Data Runner (19 page)

Snake slow rolls the SUV up the macadam road leading to the old water treatment plant. Thirty yards away, he applies the brakes. A red glow lights up the back of the vehicle as a dim squeal bring us to a stop. No one says anything. We've all been trained, independently, to observe our surroundings before making any moves, and that's what we all do.

“What do you think?” Martin whispers.

“I don't like it,” replies Snake. “We're either too early or too late. Until we know which, it puts us at a disadvantage.” Snake taps the steering wheel with his index finger. He's obviously trying to come up with the best possible plan. “Agh!” Snake slams his palm into the wheel. The thick of his hand shakes the entire steering column. “We have no choice,” he says, “we have to go in blind.”

“Okay, so who goes?” Red Tail asks.

“I'll go,” I say.

“No, Jack. You got the last one back at the facility. This one's on me,” says Dexter.

“There's no point in both of us going,” says Martin.

“Why do you have to go?” I ask.

“In case we need to jury-rig the electrical,” replies Snake. “If the need arises, he might be the only one who can bring this thing back online.”

“Understood,” I say, “but let's do a field recon first before we start bringing in the civilian contractors.” Snake turns around and stares at me over the shoulder of the seat. So does Martin. Dexter and Red Tail both turn to me in the backseat as well. Everybody stares at me. “What?”

“There's no need for any of you to go in,” Snake continues.

“The hell there isn't,” says Red Tail.

“You'll need at least one of us on point,” says Dexter. “Although two would be better.”

“He's right,” says Martin. “We'll need at least three for this.”

“Okay, so that should be the person with the most field experience,” says Red Tail, knowing that person is obviously her.

I object while Dexter continues to make his case. It goes on like this for another minute until there isn't time to argue anymore. And in the end, we all go.

“This is so stupid,” says Snake as we all get out of the vehicle together.

Actually, it's not a bad plan. Red Tail and Dexter are going to circle around and enter through an upper window while we go in through the front. “It'll work,” I whisper. “Besides, anyone who stays behind is going to be a sitting duck in there.”

Snake considers this. He doesn't say it, but I can tell he agrees.

The inside of the plant is dank from abandonment. Broken lights, slick floor, rust, and moss. There's a large turbine in the ceiling that once spun under its own power but now drifts lethargically in the breeze. Every footstep, every movement, every sound seems to echo as if in a canyon. Even when Snake communicates in hand signals, there is always that pop of a joint or creak of a glove that cannot be helped. The only thing that masks our noise is the slide of the window upstairs where Dexter and Red Tail come in.

Martin points out the cutoff valve we're looking for.

All of the control equipment is covered in undisturbed grime, so if they have been here, they haven't used it. Still, we have to check things out. I take a step forward, but Snake balls a fist to stop me. He wants to check it out first. He moves in, and even though I should hang back, I follow on his heels.

Jutting up out of the floor is a giant teal pipe that connects to a network of ceiling pipes running deeper into the plant. Attached to the main pipe is a royal-blue restrictor cuff, and attached to that is a giant lever that looks completely rusted until I realize it's just painted that color.

Snake turns around and bumps right into me. Then he glares at me the same way Martin does when I don't listen. “The main restrictor,” he says. “That's what's keeping the flammable water out of the town's pipes. The valve hasn't been opened yet, but…”

“What?”

“Something isn't right.”

Beep.

“Shhh.”

“What?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, it's coming from somewhere over—”

Beep. Still faint, but this time discernable. Snake peers into and around the restrictor. Beep.

Beep. Beep. Beep, beep, beep, beep-beep-beep-beep-beep . . .

“Fire in the hole!” screams Snake as he grabs my collar and pulls me back. On the second floor, Red Tail does the same to Dexter. We all run for the exits. None of us make it.

The charge blows the giant lever clean off the restrictor cuff and sends it flying through the plant like it's a six-foot wrench that's just been hurled at us by a twenty-five-foot giant. It sails clean over our heads and slams into the second floor railing a few feet away from where Red Tail and Dexter were just standing, leaving behind a giant dent as it crashes down onto the main floor like seven anvils all forged into one.

The pipe moans. Snaps. Rattles and hums. It does all the little things that pipes do, all at once. Then a low rumble fills the plant as sharp streams of smelly water spray up out of the restrictor.

“Is it going to blow?” I ask.

Martin shakes his head. “The seals are dried out. Leaks are to be expected after this much downtime, but it'll hold.”

As the water pools across the floor I can smell it even more. It really does smell bad. Like a gas station, a garbage dump, and a sewage plant all rolled into one. It's hard to imagine it coming out of people's taps, but it did, and it's about to once again. The valve is open, and now this disgusting stuff that can barely be called
water
rushes from the tainted shallow aquifer into the town's main pipes. You might think that townsfolk like Martin and I who have the TerraAqua bypass line will somehow escape it. We won't. Once Blackburn lights it up, the exploding water will blow its way through. Into every pipe, into every home.

“How are they going to ignite it?” I ask.

“The main vent for the town's water system,” says Snake. “Where is it?”

“About five miles down the road,” answers Martin. “On the outskirts of town.”

I'm relieved that Martin knew the answer to that because I didn't.

“Come on, we're moving out,” says Snake as Red Tail and Dexter come back around from the outside.

Five miles down the road
, I think. That's pretty close to Mr. Chupick's farm.

The main vent for the town's water system is located between the water treatment plant and the town. It's basically just an auxiliary valve that can be opened in an emergency to release excess pressure before it starts busting pipes in town. That's it. Just a single valve housed in a shack surrounded by a fence. Even when the water treatment plant was in operation, it was never manned. It was never something that needed to be secured, which is why it's strange to see a vortex chopper blasting it with lights when we arrive, like it's some kind of bunker hiding a known enemy of the Alliance. The vortex chopper hovers steadily over the station.

“What's it doing?” I ask.

But before Snake can answer, the chopper guns its jet, tearing away both the fence and shack from the ground. And suddenly there he is, standing right behind it. Bigsby. I jump out of the vehicle.

“Wait!” screams Martin. Snake tries to grab me, but I'm already on my feet and running toward him, until he holds up his hand and I slide to a halt. Bigsby is holding an incendiary grenade. I have to stop. Not that I could successfully rush him, but even if I could, there's too much distance between us. He's standing right next to the open vent.

“Welcome home, Carrion.”

“Bigsby, wait. Just wait.” Reasoning with him is all I can do. “You know we have the paper trail proving Blackburn is behind this. You know these documents are secure and will be delivered to the Alliance Senate. Think about it, Bigsby. There is no outcome in which you will gets away with this.”

Bigsby grins with teeth. “You underestimate the value of a good lobby.”

“Listen to me, Bigsby. Most of these people have struggled their entire lives to climb out of the squatter settlements. They're not that different from you. You said that I don't know what it's like to really run because I haven't run through the Red Zone with the Caliphate on my tail, and you're right. You were a soldier fighting for the Alliance overseas, and you deserve that recognition. But these people are soldiers too. Maybe you can't see it because they're not in the Complex like you, but they are fighting to survive. These people…” I indicate the town of Brentwood before us, “they are the ones who did right by the Alliance. They played by the rules and worked hard. You can't do this to them. It isn't right. What you're about to do…” I pause briefly to watch Bigsby roll the incendiary grenade in his hand. “This isn't a necessary act of war, Bigsby. It's a willful act of terrorism. You're launching an attack on the very people you've been sworn to protect!”

“Hired,” he says.

“What?”

“We haven't been sworn to protect anyone,” says Bigsby, “we've been hired to do that job. We may be the largest standing army in the world, but we are a private army. We are a megacorporation just like all the others, and as a megacorporation our top priority will always be our own personhood. Our primary goal has to be our own personal survival. Everything else is incidental. But I'll tell you something. The truth, Carrion, if you really want to hear it…even if they gave me the abort code right now, I'd blow it anyway.”

Bigsby pulls the pin.

I take a step back. “No, don't do it.” But I know the minute he tosses the pin into the vent that there is no turning back. And when he releases the striker lever on the grenade, I just stand there petrified.

“I'd blow it anyway, Carrion…just to watch you burn!”

Bigsby drops the grenade into the vent and dives for cover as no less than three hands grab me from behind and pull me to the ground.

3…2…1…

The entire ground quakes beneath me. Rumbles. Shakes. All the indicators of a seismic event but without the tectonic shift. Then comes the sudden rush of heat as a geyser of fire shoots up out of the vent and mushrooms against the pre-morning dark. This is followed by another rumble—the snap of mains—and the sound of explosive energy rushing through those mains toward the town.

The air around us stinks. Martin and Snake get to their feet behind me.

“That son of a bitch,” I scowl.

“No time for that now,” says Snake. “Who's most at risk?”

“The hospital,” says Dexter.

“The assisted living facility,” says Martin. “There's hardly anyone on staff at night.”

A small pop rings out in the distance, nothing like the explosion from the vent but definitely something similar. That much is certain from the orange glow that colors the darkness as smoke begins to rise. I just stand there for a moment staring at it until I suddenly realize where it's coming from. “The farm!”

Martin turns and sees at once what I mean. “Go,” he says.

Without saying a word, Dex prepares to run there with me.

“No,” I say. “I got this. They need your help in town.”

He doesn't argue.

I put up a fist.

He barely has a chance to pound it before I'm off and running.

Living out here, Mr. Chupick doesn't have any neighbors close by. There is no one else to check on him, which is why my feet pound the road hard to cover the distance to his farm. What I do now isn't parkour, it's a flat-out sprint. Running in its purest and most basic form. There's just me, Mr. Chupick's farm, and the distance between.

Halfway there.

I am never more than halfway there.

Even as my feet cover yards that add up fast, I am never more than halfway there. Because before I can cross that distance, I first have to cross half that distance. And so it goes, half upon half ad infinitum. Zeno's paradox. It is a mathematical peculiarity to be sure, but that is precisely what makes it such a great metaphor. For me, for my life, for whatever Mr. Chupick meant for me to apply it to. Because there are no limits, only plateaus. And that is exactly what halfway is—it's just a plateau.

I turn off the road to cut through the woods, which is not the smartest thing to do I admit, but following the road will take me the long way around, and I don't have time for that.

Running. The crunch of twigs under my feet.

Running. Branches scrape across my face.

Running. Legs pumping, thighs burning, arms swinging, almost as if in slow motion.

A poem I once read back at the magnet academy pops into my head.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
. Just that one line.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
.

Over and over again as if on a loop.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
.

Almost to Mr. Chupick's farm, I hear the high-pitch whine of an engine coming from the other direction. And almost immediately, I see the jittering beam of a headlamp bouncing up and down with the woodsy terrain.

Even though I'm on foot, I have enough of a lead to get there first, emerging from the woods onto Mr. Chupick's land. Way over on the far side of the pasture, his house and barn are both on fire. A moment later, the dirt bike finds a ramp and comes flying out of the trees with enough air to give the shocks a full squeeze when it lands. The rider plants his boot on the ground and fishtails around. Takes off his helmet.

“Pace.”

“Dexter called me about an hour ago. I was on my way to meet you guys when I saw the fire from up on the ridge.”

“They went into town. We have to check on Mr. Chupick.”

“Yeah. Hop on.”

I jump on the dirt bike and wrap my arms tightly around his gut.

Pace looks down. “Um…you can just grab the back of my jacket.”

“Right,” I say, and quickly reposition my hands to grab his jacket instead. I've ridden Pace's dirt bike before, just never on the back. “Did you take care of your house?” I ask him.

“We packed all the pipes with baking soda, but if it still blows they're ready for it. Is Blackburn really planning to burn the entire town?”

“It's not a plan anymore, Pace.”

Pace guns the throttle so hard he pulls a wheelie as we take off through the pasture.