set up an intimidating defensive line. The civilian crowd had dispersed to the outer houses, everyone watching from the windows and rooftops. Rome even saw one man opening a beer bottle with a knife and putting his feet up to enjoy the view of history unfolding before him.

The crowd from Little Hanoi, however, had swollen. Thousands stood atop the broken prison walls; their brown, dusty, torn clothes flapped in the breeze, making them look like a desperate guerrilla army at the end of a long campaign. The sun beamed down from the giant blue sky. Even at this distance Rome could make out the block figure of Cookie, standing tall and broad at the head of the mob on the walls.

Rome headed through the line of bikers. He picked his way through the rose fields, occasionally coming across packs of men, more of Pres’s people, ready to spring their trap should the Union break through the line. As Rome climbed the wall he felt a sense of relief, of pride. He could tell his people the harsh truth, but he wasn’t sure how they would react. He needed their support to save Mae, but they needed to understand the gravity of the situation facing them.

As he reached the top of the wall, Cookie stepped forward, holding his breath to give Rome his hand. They walked silently to the mob.

“What did you see?” asked Cookie sucking in the air.

“Who are they?” came calls from the crowd.

“I saw friendly people, like you and me, who want the same things we do—to live a life free of persecution and repression. But . . . they have their struggles as we do. If you want the choice to leave New Hanoi, to live beyond these walls, we need to work with these people. Listen, you must have many questions for me, and I can’t answer them all right now. All I can say is you will have to see it for yourself. Rome pointed at three people randomly. “You want to see what it’s like?”

Many people stepped forward. A man in his thirties said, “I already tried and I couldn’t breathe. The closer I got to the walls the worse it got.”

“Listen to me. You can go there. Talk to a man named Pres; he is waiting for you. Take one shot of this. I’ve only got enough for three of you.” Rome handed three volunteers a needle each. “Now pay attention to this: you’ll be excited for sure, but you’ve only got enough in that injection to be on the other side of the walls for about seven hours, so you make damn sure you head back. I don’t want any more people dying today.”

All three plunged the needles in and took their first baby steps into another country for the first time. “Everyone, listen to me, if we want to have this choice we need to earn it. We have enemies in our midst, and we must deal with them. We’ve suffered years of silent menace. There are people working with our enemies—this is an enemy that plans to attack us. We have friends in Little Tokyo who are willing to defend us, but we must root out the enemy. I’m going to one of the roots right now. If anyone else wants to face them, follow me.” Rome lied. He needed his army to rescue Mae, but he had no intention of getting to the root of the enemy and making a stand.

Rome strode with purpose through the throng, and hundreds turned to follow him. He was indeed leading an army now; there was no doubt about that. His limp seemed to vanish, but he could feel tears. He was not the fearless leader these people deserved; he’d never felt more afraid. Cookie walked beside him.

“Rome, you got this one conversation to convince me why I don’t break your neck now, and report to Claypool everything I’ve seen.”

“You know, it took me long enough to figure it out, but it’s finally become clear to me who your employer really is. His not a criminal gang boss, he’s not a pimp, or a bare-knuckle prize fighter. He’s a common snitch. He’s working for the Flower Factory. He knew I was meeting with a Trader the first night I met him. He talks about how knowledge is his currency? Well, this plan has been in place for a long time now, and he’s known about it—elements of it, at the very least.”

“That doesn’t prove anythin’.”

“He doesn’t want to get out of this city; he’s a king here. And what do all kings want? More power and more land. He wants to expand his influence.” The lies came easily to him. He had no idea if Claypool was working for the enemy, but the more he talked, the more he believed himself.

“A snitch? I don’t see it.” Cookie was skeptical, but Rome could hear doubt creeping into his voice.

“Why do you think he sent you? I’m a geeky cafe owner. I’ve got nothing to offer him other than books and coffee. Yet the same night I go to meet a Trader who’s in on this conspiracy, he suddenly wants to meet me and knows exactly where I’m going but not why. So he sets you on me. He’s employed you to do exactly what you said—well, now you’ve learned what I know. You can go ahead and kill me now and slip into the shadows and let Claypool continue to sell us all out.”

“So, let me get this straight. You think Claypool is reporting to the Factory, they got sniff of this serum you got, and they wanted Claypool to confirm and close you down? What about the walls?”

“That was the Factory too, but they are working with a faction over the border.” Rome wiped the sweat from his brow with his torn shirt. “They want to start a war, clear us away, and take our technology. Don’t you see? This whole city was designed as a lab test. We’re all in our little race-defined districts, and we’ve been set a series of problems to fix: food, energy, water. These problems forced us to concentrate on finding solutions to global problems. And now the next phase has begun. They are getting rid of the weakest link; the strongest will take the spoils, and Cookie—we are in the shit. Listen, I got one plan and one plan only. I’m getting Mae and we are leaving this place. Now, you can kill me in the street in front of hundreds of people, or you can become a leader. You said you didn’t understand why the people of the Favela were persecuted because of the way they looked? Well, now’s your chance to do something about it. Everyone in Little Hanoi is now under threat. There are good people on the other side of the wall, who are putting their lives on the line to stop us from being attacked. Work with them.”

“Lemme fink about it.” Cookie’s stern gaze drifted away. Rome had gotten through to him. First impressions are seldom right. He hoped Cookie was a man of principle, not a man of war.

With Cookie beside him, Rome led his army to the Lanes. As they pushed through the city, news spread about a rat in their ranks. The people of New Hanoi could finally direct all their frustrations on a target—though no one knew yet who it was. The army grew. Rome knew they would rip Claypool apart, and he knew he’d be the one responsible, but a line had been crossed within him. It was with sadness that he took this responsibility, but he knew a man like Claypool would not be reasoned with, and he had no time to lose.

Rome had only been in a fistfight once as a kid but he knew: he had the capability, deep down, to fight. The feeling of victory was hollow—the aching hands, the overwhelming aggression left pumping through his veins, the possession by another force. This was not the man he wanted to be, but today, it was the man he had become.

Claypool’s bodyguards stood at the door of his strip joint. Rome thought of all the cowboy books he’d read as a kid—the dirt and dust, the showdowns. “Those two,” he shouted, “get rid of them.” The angry mob behind him sprang forward. The guards couldn’t even swing a punch as they were smashed into the ground. “Keep them breathing,” Rome shouted as the barrage of kicks and punches sent a dirt storm spiraling up from the fallen men. The crowd backed off obediently. “Stay here, and wait for me,” said Rome.

Cookie and Rome entered and the mob waited impatiently outside. Inside, the filthy den was empty but for Claypool leaning up against his pool table with a cue in his big hands.

“Mr. Rome, my friend Cookie, how are you gentlemen?”

“Where’s Mae?” Rome said.

“Now now, no need to be rude. Let me ask you a question.”

“You don’t get to ask me any more questions. Now where are you holding her hostage?”

Claypool’s polished exterior seemed strained for the first time. This was not going according to plan. “I do not know what you are talking about. I’ve provided your girlfriend with medical assistance after she was attacked, and this is how you repay me?”

“The serum you so badly want? It works. A thousand people watched me walk over the walls where other men fell—choked to death. A serum you wanted to contain for your employers, a serum for which you put my life and my girlfriend’s on the line for.”

Claypool’s expression betrayed him. “It works?” Claypool murmured.

“Yes, it does, and I just spent an hour in a place called Little Tokyo. Claypool, we are no longer under the rule of the Flower Factory. We have the ability to leave this place. There will be those who want to come, and those who want to stay, but we now have that choice to make.”

Claypool looked at his thug-for-hire; he was afraid of what he saw there. “You got anything on your mind, Cookie?” Claypool’s menace grew, as he slowly pushed his shoulders back and straightened up, his left foot edging forward, shifting his weight.

“Just one thing. I didn’t think it was true, but it’s all over your fuckin’ face. How long you been a traitor for?”

Claypool lunged at Cookie, swinging the cue. Cookie used his forearm to block the blow. They grabbed each other but neither could get a clean punch. Rome sidestepped over to the pool table, picked up the cue ball and cracked it with all his might on the back of Claypool’s head. He went down pretty fast, though his legs tried to give some resistance.

“Rome, he’d have put her where he puts the rest of them, in the back room,” said Cookie as he grabbed Claypool’s arms and twisted them around his back. “There’s a switch at the top of the stripper’s pole, and a door. She’ll be in there. I’ll deal with this fucker.”

Rome ran into the room, flicked the switch, and to his left a hinge popped and he could see a small crack of red light. He opened the door and entered into a large room with a basic bed, a toilet, and a sink. It was a cell. Mae lay asleep on the bed. He smiled. He leaned over her and kissed her cheek. She stirred. Her eyes began to focus. It was then he felt that elusive pulse of giddy love he’d felt years ago when they’d first met.

“Mae. How are you?”

“I’m . . . I’m confused. I remember leaving the tunnels, but there was a bomb?”

“That’s right. You were bought here to recover.”

“And where’s here?” she said, clutching her stomach.

“A secret room at a strip bar.”

“Of course it is,” she bit her lip smiling at him. “Am I ok?”

“Of course you are, just a little sleepy. How’s the pain?”

“It doesn’t really hurt, but I’m a little sensitive.”

“Okay, I need to give you something; just trust me.”

“Okay.”

Rome injected Mae’s arm with the serum. She was so groggy she didn’t notice the needle going in, but her eyes widened as the bacteria hit her bloodstream.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so. Where are we going?”

“We’re leaving.”

“Thank god,” she whispered.

“Mae, listen, we are leaving the district.”

“Leaving New Hanoi?”

“I don’t have time to fully explain, but there’s a storm coming and we can either be in the middle of it, or we can escape it. I want to escape it with you. There’s a serum, it allows you to breathe the air outside. I’ve got enough for the both of us for about three weeks. We are leaving now.”

“A storm coming?”

“Mae, we don’t have any time. A lot of people are going to die on this side of the wall and the other. The only way we can help is to get the hell out of this city and tell people in the world what is truly happening in here, but I can’t leave without you.”

“What about staying and fighting?”

“It’s the air we breathe; it’s about to become toxic. I have to get the message out to the world that the Flower Factory is responsible for this massacre. The story is more important than the fight, but I’m not going anywhere without you and if you want to stay and fight, so will I.”

“One step at a time, hero.” Mae pushed herself to her feet and threw her arms around him, kissing his neck softly. “I love you. Now let’s get out of this brothel.” Mae stumbled slightly as she left the den and entered into the private room with the stripper pole, her eyebrows raised. Then they walked into Cookie, who was holding a beer and smirking at his former employer. Claypool heaped on the floor and panting, his face bloody and swollen.

“So, what, Rome? What are you going to do now?” Claypool spat blood at him.

“You are responsible for the imprisonment of tens of thousands of people, and their potential death.”

“I am responsible for undertaking my God-given right to profit wherever and whenever I can. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you had a chance at power.”

“You stupid little man.” Mae’s eyes widened, fiercely bright despite her captivity.

“Cookie,” Rome said, “You are an information specialist, right?”

Cookie nodded and smiled.

“Well, why don’t you get all the information you can out of this runt, and do it in front of everyone.” Rome’s eyes narrowed as a coldness he’d never known took him over. “I want them all to see the enemy and hear the truth for themselves.”

“Wish I could’ve known you better,” said Cookie, nodding with a cough.

“Likewise. I’ll send the hounds in.”

“Sure.”

Rome pushed the doors open. The sun bled into Mae’s eyes as they flickered open. The crowd stood still. There stood the old and the young, men and women, the curious, the confused, and the angry. The sun lingered behind him, low now; it was not long till dusk. He held Mae’s hand tight.

“If you want your answers,” Rome shouted to the crowd, “there’s a man in there called Cookie, and he’s going to help you. You can put your trust in him.”

“What’s going to happen next?” someone called from the crowd.

“If we are lucky, if our friends, our neighbors over the walls can hold back the tide, then what happens next is your choice. The Flower Factory has been responsible for your lives in this cage and there have been those among us who have been paid to ensure it stays that way. Go get your answers.” Rome turned back to the bar. “Cookie—bring out the rat,” he shouted. Cookie pulled Claypool out by his hair.

Mae noticed an elderly man sniffing, holding back a tear. Some children coughed; the dust and heat was taking its toll on their young lungs. All of them wore dirty, ripped clothes. Shorts and vest tops, torn trousers, dirty skirts—a patchwork people, used and weary at the end of a long hot road. Rome had never noticed how poor people were here, and it surprised him.

He squeezed Mae’s hand and led her through the crowd. He could see what was happening. A long slow sadness that had been lurking inside for years lurched through him. His pace quickened. The light began to die behind them, sinking below the cobweb tangle of buildings, the streets busy, but slow. A few people looked like they’d caught a cold as they were sneezing and coughing. Even Rome looked pale, a mild fever gripping him. They entered the shop to find both Hazel and Danny sipping coffee in an empty café, Danny tried to speak but coughed instead.

The air thickened with poison, creeping like vines. He realized then that Pres had failed. Rome wanted to tell Hazel and Danny they were slowly dying, that they should be with the ones they love, but the words didn’t form. It wouldn’t be long before panic set in, the infection becoming too visible and widespread to ignore. This is how it ends. The notion took him fully—an unseen enemy with an invisible weapon indiscriminately murdering man, woman, and child.

On the verge of tears, he entered his office with Mae. He stashed his pile of vials in a bag and flicked on his Net-pad to see the news spreading. They reported that it was the aftereffects of the walls falling, that the dust had made the weaker among them sick. Mae slumped in the chair, firmly holding her stomach.

“Is it happening? Is this the storm?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Rome felt the tears but they would not breach.

“Rome, you’re not to blame for this.”

“I wish . . .” Rome wasn’t sure what his wish was. The solution had arrived too late. His meeting with Cinderella needed to be six months earlier in order to change anything.

“You know what is killing me the most?” he said, looking up.

“No, what?”

“That now that it is here, now that the fight is on, we can’t build barricades or form a resistance. We can’t fight tooth and nail for our lives. They are all going to cough and choke to death.” Rome couldn’t speak. His throat was dry and rusty, his words withered like dead weeds. The silence was broken with coughing coming from outside.

A rage grew inside him, the same rage he’d felt as a teenager when the whole world was against him.

“I’m downloading all the live cam feeds I can get my hands on around the district. I need all the proof I can get. If we can’t affect change from inside these walls, then we sure as hell can out there, in the world.” He would be the Resistance, even if he must do it as an army of one. Rome knew that he was never going to be able to save everyone, only Mae, but he could spread the story of New Hanoi across the world.

“But how do we get out? If we are the only ones walking around, people will notice us, right? And the tunnels were bombed.”

“Yes.” Rome sighed. “I’ve got a few Trader suits in the safe under my desk; I thought they’d come in useful one day. The tunnels are only closed near the blast; the rest of the exits are fine. If we leave now, it won’t look too suspicious. There are Traders all over the cams—some are watching, some are clearly horrified.”

“That’s it, then. We leave, and we cross our fingers your friends can replicate this serum and keep Little Tokyo alive?”

“That’s right, but it’s more than that. When we leave here, we have to tell this story to everyone—we have to make the world aware. It’s too late to save New Hanoi, but there are other districts out there and they are locked in an unknowing competition against each other. We can do something for them, so suit up. We’re leaving.”

Dressed as Traders with their blackened face masks, Rome’s Net-pad tucked away recording footage from security cameras across the district, they prepared to face Hazel and Danny. The sun had set and the cafe was lit only by the streetlights. A murky yellow washed across the shop floor to the seats of the café. Hazel lay on the ground, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her legs were sprawled out like a starfish, her hands trembling, one on her chest, the other reaching for Danny, who was motionless. Rome took off his mask and ran to her. Her eyes couldn’t focus on him.

“Hazel,” Rome said, taking her hand in his. “Hazel, you’re fantastically fun to be around you know that? You made me laugh every single day I’ve known you.” The words took a few seconds to process, but she slowly and delicately smiled. Rome looked up at Mae, “What do we do?” he cried.

“We wait,” she whispered. Mae bent down and kissed Hazel on the head.

“I should have given them the serum when we arrived.” Rome’s voice quivered.

“You know if we had, we would have had to give it to their friends and families, and their friends and families, leaving us with nothing. We are going to tell everyone the horror here. To do that we need as much serum as we have to get out. Otherwise, we’ve got a countdown till our own death. Rome, you need to accept that you can’t save everyone.”

Rome took a long deep breath and stared at Hazel, her eyes closed, her chest now motionless. He slipped his mask on and placed Hazel’s hands on her chest, did the same for Danny and took a look around the empty shop and café one last time.

The Phsar Chas was desolate; even the plague of beetles had succumbed, so that the ground crunched as they walked along. Human bodies splayed out around them, littered with beetle carcasses. To their left they saw two figures moving—two Traders. They nodded at Rome and Mae, who nodded back.

All around them, TV screens and billboards brightly pumped their automated messages to the dead. The new games system Rome had had his eye on came on the screens: a family was sitting around their entertainment hub immersed in a fantasy, their body movements mapped and recreated seamlessly in the digital world. Rome used to dream he could have a child with Mae, play games together, share the things he loved with her and their baby, and spend his days laughing. The deepening dark around them had ended those dreams. Section by section the lights switched off. The bodies were shrouded in darkness. The memory burnt. They reached a minor Trader entrance but had to step over bodies to reach the secure door. As they entered, two runners stood sentinel at the lift doors, their lattice-woven black armor thick and intimidating, but Rome and Mae did not hesitate.

“Status?” came the voice filtered through the runner’s gas mask.

“Phsar Chas is clear,” said Rome with strength.

The Runner nodded. “Where are you going? Factory, City Centre or rest of the world?”

“World.” Rome said.

The runner pointed at an elevator to their left. They entered and as the lift descended and the doors closed, Rome turned to Mae. “We don’t have much time, maybe a couple of weeks with the serum but we’ll get to the outside, get into the world tell our story, try anything we can to convince people…”

Mae stopped him and stared at him with hard eyes. “Let’s tear this fucking place apart.”

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