Fractured: Tales of the Canadian Post-Apocalypse(73)

“Forget it,” Jill said, her eyes averted from mine and a flush high on her cheeks. “We have to go!”

Forty seconds and we were on the stairs, our bags clanking into the belly of the freight canoe. My hands shook as I pressed oars into their hands. “Get in. I’ll take the stern. Just get in, forget the rest!”

A cluster of shiny bits tumbled out of Sandip’s bag as he climbed into the swaying boat. I gripped the stairwell, rusted flakes of paint digging into my fingers as I kept us from capsizing. Past a minute. We had to get out in the water.

“Kimi, I’m caught,” Jill cried, and she jerked and ripped the long-sleeved jacket. She gasped and stared at the fabric left behind. It had been Mom’s.

“I’ll patch it, I promise, just get – now!”

The boat teetered as they grabbed their oars and I pushed off, muddy flood waters splashing as I steered us toward the dyke. Sandip muttered under his breath as they got their paddles in the water. The scant current was trying to pull us deeper into the suburb – toward where the main control tower was, downtown where the Golden Boy once stood. Dad didn’t believe it, but when the ships arrived, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. No one could ignore it. The statue was probably buried in the mud now, like we would be if we were caught in the city limits.

The oars cut deep, and I barked to keep us in time, pushing over the dyke to hide amongst the icy trees, fighting the current of the river all the way. One hundred and 19 seconds. The klaxon from the watchtower in the city rang across the water.

“Kimi?”

“Just keep paddling.” I panted as we tried to keep pace. I checked over my shoulder again. Black specks in the sky, flies on the horizon that were gaining pace. The warehouse was out of sight, but our wake cut a clear line through the slow waters between the trees. My eyes darted. “Come on, back to the dyke.”

“What?”

“Get your packs on,” I said, water rippling behind my oar as the canoe jerked toward a cluster of oaks on the submerged ridge. I slowed us enough as we threw them on. “We’ve got to flip it, see the trees? We need to hide.”

“Are you kidding? The water is barely above freezing!”

“You got us in this mess,” I hissed at Sandip. “Don’t argue when I’m getting us out of it. Come on!” I leapt over the edge, and almost lost my breath as the spring melt hit me. We’d be lucky if it were above freezing. “Keep a hold on the canoe – come on!”

Jill hesitated only a moment as our eyes met before she joined me in the chest-high water. Sandip just stood there, his eyes to the north.

“They might not kill us if they find us, we don’t have any tech,” Jill said, smiling despite the obvious chatter in her teeth as she tread. “Right?”

Sandip scrambled with his pack, and a circular saw emerged.

The fire in my belly bucked against the cold. “Throw it in the water, and then yourself. Get rid of that right now, if you value our lives!”

“We need it – my father, for the barn,” he said, looking at the power tool.

“Don’t be stupid! We don’t have the power and we never will, now throw it in the water before I drown you with it! I won’t be caught by the ludds with tech on hand!”

He twitched and dumped it over the edge, shouldering his bag again and stumbling into the water, tipping the canoe in the process. I could hear the buzz of the engines now, but grappled the canoe rather than satisfy my morbid curiosity. I didn’t need to know how long until they were overhead, I had to breath, I had to get us in the trees, and I had to make sure Jill made it home safe. Mom’s voice was in my head.

It was difficult to see beneath the canoe, our panicked breath and the slosh of water magnified against the aluminium hull. But those sounds were soon drowned out by the buzz and roar of the hovering patrol ships. I gripped the gunwale just beneath the surface, and held our cover in place. Their hands soon slapped to find purchase.

“Kimi, the water,” Jill gasped, and I hushed her.

“I’m sorry,” Sandip whispered, treading between us.

The hull of the canoe reverberated and magnified the sound of the engines, making it difficult to discern where the ships flew. I saw Jill close her eyes in the roar, my lips in a hard line above the water. Sandip’s eyes were through the bottom of the canoe.

“Keep moving,” I whispered, but it was drowned by the shuddering sound. Each kick of my legs welcomed the numbing cold up my legs, the water finding each crevice and bit of warmth as we tread.

Another screech followed as the ships buzzed by, moving toward what I could only gauge to be the direction of the warehouse. Marc’s voice was a reminder to fight the cold. They’d investigate the tracker. We had time before they investigated further. But only a little. “We need to move. We need out.”

“I can’t feel my feet,” Jill whispered, and spat out a mouthful of water.

“I know. Stay here.” I sucked a breath of air and ducked under the water, feeling my way along the gunwale to emerge outside of the canoe. The beacon in the city watchtower swept across the sky, a hum at the base of my skull. It almost overrode the engine whine from the hovering ships, but they were there – to the north. My eyes darted, and I snorted river water. We were safe within the trees, the tinkle of ice in the branches almost serene by comparison. There was an apartment complex at the bottom of the dyke, not 100 metres upstream, beyond a trio of houses whose roofs were the only sign. The water lapped at the second-floor balconies.