before the blast… why don't I blame them? Why don't I blame the Investors?"
"The investors? Which ones?"
"Aggregate Investors. It's a group name. I wondered why they gave me a job, got me out of that alley. I thought it was out of remorse, or maybe pity for a zombie. But now, seeing what they've done, I've -"
But there was no time for the other man to finish his sentence. Three leaping rioters came down from the passing Stonework above, one missing the boat, but two catching him by the body and fighting their way onto the small craft.
"Rolf!" Kitna shouted, struggling to get up.
He didn't hesitate. His thrust shoulder pushed the two assailants - and the other Subian - back from the speeding boat, leaving them behind in the water.
He stared after them, wondering if he should feel horrified at betraying another of his kind yet again.
He did not feel horrified. Quite the opposite - he felt only more confusion, at the fact that both the rioters were much older, rather than the young punks he'd expected.
He watched for as long as he could, still silently rooting for his counterpart to fight off the assailants and escape the water, but the under-stone gloom obscured all three long before the struggle concluded.
There was nothing to do except keep going.
Intense silence soon fell, their boat sputtering along through a weird sea of echoes, as if alone under the dust-hidden Sun.
Concerned by the growing number of bodies in the water, he peered ahead - and then stopped the boat against a pillar, grabbing an overhead arch to remain in place.
A cloying and sickly yellow-green gas filled the underspaces below the Stonework ahead, spanning as far north and south as he could see. No passage east presented itself.
Looking down, he backed away from the edge of the boat, where bodies floated thick enough to obscure the water itself.
"Hey!" a shout from above echoed. "Is that a boat? Hello? I've got gas masks!"
Wary, but knowing he had to take the opportunity, he responded. "Over here."
A white-haired older man ran over and climbed down into the boat, his shirt torn and his cell missing. He wore a grey mask over his mouth, square and thick, but he was still immediately recognizable.
"You're the owner of the chem-complex near the Edge…"
"Yes," the older man replied, looking down at the half-conscious girl in the boat, then back at him. "Hey aren't you that Subian kid I hired the other day? Yes, you are. A Scientist, good, we've got to get away. That gas is poisonous."
He took a half-step back away from the older man, clutching the corrugated rod defensively. "What happened here?"
"Well it's part your fault, kid," the owner replied. "But I suppose we can lay the blame on the accident."
"Accident?"
"The accidental explosion. Haven't you been paying attention? Looking at you, maybe you hit your head in all that. You should clean yourself up before we explain this publicly."
"The explosion was accidental?" he asked, brushing off the man's insults. "I thought that somebody called the Union's claims, and found out they weren't bluffing… what exactly happened?"
"It's lack of safety regulation," the owner replied. "Somebody didn't do the needed maintenance, and then all that Union garbage happened, you can guess the rest. A major line went off by accident. And the shaking and all that damaged things here, causing a chemical spill."
He could only watch in growing hatred as the older man began fast-talking himself, as if trying to rationalize his own actions.
"It's the lockdown mechanics in the equipment. That must have been it. Something faulty. Sure we didn't do the required maintenance, but that's just because the maintenance company kept trying to gouge us. Or maybe it was the workers. They probably sabotaged the machines on purpose, just to get back at me. Ungrateful, they are. After all the jobs I've created, the nerve! And besides, none of the other companies follow any sort of safety guidelines. I'd go out of business if I had to do that, since they're not doing it. It's our whole culture, really," he finally decided aloud. "Yes, that's what we should do. You and I, kid. We'll get out there, we'll call for the creation of some sort of safety inspector organization. Like your Scientists. Yes, we can change everything, so this won't happen again. We're going to turn this world around, back from the brink, you and I. Now take me north, I need to check on my family. My grandkids -"
The older man's eyes widened, matching startled gazes with Rolf.
The rest of the world stood suspended in silence.
The owner opened his mouth slightly, trying to speak, but no words followed.
Riveted in place, aghast, Rolf could only stare. Every line and wrinkle on the older man's face seemed to sear itself into his memory; the lines of his jaw, the slight moustache, and the horror in his eyes…
The man's hand came up, gripping the rod stuck through his throat and neck. In that moment, he ceased to be an owner, and remained only a man - dying like everyone else.
He fell backwards into the water, eyes still wide with disbelief.
Rolf stood in place, petrified, not understanding what he'd done, not comprehending. He slowly lowered his good arm, now weaponless. His shocked stare went from the body in the water to his own hand, still brown with flaked rust.
"Rolf," Kitna whimpered from her corner of the boat. "Rolf. It's alright. Just get us away from here."
Trembling horribly, he began moving, grabbing the small stack of gas masks the older man had dropped when the rod had been stabbed through his throat.
"Close your eyes," he told her, his hands shaking as he secured one across her mouth. "We're almost there."
Huddled down in the boat with her, he aimed it as best he could to the east, and then turned the engine on again.
Numerous bumps under the boat marked bodies passing in the water. He kept his eyes tightly shut, hoping not to hit a pillar or some other obstruction, strange itching and burning searing across his exposed skin - but no more, nothing lethal, as long as the masks held.
Eyes tightly shut, traveling blind through silent death, he began wondering if the darkness would ever end. He wondered if the nightmare would ever cease, or if they had actually died in the explosion and this eternal flight was to be their punishment…
She gripped his hand tight, reassuring him, that, at least for the moment, they were still alive.
Wind ran across his face, and he opened his eyes - the sea of death and gas receded behind them, dark and silent, watching them go with hunger.
Forced to tear off most of their clothes, he hurriedly used seawater to wash off the burning, sticky gasses, keeping the boat aimed east as best he could while he worked. "Good?"
She smiled weakly. "Better."
The dappled alternating light began changing as they reached the eastern Edge of civilization, the clock still racing in his mind. Time was beyond up, and decisions were few, and he had less information than ever.
Bringing the boat to a halt, he faced upwards, past the unfinished pillars.
The Edge was absolutely empty, probably for the first time in three hundred years, all the laborers gone to protect their families.
A lone giant remained, clad only in grey pants, his bulky arms employed in hammering a heavy bolt into a steel girder.
He stood, hefting his hammer, gazing silently at the uncommon arrival beneath his workplace.
"Islander," Rolf shouted, standing tall in his boat, trying in vain to steady his voice. "We need to get out of here. Please tell us where you come from. We'd like to go there."
The giant stared blankly at him for a moment, and then at his half-conscious bloodied companion. He said nothing.
"Help us."
The giant's gaze fell west, on the maze of buildings emanating a dull roar of unspeakable violence.
"Help us, damnit!"
The only response was a long look to the east, across the sea.
Feeling his lone path losing its last branches, he screamed his innermost
thought. "I know who you are!"
The Islander's gaze suddenly shot back to him, his muscled body tensed.
"You sit on your high altar," Rolf shouted, filled with surprising vehemence. "You think you're above all this, think you're not one of us, that you're not responsible. Well you're here!" His roar echoed across the Edge. "You're here!"
He let his words fade before continuing, spittle falling from his lips in rage. "You're here, whether you like it or not, you're engaged. You have to do something. You - have - to - do - something! Or we're going to die. Whatever else happens today, this one's on you. Nobody's watching. It's just you and us!" He thrust his arms forward desperately. "This is it for us. There's no other choice. This is our last path."
And yet, still, the Islander just gazed back at him, no response visible in his face.
"Fine," he spat. "Fine." He moved to the controls, ready to set off east with no known destination. His fingers hovered over the buttons, glancing one last time at the silent giant looking back at him.
The Islander reached down, lifting his cell. With one swift motion, he hurled the small machine up, over, and into the sea.
Rolf froze.
He hadn't expected his pleas to work, not really - but now this strange man… this… stranger… had opted to render their conversation private.
The silent giant lifted his head, matching his gaze again. His expression remained grim. After an intensely long instant, he finally spoke, breaking months of taciturn silence. His voice emerged strong and powerful, caring and grim, cautious and reserved, as if even a single sentence was more than he would dare risk if not so