Across the Dark Water by Richard Kadrey

Author:Richard Kadrey [Kadrey, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

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The thief awoke, not quite sure where he was at first. The guide was outside, eating in the open air of the parking garage. The thief went and joined him, but refused more of the Maker loaf. It had snowed during the night and the streets were covered in two or more inches of a flat whiteness. When the guide saw him, he tossed the thief a small sealed pack. The thief opened it and shook out a sort of dull Mylar shawl with a hood.

“We’ll be easy drone targets in these dark clothes,” said the guide. “The hoodies will reflect the snow and make us harder to spot.”

They packed up the dome and their meager supplies in the guide’s crudely repaired pack and headed out as soon as the sun was gone. The thief was glad that he’d bought the gloves. They weren’t very thick, but they helped a little with the cold. After last night, he could no longer tell how many days they’d been camping.

“How much longer to the Turk’s?” he said.

“I’ll tell you later,” said the guide.

“Why later?”

“Because I said so. And because I want to get the lay of the land.”

“We’re not lost, are we?”

“Don’t insult me. It’s just that the snow changes things. I need all my eyes—the ones in my head and readings from the spysat. I can’t process it all with you chattering away.”

“All right, then. But tell me when you can.”

“Quiet.”

They walked west for several hours, sometimes on the thoroughfare and sometimes on the side streets, stumbling over bricks made slippery with ice. Once, the thief tripped over a body in the snow and almost fell. The guide kept walking and the thief had to trot a distance to catch up.

The road became stranger as they left the business district behind. What appeared to be people huddled together in a group was a collection of robotic and hologram greeters from local shops and hotels. Each lit up or gave them a mechanical smile as they passed. Some spoke to them in cheerful tones.

“Bonjour.”

“Hello.”

“Nǐ hǎo.”

“Zdravstvuj.”

Later, there was a charred apartment building festooned with torn biohazard tape, as if decorated for a party.

An hour on, a street sculpture of two people kissing that had been constructed from bricks and broken glass.

Then, a children’s playground full of naked mannequins.

At the very edge of the district were a dozen wooden poles with a human skull mounted on top of each. The guide took out the pistol, but if anyone was there, they didn’t show themselves.

Eventually, the thief and the guide came to a long suspension bridge covered in snow. The lights on top of the support towers shone, but the near end of the bridge had been blown up sometime during the pandemic to keep anyone from crossing. The thief’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the dead end. The guide pointed out over the dark water.

“See that black hump on the hill on other side of the bridge? That’s the Turk’s bunker.

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