Pasha Malla - People Park

Pearl’s spirits warmed: such faith! And all of these people, together, how could they be wrong? But after a few minutes of walking in silence the woman tensed. Up ahead, where the tracks curled inland, more walkers joined the procession at Bay Junction Station. So many, whispered the woman. Her grip loosened, her pace slowed. And here they were, hundreds of refugees, from both sides of the platform, pouring onto the tracks.

Keep talking, Pearl wanted to say, tell me it’s going to be all right. But the crowd had become oppressive, each person’s mouth pressed to the back of some stranger’s neck. No one could speak, the tracks were so full of people, all those people, still more people. . With a sudden heave from behind, Pearl’s arm was knocked free. She reached for her friend, but the crowd enfolded her, the Y’s cap slipped away.

Stopping was impossible. People were wedged in so tightly Pearl couldn’t even turn to look back. Already she struggled to recall the woman’s face, her voice, the hope shining in it, the warmth of her body against Pearl’s — gone, all of it gone. Except the cap, the logo, that last image of it sucked into the mob. And now she was trapped alone inside this mechanical push toward People Park, the site of the crime, and the only place her son might be.

AS A GUNSLINGER with a pair of pistols, Noodles pointed two fingers, thumbs extended, at the sky. One of the newscopters was swooping down toward the Thunder Wheel.

What’s happening? said Wagstaffe, videoing. Are they going to take us out?

What do you mean, take us out , said Magurk, glancing around for a weapon.

Rescue us.

Oh. Are they?

Griggs said, Noodles?

Noodles nodded, nodded.

Wait, are you just nodding, or is that a yes?

He nodded some more. The newscopter hovered, gusts from its propellers flattened the men’s khaki jackets. Griggs’ crusty hairdo twitched as if electrified.

A rope ladder flipped out of the chopper’s cabin, unfurled, and hung.

We can’t get out, said Wagstaffe, because of these fuggin harnesses.

Noodles stopped nodding. He frowned.

Isn’t this what Helpers are for? said Magurk, snatched Griggs’ walkie-talkie, shouted into it, Hey, who’s there, who’s this?

It’s Walters. And Reed. Is that the Special Professor? Good lookin out.

Right, right, good lookin out, said Magurk. Silentium too, and all that.

Sorry, we still haven’t found Favours. We’re hoping someone scooped him up —

No, no, this isn’t about that. Though, hey, keep trying. Listen, we’re stuck on top of the T-Wheel. We need someone to let us out.

We?

The HG’s.

Oh. All of you?

The rope ladder dangled. Griggs strained for it, couldn’t reach.

Walters, said Magurk. Do you have a boat?

Yeah. Reed’s skiff. That’s how we’re looking for Favours —

Listen, forget Favours. Get over here. Bring a saw.

But what about —

This is an order, growled Magurk. Favours will be fine. You need to let us out.

Good lettin out, said Walters with a sad laugh.

Hurry up. People are starting to notice us.

THE TRAIN ROUNDED the island’s southwest corner and dry land appeared: high on a hilltop a cluster of huge houses sat untouched by the floodwaters, beneath it the neighbourhood was lost under a leaden swamp laced with emerald veins. The smell was sour, it flooded Kellogg’s nostrils and made his eyes weep.

I’m not actually crying, he assured Elsie-Anne.

The PA announced Knock Street Station.

Ignore the announcements, gasped Bean, between pulls on his inhaler. We’re not stopping anywhere, it’s just straight through to Whitehall, and the ferry —

And then we’ll go home, cracked someone behind Kellogg, and grim laughter flitted batlike through the car.

Well of course, said Bean. That’s the plan: then we’ll ferry you home.

The train whisked through Knock Street Station. Below a trio observed this from the roof of a house. Their faces were invisible inside pulled-up hoods, they seemed relaxed despite the water rising all around. They seemed, Kellogg thought, to be waiting for the train, watching it expectantly — almost hungrily — as it headed into the Zone.

Next stop, Upper Olde Towne, said the PA. Upper Olde Towne Station, next stop.

Nope! screamed Bean.

On they went, clacking and swaying. We’ll be there soon, Kellogg told Elsie-Anne.

Very soon, Dad, she said, and closed her eyes.

From the tracks came a thunderclap. The train lurched, skidded, all the riders were pitched forward and cried out in one voice. Kellogg turtled over Elsie-Anne to shelter her from the pile-on, bodies heaped upon his back, a foot connected with his face, his mouth filled with a tinny taste. And then they lurched to a violent, screeching stop.

Everything was still. Resting at a crooked slant, the train hissed. A few yards ahead and above was the half-built dome of UOT Station. Gingerly, people disentangled themselves from one another.

Is everyone okay? screamed Bean, and fell into a fit of coughing.

There was a streak of blood on the floor beside Kellogg’s head, was it his own, he couldn’t tell. Annie, he said, you okay?

We’re okay, Dad, she said. But —

A savage groan of metal, the struts buckled, the tracks fell away. As a child released into its bath, the train slid into the flooded street. Riders scrambled away from the bottom end as it went under, water swam up blackly around the windows, the car filled with screams.

Kellogg grabbed his daughter. Annie!

The train eased to rest: half-submerged, half in the open air.

The water’s coming in! — Help! — Everyone stay calm!

A mad scramble. The sounds were primal, shrieks and yelps and groans, panicked babbling. And the water gurgling in.

With Elsie-Anne in his arms, Kellogg climbed to the top of the car, someone grabbed him and pulled him up, he was being helped! He huddled among strangers on his knees, someone climbed over him, someone else was sitting on his back. Beneath his body he shielded his daughter.

Please! — Holy fug someone open the doors! — Don’t do that! You’ll flood the car! — Not at this end, we’re out of the water here! — Let me out before we sink!

Kellogg dabbed blood from his teeth. Annie, he whispered, it’s okay, we’re going to be okay. But his daughter didn’t respond, she’d gone limp in his arms.

The doors were pried open. In came a stench of sewage and rot. Everyone out, someone cried. In pairs people jumped. With grim purpose Kellogg crawled toward escape, Elsie-Anne held close, two by two people went tumbling from the train, vanished — where? And then he was next.

A tepid breeze. Hundreds of people splashed around below, the train drooped from the tracks like a vine from a slack wire. A voice yelled, Go! Kellogg was pushed. The slap of the water was sharp and quick. It knocked Elsie-Anne from his hands. Kellogg sank, reaching blindly for his daughter, he screamed a torrent of bubbles, the sour dark water filled his mouth, somewhere in this abyss was a city, drowned and pulling him down.

WALL: the cart struck it hard and the Mayor tumbled free, arms scrabbling to break her fall — and found herself landing soundly on two feet. She kicked her left leg, then the right, wiggled her toes, sidestepped, shuffled back, did a little jump. And then, restraining her happiness, she narrowed her eyes and declared, As well it should be, touch green.