Archipelago N.Y.: Flynn (2 page)

“Sixteen.”

“Is your friend a
retard? Or just deaf and dumb?” Leo sneered and continued typing. When he had
finished entering the information, he pressed a key and scowled at the screen.
“Says here, Romero’s not sixteen yet… which makes him underage… and in breach
of being on a water vessel so far from the zone.”

“He’s with me and
I’m sixteen,” Flynn said.

Leo shook his head,
ignoring Flynn’s words. “This Romero kid looks more like a sick old man to me!
And we all know what happens to sick old men, don’t we?” Leo snickered again as
he looked back at his friends. They were all laughing at Tony now.

Flynn clenched his
fists and leaned forward, but Tony squeezed his elbow. Leo’s eyes darted
between the two and focused on Flynn again.

“Did you want to
say something, Perry boy?”

“No!” Flynn
swallowed hard.

“Thought not,” Leo
flashed his teeth and slipped the pad back in his pocket. “Well, Perry and
Romero... you know who I am, right?”

Flynn and Tony
nodded. Of course, they knew who he was! Who didn't? Leo was the one and only
son of Marcus Van Zandt, the head of Governing Council, the man who ruled the
whole of the Archipelago. The Van Zandt family had been in power since the
beginning of time, and they were here to stay. There was no replacing them,
everyone knew that… When Marcus died, or if he decided to step down, Leo was
going to be his successor, then Leo's children, and so on… People had no say in
who would govern them. There were no elections… as if anyone even remembered or
knew what an election was… And Leo was every part the spoilt heir to the Van
Zandt throne, already acting like he was in charge.

“Good!” Leo
continued, “Are you aware you have no business out here? That everything
underneath these waters is Government property, and I can have you two scum boys
charged with trespassing?”

Flynn and Tony had
no choice but to nod again.

“I'll be watching
you two!” said Leo, pointing a finger at Flynn. “Especially you, Perry boy! You
look like trouble to me… And I can smell trouble from miles away.”

Leo Van Zandt gave
Flynn a long cold stare.

Flynn stared back,
trying hard not to flinch. Nobody knew, not even Tony, that he and Leo had
crossed paths before… back when they were little kids… Flynn had been
practicing his free dives off the edge of the Main Pier when a bunch of Upper
Side boys had arrived. They were speeding on their jet-skis, fooling around,
showing off, recklessly zigzagging round moored boats and floating pontoons. One
of the jet-skis had made a sharp turn, flinging a boy with long blond hair into
the water. Two heart beats later, when the kid had not resurfaced, Flynn had
sprung into action. He had found the boy sinking fast with his hands ensnared
in the leather straps of a pair of binoculars still around his neck. Flynn had
managed to cut him free with his diving knife and bring the boy back to the
safety of the pier. With the help of some fishermen, they had hoisted the limp
body out of the water and made sure the boy was breathing. ‘You just saved Leo
Van Zandt! Bet you’ll get a reward for that,’ Flynn had heard the men say… But
instead of gratitude, Flynn had received only hatred and abuse. He still
remembered Leo's eyes flashing with anger and wounded pride as he snatched at
his binoculars... ‘I could’ve reached the Pier all by myself, you prick! Don’t
you know who I am?’ Leo had spat in Flynn's face and then yelled, ‘I didn't
need your help, scum boy! And you’ve also ruined my binoculars! Look! The
straps are gone!’ Before Flynn could say anything, Leo was screaming for his
guards and calling Flynn a thief. ‘You’d better make yourself scarce kid,’ one
of the fisherman had whispered in Flynn’s ear and he had taken off like the
wind. Leo’s guards had chased him up and down the pier, until Flynn finally
managed to give them the slip. Instinctively, Flynn knew he had made a powerful
enemy that day… Later, Flynn’s father had explained it best: ‘You showed
everybody that the Van Zandt boy’s weak. And that was a mistake… But the good
news is Leo never took your name down, so you’re safe.’

Had Leo Van Zandt
recognized him now? Flynn hoped not. They had both changed, grown up… looked
different… Flynn was just one of the many anonymous faces from the Lower Side… And
as much as he hated the feeling, he felt safe in the knowledge that he was
simply another “scum boy” and nothing else.

“Err ... Mr. Van
Zandt,” one of the guards broke the silence, “we should be going, sir. Your
father said ...”

“I know what my
father said!” Leo cut him off. He sat down behind the wheel of his powerboat,
started the engine and pushed down on the throttle. The engine roared, and the
Fury
took off, followed closely by its companion.

Flynn watched the speeding
vessels as they faded into the distance. “Privileged bastards!” he yelled,
shaking his fist at them.

“There’s no point
getting angry, amigo!” Tony stepped next to him. “It’s just the way it is…”

“We’ll see about
that! Things are going to change after we win the Trials,” said Flynn. “Leo Van
Zandt won’t ever talk to us that way again!” Flynn spat in the water and threw
himself on the car seat, patting the space next to him. “Let’s head back, Tony…
I’ll do all the pedaling.”

Flynn placed his
feet on the pair of rusty pedals sticking out of the square well-hole cut into
the platform. Tony sat next to him and allowed his tired body to finally relax.
“Home, sweet home!” cried Flynn, popping open a can of soda that had long lost
its original fizz. He took a swig and then pressed on the pedals. Suddenly, he
felt his spirits rise. He loved the
Seeker
. Although it was a very basic
type of water vessel, the raft had served him well over the years. Flynn
grabbed the steering rudder and the raft started to turn slowly, until it faced
the setting sun.

Far in the
distance, surrounded by miles of water, were the familiar buildings of their
Archipelago… or what once used to be known as the City of New York. Of course,
Flynn knew these buildings looked different from the Olden Days. He had seen
enough faded photos of the city before the Flood... For a start, the
skyscrapers had been much taller… Today, they were half their original size.
What remained of the fabled and once proud metropolis now rose straight out of
the ocean, creating a string of islands. With no solid land to build on, there
were awkward-looking structures sticking up from every single rooftop that had
remained… And a spider-web of cables had been strung between them, with cable
cars moving back and forth… and bridges and walkways, suspended in mid-air,
connecting the old skyscrapers… What had once been Manhattan was no longer a
single island… It had become a string of inhabitable outposts, little pockets
of life, a seemingly haphazard cluster of everyday survival above the
waterline. This was the Archipelago and the place Flynn and Tony called home.

“See that building
there, Tony?” Flynn pointed to a tower on the Upper Side, not far from the one
they used to call the Empire State. “That’s where we’re going to live in just a
week, my friend! Let’s see how the Van Zandt boy can stop me from moving in
right next door to him!”

“If you win the
Trials, that is!”

“Of course we’ll
win. We’ve got to win, Tony!”

Tony said nothing.
He just shook his head and stared at his aching feet.

Mike Foley stood
on the edge of the Customs Platform. Overweight and puffy faced, he didn't look
like the majority of the Archipelago’s people. Unlike Mike, most were lean and
fit… But then again, Mike didn’t get to do much physical work…he just sat
counting boats and rafts passing by his designated outpost. His station was a mid-sized
pontoon, moored between the roofs of two partially submerged buildings, with
only their top three stories still above the water line. The space in the
middle worked like a gate for the boat traffic to pass through. The last two
floors of these derelict buildings were used to temporarily store the Customs
booty. Mike's checkpoint was on the west side of town, over what once used to
be called Brooklyn. It was one of the many stations positioned at regular
intervals around the Archipelago. The stations were connected with big nets to
prevent unauthorized traffic, forcing all rafts and boats to go through these
gate-like checkpoints.

Of course, the
Government officials couldn’t possibly keep an eye on the miles of nets
encircling the Archipelago’s limits. Holes kept appearing, allowing vessels to
sneak in and out unnoticed and to constantly supply the city’s Black Market. It
was a risky business, though. If the traffickers could bypass the nets, they
then faced a much harder task…that of evading the sharp eyes of the Watchers.
These men kept a constant vigil over the waters around the Archipelago from
their Watch Towers… And they were watching Mike Foley, too! He had to be
careful.

The day was almost
over. All of the big rafts had already passed through and gone back towards the
city. Mike was not expecting a lot of traffic between now and the end of his
shift. He squinted at the setting sun, then, just to be sure, glanced behind
his shoulder at Big Al, his shift mate. The man was snoring like a boat engine
in major distress; his huge body slumped against a pile of dirty fishing nets.
A bleached out Customs sign threw a long shadow over him as he slept. Mike took
one last puff from his hand-rolled seaweed cigarette and tossed the butt in the
water. He repositioned the short spear gun from his hip to the small of his
back and crouched down. His fingers dug under the edges of a sheet of faded
plastic and pulled it back, revealing a square hole in the deck. Furtively, he
pushed his pudgy hand in the opening, found the wire string and yanked it up. A
rusty six-pack, dripping with water was tied to the end of the string. Mike took
a can from the plastic holder, lowered the remaining cans back in the hole and
closed the lid. He popped the can open, remembering to turn his back on the Watch
Towers.

Mike Foley closed
his eyes and savored the taste of the cold beer. He loved his job, especially
the perks that came with it… As a Customs officer, he had first-hand pick of
all the items salvaged and brought home to the Archipelago. Every vessel
entering the Outer Zone had to stop at one of the check points and offload its
salvaged goods. The stuff deemed valuable was kept in Customs and later shipped
to the city's distribution wharfs. The Scavenging Crews were allowed to keep the
junk for their own personal use.

Mike had worked
the Customs shifts from the age of sixteen, continuing the family tradition,
like his father had done before him. He didn't consider it stealing when it
came to keeping small quantities of the booty for himself… Everyone was doing
it, he knew that much. And if you were to get caught ... Well, there was no
such thing as prisons any more. Depending on the crime, you were either given
the worst job in town, like working on the Garbage Collection rafts for life,
or worse…. You were banished from the Archipelago! Sent away on the open seas
to die a slow and agonizing death... Mike shuddered at the thought. But the
beer in his mouth tasted so good! Nothing like that algae moonshine they
home-brewed and passed around as alcohol… Mike took another swig from the can,
relishing its bitter taste and slowly opened his eyes.

“Damn!” Much to
his annoyance, he had seen a small raft approaching his checkpoint. Mike swore
again under his breath, hiding the beer can in the large pocket of his faded
cargo pants. He shifted the spear gun back on his hip and grabbed for his uniform’s
hat.

“Hey there, Mikey!”
a voice called out.

Mike Foley relaxed.
He had now recognized the raft as belonging to Flynn Perry and the Romero boy.
Within seconds, the beer can was back in his hand again.

Flynn took his
feet off the pedals, allowing the
Seeker
to slow down and glide gently,
until it bumped into the row of car tires that lined the side of the Customs
platform. “How’s it going, Mikey?” he asked.

“Shh! Don't shout
like that, you idiot!” Mike hissed, glancing back at Big Al. “And stop calling
me Mikey! I ain’t your friend, y'know. Have some respect, and follow the
protocol.”

“Alright, Officer
Foley,” said Flynn, grinning. He raised his hand in a mock salute, “For the
Greater Good, sir!”

Mike Foley greeted
him back with a growl.

Flynn then nodded
his head toward Big Al. “Something wrong with him?”

“Nothin's wrong! I
just don't wanna share, that's all.” Mike finished his beer and shoved the
empty can in his pocket. “Now,” he said, clearing his throat and straightening
his back, “got anythin’ to declare?” He began to make his way slowly toward the
edge of the Customs platform.

“Well, not much
for today… That's all I’ve got,” said Flynn, lifting up his sack with just a
few cans and bottles in it.

Mike looked back
at Big Al and stepped closer to the raft, eyeing greedily the booze in the
sack. “Y’know I’ve gotta confiscate all that scavvy stuff in there, don't ya?”

“I know, Mikey. Sorry…I
mean Officer Foley!” Flynn handed him the sack.

Mike grabbed the
sack and hid it quickly between a stack of tires. “Come pick up your bag
tomorrow.”

“No problem. Can
we go now?” Flynn asked as he sat back on the car seat.

“C'mon kid, y'know
the deal… I’ve gotta inspect your raft.” Mike pointed his head back at the Archipelago.
“They never stop watchin’!”

Flynn stood up and
waved at the city.

“Who ya wavin’ at,
ya fool?” Mike barked.

“My dad, of
course!” replied Flynn, proudly. “He’s watching from the East Tower.”

“Ah ...” said
Mike, making a dismissive gesture with his hand, “… he's watchin’, but seein’
nothin’! Your daddy’s blind as a bat, Perry boy!”

“What did you
say?” Flynn glared at the man.

But Officer Foley
didn’t answer. He was tugging at the swiping device. This was nothing more than
a slack wire lying in the water between the two check-point platforms and
underneath the passing vessels. If anyone tried to smuggle stuff attached under
their raft or boat, the wire would catch it. He rolled the crank and the wire tightened.

“Run your crappy
raft over this, Perry boy.”

Still glaring at
the man, Flynn pushed on the pedals. The
Seeker
glided smoothly over the
wire and stopped. There was nothing underneath. Mike grabbed a piece of pipe
and banged it on the drums supporting Flynn's raft, listening. Empty barrels
sounded one way, those stuffed with hidden goodies differently. Satisfied with
his inspection, he leaned on the pipe.

“What was that
about my dad?” asked Flynn again. He wasn’t going to let anyone insult his
father.

“Don't ya look at
me that way!” Mike sneered at him. “I just happen to know a thing or two ‘bout
your old man, that’s all...”

“You know nothing
about him!” Flynn yelled back. “See for yourself!” He was now pointing in the
direction of the Watch Tower. “That’s my dad there… signaling to me. Look!”

And sure enough, a
sharp flash of light could be seen coming from the top of the East Tower… But
Officer Foley didn’t seem impressed. “Oh, I know everythin’, about everybody,”
he said. “People are talkin’, you know ...”

“What are they
saying, then?”

“True, your daddy’s
been the best Watchman for a long, long time, but I’ll bet ya good money he'll
be on the List this year… and we’ll be sayin’ bye-bye to him at the Departure Ceremony!”

“Watch it, Mikey!”
Flynn stepped forward, his fists clenched.

“Hah! You watch
it, kid!” Mike lifted the pipe and waved it at Flynn.

There was a loud
cough behind his back. Big Al was awake.

“Hey Mike, what's
goin’ on here?” Big Al grunted, rubbing his swollen eyes with a fat knuckle.

“Nothin’ much Al,
just the Perry boy and his pal passin’ through,” said Mike over his shoulder,
not taking his eyes off Flynn. “They're empty handed as usual… Useless kids! Ain’t
never gonna be good scavvies, you know.” He was laughing now. “Off ya go, boy!”
he said to Flynn. “Or I’ll board your piece of junk and take a proper look at
it.”

Flynn spat in the
water, then stepped back and took his seat next to Tony. His friend was pale
and clammy, his breathing hard. “It's OK,” Flynn said and pushed on the pedals.
The
Seeker
lurched forward, peeling quickly away from the Customs
platform.

“What's up with
your buddy there, eh?” Mike shouted after them. “He don't look too good to me,
either…. Might be joinin’ your daddy on the Departure List! Think I’ll put a
wager on Romero with my bookies…  Make me some money, he will, hah!”

“Don't pay any
attention to him… And don’t look back!” Tony whispered to Flynn. “The guy's
just a jerk!” He closed his eyes, trying hard not to think about what Officer
Foley had just said.

“I know!” said
Flynn and pushed furiously on the pedals.

The raft sped up
towards Lower Side Manhattan… or whatever was left of it.