37. George – Thirst

George Travers started a new day holding a dead woman’s head.

From their pallets between piles of splintered furniture, the heads of the living rose to search out the newest fuss interrupting their shuteye. In the time it took to nab forty winks and ten, the number of survivors had decreased by one, and their gazes burned as George avoided the eyes both around him and between his fingers.

“What’s going on now?”

“Hey, what are you doing to her?”

“Is it that Benet bitch again?”

They homed in on the scene, on George who cradled their most hated member. His father and his best friend stood by, framing the tableau, until Zeke fell on limp knees with all color drained from his face.

“No, you can’t!” he said, voice cracking. “You can’t take her from me. You’re not taking her from me!”

He lunged, tearing her body from George’s hands and tripped, barrelling into his son. Holden netted them with outstretched arms before they took a dive over the edge. George steadied himself, gearing to chew his old man out, but Zeke was tangled in Cynthia’s limbs, fighting to tame the shakes and blurred vision and Cynthia’s sheer bulk.

George trailed off mid-yell and took a deep breath, then lowered himself next to his dad and guided his hand through Cynthia’s hair instead, to cradle her as both men fought to dial back their heartbeats. Zeke wheezed, a rattle that descended into hiccups as he cursed out the room.

“She wouldn’t have taken this crap. We had a new life waiting for us. She said we had new start!”

He rocked on the spot with her head against his chest, releasing torn candy wrappers from the folds of her dress. Mints, jellybeans, chocolates, even taffy, the evidence of her stash was revealed. Murmurs and judgement and cries of “She got what she deserved” hissed through the crowd

Zeke shook harder, and turned on the crowd with a snot-filled roar.

… that died when he saw Jamie.

 The child’s expression melted into an understanding only grown-ups knew. He called out her name and fought Wendy’s clutches, and shoved his way to Cynthia’s body.

“Miss Benet?” he said, shaking her. “Miss Benet, wake up. It’s time to wake up.”

Zeke wrapped his arm around the kid. “I’m so sorry, lad. She’s gone.”

Jamie shook her harder. “No, she’s not. She’s just asleep. Wake up, Miss Benet! Wake up.”

“Jamie…”

“Please wake up?”

Zeke drew in the boy and woman, a final hug as an almost-family. Cynthia’s naysayers left them to it, edging away from the scene.

“Dealing with a death that hasn’t flown skyward,” Cheppard’s voice cut in. “Or mourning from her loved ones, isn’t something you get a lot of practice dealing with so soon after waking.”

“Dad.” Rhea hissed. “Not now.”

He dismissed her with a wave. “Especially when that someone might have been an enemy, someone stirring trouble. However, Cynthia Benet was also a friendly face, the woman who took in a lost child. Perhaps she swallowed Repose by accident while binging on her horded food—”

Zeke jumped to his feet and shoved Cheppard into the wall. “If you and your fascists hadn’t made a criminal out of her, kept her from having a decent meal with the rest of us, she wouldn’t have been so out of it to eat this shit.”

Cheppard calmly lifted Zeke’s arm from his throat and grasped his arms. “Or, perhaps, unable to see which wrapper was which in the dark, she ate them all on purpose. To atone. Perhaps this was her act of repentance. And we forgive her.”

“You sanctimonious asswipe.”

“Cynthia was kind. The end of the world might have eked out her inner desperation, but,” he lowered Zeke’s hands and took center stage of the room. “Let’s remember the kindly old lady who came to church every Sunday and took to caring for even the most inebriated of souls.”

His flock circled Zeke and Jamie and as one, they lifted Cynthia’s body from his lap and bore her to the ladder.

“What are you doing?” Zeke said.

Cheppard held him back. “Don’t make this any more difficult for the boy.”

Cynthia’s pallbearers took her to the ladder, six people and Cynthia’s unslight body marched on its flexing frame. They lay her flat and waited for Cheppard’s signal.

George and Holden ran to the scaffold

“Guys.” Holden said, holding back the suspension cables. “It’s not designed for all that weight.”

Cynthia’s pallbearers knelt, and with a nod from the Cheppard, rolled her over the edge.

Her body spun in a slow fall, faster than Holden’s family, at an angle. She corkscrewed through the air, under the restaurant and hit the clouds, carving a path through to the golden light of the sun.

“Miss Benet is going to be an angel.” Cheppard said. He placed his marble down and watched it roll into Jamie’s hand. “See? It’s the same direction. Twice as fast, just like she was.”

He led a minute more of the silence already covering the room, reflecting on Cynthia’s life and choices. George helped her pallbearers off the scaffold and checked for damages while Holden re-tied the suspension lines. When they were done, George pulled Holden to the side.

“Are we expected to believe Cynthia topped herself after he outed her?” he said. “Like that gang he lectured the night before? Call me crazy but isn’t that a little suspect?”

“As the man himself keeps saying, three’s a pattern.” Holden said. “We can’t afford to tear ourselves apart unless we have proof.”

“What if this is the third. What if your family was the first to go?”

Holden’s eyes narrowed. “He wouldn’t?”

“He’s been trying to get us to jump to our deaths since all this started, and then when he starts playing nice we get two weird sets of deaths in as many nights?”

Holden set his teeth into a grim line. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

George set his jaw in the same expression. “I think the padre’s gone from trying to convince us to take his leap of faith to taking matters into his own hands.”

A boom of thunder marked the end of the wake, followed by a split in the earth. A thousand fissures exploded into lava falls around the island, inciting screams and scrambled retreats to stable corners. As everyone gathered at the entrance to identify the newest threat, Holden and George stood on the edge and kept their eye on the oldest.

“Let’s haul that ladder in before it’s covered in magma.” Holden said.

They unhooked the support lines and dragged the scaffold in.

“I think it’s lava when it’s above ground.” George said.

“It’s still technically under it.”

Inside, the ladder split the restaurant down the middle. Holden hollered for his crew to help and got a “Let us wake up first.” in response. Holden didn’t wait and dragged it with George, through the kitchen, out the back. The chasm was a short distance and the ladder protruded halfway into the next window without the need of suspension cables.

“If only every crossing was that easy.” George said.

Holden stomped back to the caffeine-deprived survivors and called for attention.

“Next building’s open.” He said. “If you’ll all kindly depart this one, I believe a change of scenery is in order. And also, try to keep the dying to a minimum from here on out.”

Everyone packed their pads and blankets and made their way to the crossing. George regulated the traffic, one person at a time. The only exception he made was for Jamie. Rhea held his hand. Zeke queued next, holding the cat box. Once across, they took Jamie to a quiet backroom, away from the noise of work and overwhelming condolences. He slumped on the back of a bookshelf.

“Did she kill herself because everyone said she was a bad?” he said. “I could have told them she wasn’t.”

“Darling, of course not.” Rhea said, righting a couch in the corner. She just made a mistake in the dark. It’s nobody’s fault. We haven’t eaten properly in days so none of us are thinking straight.”

“Is that why she did it? Not thinking straight?”

“A tired mind in a room to dark to see in. That’s all.”

Zeke stumbled in on them, squeezing over the lintel with the box compressed into his stomach.

“Hey,” He said. “One of your cats, uh, Fido? He’s not in here with you, is he?”

“No.”

“Balls. I have to go back and look for him.”

He handed Jamie the box and left, leaving a single kitten calling for its missing twin.

“This is Fido.” James said. “The other one’s Rover.”

“Well, you can’t blame Zeke.” Rhea said. “His eyes are always fuzzy.”

Jamie put the box down, ignoring the mewling within. “Yeah, can’t blame Mr. Zeke. He’s drunk and doesn’t know what he’s doing. And I can’t blame Miss Benet because for tricking all of you because it was to keep us both fed. My parents aren’t to blame, either. They did what they could to save me.” He sat down at the end of the couch. “So that just leaves me. Even Rover’s running away. I don’t look after them properly. Like I didn’t stand up for Miss Benet.”

Rhea took a seat on the opposite side. “Well, you can’t take the blame, either. You haven’t finished growing up yet.”

“Then maybe I should. You all think I’m just a kid. Maybe if I was all grown up you’d be okay telling me it’s all my fault. George and his dad do that to each other all the time.”

He buried his head in his knees and Rhea shifted over. She held him, wiping his tears away. When more replaced what she’d removed, he grabbed her t-shirt and rubbed his face into the fabric.

“Hey, if you need something to cry into I’ll get you something cleaner.” “My tears sting.”

His eyes were red and raw, arteries contrasted against their yellowed whites. The smears on her dress were yellow as well.

“Ah, right. We’re dehydrated. Let’s see if we can find you some water.” She led him to the door. “Your cat’ll be fine in here on its own, right?”

Fido snored between the cardboard walls, curled up with a paw across his face.

“He’ll be fine. As long as we don’t forget to collect him.”

“That’s my boy.”

She closed the door as quietly as she could and took Jamie to search for water. Other survivors had reached the same idea, tossing debris and furniture, anything they could lay hands on, out the windows. Although the point of the task had been disproved, it made a therapeutic distraction. The only food found, however, amounted to a bag of peanuts mixed with toenail clippings and a bowl of fruit that had seen better days.

Rhea selected the least wrinkled and tossed it over. “Here, see if you can suck the juice from that and we’ll see if Zeke knows if there’s something more substantial. If anyone knows where a drink can be found, it’ll be him.”

They followed the bangs and calls of construction work, where Zeke had made a nest of discarded clothes in a corner. He flinched behind his suitcase when he noticed Jamie, and closed it.

“I’m sorry lad.” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I can’t be a dad for you right now.”

“It’s OK, Mr. Travers.” Rhea said. “You take your time and reset. But have you got anything to drink?”

Zeke spun the case and popped it open. “Not anything that will help you lass, and I doubt I’ll be much help finding anything that will.”

They left Zeke to stew in his slump, and Rhea took Jamie to see George, who was teaching Laura how to disconnect sections of the ladder. He guided her hands along the shaft of metal from behind.

“There you go,” he said. “Give it a firm grip and slide it in.”

Laura giggled “Been a while since a guy bent me over and said that.”

George cocked her a smile and the smile got a cocked head from Jamie. What it got from Rhea was a scowl.

“Ahem?” She said, clearing her throat.

George looked up. “Hey, who’s this? It’s my favorite wife.”

“Am I?”

A rumble deep above them shook the room. They froze until it passed, breaths held and conversation ceased. The tremors died down in seconds. It took longer for everyone to breathe easily again. A quick check of the area showed nothing had been broken.

George left the pole in Laura’s hand. “Okay, back to work. You know what to do. I’ll check on it later.”

He left Laura to finish up with Cazz, and jumped down to hold Rhea’s hand.

“You know you’ll always be my number two gal, don’t you?”

“Sometimes I wonder. Wait, number two?”

“So, you guys come to volunteer?”

“Actually, Mr. George,” Jamie said. “We were wondering if you had anything to drink. I feel sick.”

George pinched the skin between Jamie’s thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, you’re getting a little punish. Hey, Holden you got anything to drink?”

“No.” Holden said from across the room. “Stop asking.”

“Anyone got anything to drink?”

“Ask your dad.”

“Anything non alcoholic.”

“I peed in a bottle?”

“Sorry kid.” George said. “Looks like we’ll have to struggle a little while longer. Next block’s the prison, so I’m sure they have something stashed away for emergencies.”

“Prison?” Jamie said. “Why are we going to prison?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not really a prison. It’s not even minimum security. Junior Rehab worked out of there. They’re the ones who taught us how to do this.”

He patted the ladder. Rhea arched an eyebrow.

“It was my dad who gave you that chance.”

“Then maybe you should remind him this is just as much his project as ours. And while you’re at it, he should be giving these girls the same chance we got.”

Behind him, Cazz and Laura giggled as they inserted another iron pole into the end of the slightly larger steel one. “Hard workers, are they?” Rhea said. “Good assets?”

“Yeah, actually, though they do need supervision. So if you’ll excuse me, that’s something I have to get back to doing.”

“Yeah, you keep your eyes on their assets.”

George paused mid-step and rolled his head back. “If you want to say something, just say it.”

Rhea’s head rolled down. “I want to know if we’re okay. We had a good time last night, but then you took off.”

“I didn’t take off, I went to build a bridge to save your life. Oh, and in doing that, did you see what happened when I woke up this morning? Less than a minute into my day, I was holding a dead woman by the head. Then I got kicked by my own dad. And then whenever we take a step forward, something goes wrong and the only time you even showed the remotest interest in me between all that was when you thought we weren’t going to make it. So really feeling the love and support and all that faith in me, love.”

“George, please don’t.”

“Don’t what? I risked everything to get to you and I’m risking everything again to keep you alive, and despite that, the happiest you’ve been was when you thought I failed. So you tell me if everything’s perfectly fine, okay? Okay. Kid, I’ll save you a drink if I find one.”

He left Rhea and Jamie standing in a bubble of embarrassed silence and went back to tinker with his ladder. The dark frown through his face disappeared under a professional smile when he returned.

“Girls,” he said to Laura and Cazz. ”Slide that in there, hard, that’s right. Now twist this nut. You girls are really coming together on this. Top of the class.”

“Maybe give us a private lesson sometime.”

Rhea fumed and stomped off in disgust.

“I’d love to,” George said. “But we have to get to that mountain in a week and we’re barely across a third of the island. And that’s if someone homicidal ambitions even allow us to get there at all.”

“What?”

“George!” Holding said, locking a finger to his lips. “We don’t need panic in the ranks. Just keep an open eye on what we discussed.”

George zipped his lips and took the section of dismantled ladder out through the next section of the block. Holden’s crew had dug through its walls, finishing up a residential. From the side entrance, George took in the measure of the street. As promised, across it, taking up a whole city block, stood the S-3-C. Shipyard City Correctional Center.

Its exterior had been designed to keep code with the rest of the city, a pair of triangular skyscrapers, brutalist monstrosities with slit windows too thin for anything but a hand to slip through. They sat either end of the road, connected only by a three story, ground level long house.

“Hey look,” George said. “I can see my old cell from here.”

“Oh, please. Don’t make out you’re so hard.” Holden said. “You spent six months on the Juvie side.”

“Actually, one night I got moved to the grown up side. I’m a badass.”

“Really?” Cazz said. “What did you do?” Cazz said.

“Nothing. The guy next door backed up his cistern and flooded all our cells. We got marched across to big house for a whole night.”

“That’s really not impressive.” Laura said.

“I had to go to jail to learn to be a criminal, y’know? I’m an inside man now. Couldn’t hack it on the outside anymore, boss.”

“You’re actually proud you spent a night in that?”

“It was the first accomplishment I ever had in my life.”

“But you didn’t accomplish it. The guy next door did. You got the penal equivalent of a participation trophy.”

“Whatever, I got more respect when I came back down the next day. Instead of one waffle for breakfast, I got one and a half.”

They took the fragments of ladder to the middle floor and reassembled it. George went up to the bottom of the building and lowered the mess of interwoven wires from a fire exit for Holden to tie. The others eased out each completed segment a bit at a time.

The road was as wide as Round the World Avenue, a regular main street despite being hidden from public paths. The lobby of the building looked just like any other. Without knowing what the building was for, visitors could never guess what lay within.

“Alrighty, love.” Holden said to Cazz. “Run back and let everyone know we’re ready for them.”

As Cazz ran back to fetch the others, Holden set out across the ladder. It flexed too much for his liking, and he hurried to tie the next two suspension lines from George.

“Never thought I’d see this place again,” he said. “Bet George didn’t think he would, either.”

As he secured the last line, a hydrant burst next door. Holden yelped and fell, leg slipping through the rungs. George called his name.

“I’m alright!” Holden said. “Stop being so dramatic.”

The hydrant loosened under the pressure inside and popped from the street like a cork. Instead of water or champagne, glowing, molten mud fizzed out.

Holden checked the last line and crawled away from the pouring heat. He didn’t look back until he was safety inside the prison. The lava or magma or whatever it was slowed to a trickle, out of reach from anyone crossing. Unless it spurted again. He shook the possibility from his head and focused on his task. The high ceilinged, hotel-like entryway led to a main gate, or what was once an ornate, lead-backed riot door. It was now a ramp to an open passage, hinges melted from the reinforced concrete. A net like structure of the building’s internal walls, reinforced rebar, doubly reinforced with wire netting, held what remained of the concrete that had seeped in from above, before above was below.

He crept along the narrow hallway, stepping over gated lintels, hoping what had been true for the rest of the city held true for this place. When he stepped into the correct cell, he broke the silence with a pantomime sigh of relief. The security glass, as well as most of the exterior walls, were indeed gone. Steel bars with netting crossed through scabs of stone, but no glass lay in front of him. The arrow slit windows had widened enough to poke his head out.

“George,” he called. “Catch.”

George waited at the foot of the bridge. The cables Holden dropped sailed past him. He grabbed the longest and dragged it back, securing it to the opposite side of the ladder. He repeated it with the second and third.

“All clear.” He said, and crossed to the prison.

One by one, the survivors in the door behind him followed. George kept them moving through the lobby, keeping the path clear until everyone was across. He let Cazz and Laura detach the suspension lines from the last building.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I’d like to welcome you to a very special place, one that holds many unfond memories in my heart. Welcome to Shipyard City Correctional.”

Cazz retraced her steps through the old building and detached the lines of the bridge. Laura held the other ends and carried them over to the prison side. Once Cazz re-emerged, Holden untied his cables for her to bring back and went to meet them in the lobby. Together with George and Eddie they hauled the ladder in for the next stage of their pilgrimage.

“Okay, folks, this place has a simple enough setup,” George said. “There’s a mess hall and rec area running from this tower to the next. All we have to do is drag the bridge down there. That’s it. So if I can have some more volunteers, please? Yep, you usual suspects, thank you very much.”

They hoisted the scaffold on their shoulders, trailing the cables behind. To make sure they didn’t have to navigate a drop in the mess hall, they took the third floor walkway, passing cells on the way.

“Wow,” George said. “You’d think for a prison, it’d take more than a casual stroll through to break into. Look at these doors. Half are hanging off. Who were they expecting to hold back with this crap?”

He was answered with a bang against the one door still intact. A buzzing sprung to life at the sound and from the darkness within, a bald head darted into the bars and screamed.

“People!” he said. “You’re people! Real people.”

Laura and Cazz screamed and dropped their end of the ladder. Eddie screamed when it fell on him.

“It’s OK, I won’t hurt you. I’ve been trapped in here for days. Covered in flies! What’s going on?” the bald head said. From the gloom, his emaciated body limped into the light. “Who are you people?”

“Survivors.” Holden said.

“Listen buddy, you gotta let me out here. Please, there’s flies all over this room and I’m so hungry.”

The darkness behind him continued to buzz and shift. The shadows were a swarm.

“Eww, you stink.” Cass said, with a pinch of her nose.

“The toilet’s upside down. I was using it when, well, I fell to the roof.”

“Your breath stinks too.”

“Yeah, well I had to eat what I could.”

“From the toilet?”

 Holden peered into the cell. “Misses Cazz and Laura. If you’d be so kind as to pick up the bridge.”

The girls fumbled to retake the weight from Eddie’s shoulders.

“Are we going to help him?”

“No, we’re not.”

The prisoner hit the bars. “Oh come on, boss. You gotta let me out. You have to let me out!”

“Stay away from his cell.” Holden said.

George peered into the dark and dank. “Why?”

Something smelled off. Badly off. George’s face paled when his eyes found it. At the edge of the light was an arm. Congealed blood and a thousand maggots pooled around it.

“Holy crappo, there’s a dead guy behind you.”

“My cell mate.” The prisoner said. “He died when everything turned upside down. The bed fell on him. I didn’t kill him.”

“I believe you.” Holden said. “But those chew marks didn’t come from the flies.”

Eddie and the girls leaned forward.

“Oh, God,” Cazz said. “Those are teeth marks.”

“You’ve been eating him?”

The prisoner’s eyes shot wide. “I told you there was nothing to eat. Nothing! You have to understand, I’m so hungry. I’m so fucking hungry.”

“You ate him!”

“Not all of him.”

“Oh, you mean there’s actually some of him left?”

The prisoner’s brow creased. “Why did you want some?”

“No, I don’t want some!”

Holden pulled George back. “Don’t talk to him. Don’t even make eye contact with him. Let’s just go.”

He took a step forward and an arm shot out and snagged Holden’s sleeve and pulled him close for the second hand to grab his hair. The first arm snaked around Holden’s neck and crushed him to the bars. The prisoner shrieked at George.

“Get. Me. Out. Of. Here. Right. Now.” He said. “Go get a key, or your boyfriend here’s a dead man, got it?”

George put his side of the ladder down and raised his palms.

“Sure, buddy. Anything you say.”

As he backed off and Holden gasped and flailed, Eddie reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter and lit the prisoner’s elbow.

His scream echoed through the building and bounced back several blocks.

Holden stepped out of reach and adjusted his collar. He clapped his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and retook his place at the front.

“Don’t talk to him, don’t even make eye contact with him. Let’s just go.”

Eddie and the girls joined George’s distance from the cell and followed Holden down the hall. Inside the cell, the prisoner’s groans grew from pained whimper to a guttural howl.

“You can’t leave me in here.” He said. “He keeps looking at me. His eyes are gone but he keeps looking at me. For the love of God you can’t leave me in here!”

They did just that and hurried to their next stop. The Long House connected the two towers. The upper floor was a mess hall, the ground a lounge of sorts. It held two pool tables and a TV area, and access to exercise yards on either side. That was the extent of George’s memory, familiar with the layout, albeit at a far different angle.

Keeping his head down had never been a habit, yet he took each step slow, keeping his eyes peeled for cracks underfoot and away from the bodies glued to the floor above. Repose wrappers littering the ceiling were enough.

He ignored his old cell when they passed as well. While the hallway was indistinguishable from its former glory in the shadows, the cozy, orange carpeted cabins were scorched with dissolved walls. George didn’t need his memories getting twisted. Holden marched them past it, to the side exit.

Alrighty, troops.” Holden said. “Let’s get this bird back in the sky.”

“Hang on,” George said. “None of us are going home so let me take a participation prize.”

He went back to the Long House, running fingers on every surface. Still ignoring what lay above, he approached the one place in the facility he had never been privy to seeing. The guard room once sat above the rest of the chamber. It was now on the level with George. He clambered in through a window, finally able to access the other side. Whatever he imagined its interior to be, a coffee-ringed table and a nineties PC wasn’t it. The rumored arsenal of riot gear and torture devices were disappointingly absent. Only one point of interest lay in the back, a segmented track of photographs, a lineup of prison staff. At the very bottop, smirking from his upside-down frame, was Prison Pastor, Joseph “Jo Shepherd” Cheppard. Next to his picture was the bewildered smile of Wellness Counselor, Rhea Cheppard, whose own frame held a post-it.

“Voted hottest woman on staff.” George read. He took her picture and the note. “She would be. She was the only woman on it.”

A scramble outside heralded company. Holden stuck his leg through the window and ducked under with the grace of an old man’s creaking knees and a wince as he stood.

“Y’know,” he said. “I’m not exactly unfit, so why is everything so hard lately?”

“Because we’re tired,” George said. “Dehydrated, malnourished, the air’s low on oxygen, we’re all perpetually scared and stressed, and possibly suffering from some background form of vertigo.”

“Ah, so I’m still perfect. It’s everything else that’s wrong.”

A new rumble in the Earth above shifted the room. The frame of the staff’s gallery collapsed. Holden fished out the Cheppard’s portrait and unfolded the back. The pastor’s photo was a newspaper cutting.

“So the Cheppard really was one of the cons ‘round here.” Holden said, he dangled the page in George’s face. “Dirty boxer finds God behind bars.” Exactly what is it God keeps doing wrong if he meets half his fans in prison? “If I can turn my life around, so can you” says Joe Cheppard. Huh. Guess that’s why he’s obsessed with the idea.”

George stroked the photograph of Rhea’s face and slipped it into his back pocket. “I’m done here.”

They traipsed back to the trio on the other side of the tower. Cazz and Laura were leaning out, scrutinizing the glowing cracks in the streets. Nothing leaked, but steam or some other unidentifiable gas hissed where they intersected, filling the air with the rotten egg stench of broiling sewage.

“This place is starting to feel like a volcano,” Holden said. “And I’m starting to get real thirsty.”

“Eddie?” George said. “Head back and give everyone a mission. See if they can find something to drink. And make sure that little kid gets first dibs.”

Eddie left to deliver the message, going back the way they’d come. As he passed the prisoner’s cell, a hand stretched out and waved.

“Hey, your name’s Eddie, right?”

“How’d you know?” Eddie said.

“Well, I got these magic skin flaps on the side of my head called ears.” he said, flicking them. “That shirt you wear, that’s Hawaiian, right?”

Eddie felt at the tatters he wore. “What’s it to you?”

“’cos if your name’s Eddie and you have a penchant for Hawaiian shirts, my cell buddy had friend called Eddie who was supposed to drive down and collect him. A good friend who lives in Hawaiian shirts and thinks he’s all that with the ladies. Ring any bells?”

Eddie took a step back and a vocal gulp. “That could be any Eddie in a shirt.”

“Eddie… Hart? Eddie Hart who lives in an RV? ‘cos from the look of you, you ain’t from around here. Your whole ensemble screams tourist.”

“What buddy?”

The prisoner held up a ring. “I tell you what. You find me a way outta here. I’ll tell you all you wanna know.”

Eddie almost reached for it, the familiar copper band, shined to look like gold. His hand stopped when he saw the blood, and a harder look at the hand in the cell and Eddie saw the pale band around the finger that had worn it.

“Jake?” Eddie said. “You ate Jake.”

The prisoner tossed him the ring. “Like I said, I didn’t kill him, but if you want to know what he said about you. Find me a key.”

Eddie backed away. “You stay away from me.” He said. “You stayed the fuck away from me! You rot in there.”

He ran to the first building and crashed into the waiting crowd, bent over, hands on knees and drew in as much breath as he could. He took hard, controlled breaths, measured until he threw up. He panted, wordless, until a kind hand dabbed his chin with a cloth.

“Hey, Eddie. What’s the matter?” Rhea said.

Eddie hacked into the cloth. “Gyargh, I just saw a friend of mine, uh, he’s dead. He’s dead.”

“Oh, Eddie…” Rhea said, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Come to the side. Get your breath back.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. You guys can head down there now. There’s more space and some tables and chairs if you put them the right way up. Some bunks still intact in the cells. I’ll catch you up. There’s a prisoner in one of this side’s cells. Don’t talk to him or acknowledge him even. Oh God, he ate Jake.”

Zeke pulled Jamie in protectively. A murmur of disgust made of rounds across the room.”

“He what? Oh, that’s nasty.”

“I couldn’t do that. Could you?”

“Tell me about it. You don’t know where a person’s been.”

Cheppard calmed the group. “Young man, is it safe for us to go through?”

“Just don’t talk to the guy,” Eddie said. “Don’t look at him or anything. And don’t let the kid see what’s in there.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.” Jamie said. He broke free of Zeke’s hug and skulked to the passageway. Zeke hurried after him, dragging his suitcase, then as an afterthought, opened it and handed a large vodka to Eddie.

“Here, lad. Something tells me you’ll be wanting this.”

The survivors followed him, doing their best to ignore the ranting prisoner and certainly not looking into his cell. Eddie heard the cries of disgust and glugged a mouthful from the bottle.

“I’m going to go find Jake’s file.” Eddie said. “He was an addict, not a criminal. I don’t want anything lying around saying he was.”

“I’ll take you.” Rhea said. “I know where they’re kept.”

She drew him to his feet and nodded in the direction of the records room. He handed her the bottle and she almost declined, then thought better and took a sip as she led him through Administration.

Eddie followed her. “How do you know?”

“I used to work here.” She said, wincing as the alcohol burned her throat. “Well, dad did. Better to say I got work experience here.”

“No kidding?”

She took another swig and gave him back the bottle.

“Yeah, first time I met George. He was in one of the cells up here. This is where the real criminals go. He likes to pretend he’s hardcore, but he was only in for a night when juvie got flooded.”

“What exactly did you do here? This is a men’s prison, right? Didn’t that creep you out?”

Rhea blinked at the bottle. “My dad was the pastor here. Then he got involved in the JRC, interviewing potential candidates for their rehab scheme. I don’t think having this booze is a good idea. We haven’t eaten properly or drunk water in days.”

He shrugged and swigged again. “What’s a jayarcee?”

“Juvenile Rehabilitation Committee. Juvie hall is where the city likes to catch everyone before they develop into full blown criminals. They get offers to train for jobs.”

“Oh, I heard about that. From Jake, actually. I wish more cities did that.”

“Yeah, well. We had the funding. The Kinsley Foundation paid for everything. My training, my dad’s training. When they heard he was educating young adults in certain trades they couldn’t throw money at him fast enough.”

“And what about you? What’s your role in all this?”

Rhea stopped in front of a loose hanging door and took the bottle from Eddie without asking. “Shipyard City wasn’t always a nice place, Eddie. When the Foundation outbid the mob for the island, there was a lot of resistance. My mom was a cop. She got a posthumous purple heart and I got sent to a grief counselor. He was so bad at his job I knew I could do it better, so when I grew up, I did just that. My dad didn’t take it so well. Maybe his records don’t belong in here, either.”

She kicked in the door to the records room. The weakened frame splintered and the door flew off its hinges. She gestured at the stacks of papers littering the floor.

“Sounds like your boyfriend.” Eddie said.

She took another gulp. “Yeah. Amazing that. I did everything I could to convince him his outlook was wrong. If he kept seeing the world a certain way, he’d just keep ending up back in here ”

“Did it work?”

“I made some headway. Heheheh. It worked when I gave him head.”

“Wow. That’s either real commitment to your job or a major malpractice no-no.”

“Look, buddy,” she said, swishing the bottle. “When it comes to it, there’s two forms of nihilism. Holden’s and George’s. George’s was just laziness in disguise. Y’know?”

“You mean, if nothing matters, why bother trying anything? Just get comfortable.”

“Exactly. Holden, on the other hand, was great at doing what I couldn’t, and I don’t think he ever had to suck anyone’s dick to get there. He met George halfway. He sees it as nothing has any inherent value or purpose, so in effect, you’re free to choose yours. Funny, ‘cos his words affected me more than the guy I was trying to convince, an’ I was so determined to get George to see how I saw the world, I broke every professional boundary there was.”

Eddie squeezed her hand and gave her an apologetic nod. They looked at the papers. The mess was, well, a mess. He crouched and flipped through a handful of pages before lifting one out.

“Speak of the devil.” He said, and flipped open the file. “George Travers, destruction of private property, destruction of city property. Aggravated assault, refusal to pay court-ordered medical fees to replace some guy’s teeth. Aggravated assault again, broke someone’s arm and leg, evaded arrest but was caught in someone’s garden when he used their composting can as a toilet. Additional fine for wiping his ass with the clothes they had drying on a line. You’re boyfriend’s real classy.”

“Ha! I bet he was drunk.” Rhea said, raising the bottle overhead. She swayed on her feet. “So undignified. Just like his dad.”

She took one more large gulp and dropped the bottle onto Eddie’s lap.

He saluted her with it. “Y’know, I’m never gonna find Jake’s file in this. So how about plan B?”

He gulped down his own last mouthful and poured the dregs of the vodka across the papers, took out his lighter and lit George’s file in Rhea’s hand. She yelped and threw it into the room. The walls were pocketed with holes, enough to turn the room into a fire pit. The flames spread slowly yet evenly across the mess, and within minutes the floor was a steady inferno. With nothing worth salvaging, they left it to burn and staggered back the way they came, hand in hand, back to the empty lobby.

As soon as they fell in through the door, giggling at their accomplishment, a shadow darted past, followed by a low pitched yowl mourning from the shadows. It echoed in the empty chamber, mesmerizing them until a black shape slithered through Rhea’s ankles.

She screamed and jumped into Eddie’s arms, or as close as an alcohol fueled leap in low gravity could be made on the unprepared man. She clung to his head instead.

“What is it?” she squealed, burying her face in his hair.

“I think it’s a cat.” Eddie said. “One of that kids’ kittens.”

Rhea peered through his strands. “Rover! You scared the crappo outta me, you little fleabag.”

The cat meowed and Rhea clambered off of Eddie.

“Sorry.” She said. “I didn’t mean to bounce on you. Jump you. I meant jump on you. Sorry.”

Eddie helped her down and scratched the back of his head. “I better get back to the others. Building bridges, right? With George?”

“Yeah. I should get Rover back to Jamie. But can I ask you something? Does George seem different to you? He seeks less, y’know, George.”

Eddie shrugged. “I’m not exactly a friend of his. We only met like three or six days ago.”

“But you work with him. You’re both building our escape path.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Rhea scooped up the cat rubbing her feet. “I keep asking. Outright, hinting. Normally I’d wrangle it out of him but let’s face it, none of us are exactly primed for thinking at the mo, are we? And that’s just making him more difficult to talk to. It’s hard trying to maintain a relationship with a brick wall, even if it is keeping us alive.”

Eddie’s arm snaked round her waist. “Well, if you need someone to rant to, come find me. You’re not the only one his mood’s affecting. We all have to stand around while he takes off to explore guard sheds or whatever he sees.”

“What should I do?”

Eddie rubbed Rover behind the ears. “I think we stop moping and get this little guy fed. Come on.”

Rhea scratched behind his other ear. “Oh, cat-cat. You are a funny little creature. Okay, let’s get you back to your daddy “

When they passed the prisoner on their way back, Eddie marched up to his cell and rang on the bars. A hacking cough answered through the swarm of flies. A closer look revealed the swarm was partly smoke from above and the flicker of their fire burned to one side over the cell. It almost illuminated the horror within, but the glimpse was enough. Jake’s body lay in the back, almost skeletal, wet and rank. The prisoner had cocooned himself in two blankets, squat on a mattress and rocking on the spot. Rhea almost threw up. Rover wailed. Eddie grimaced.

“Huh. Looks like the records room used to be right under you. Maybe that’s karma at work.” He said, and kissed two fingers in salute to his fallen friend. “You were the best wingman a guy could ever have, Jake. But you rest in peace now, you hear? After today, I fly solo.”

The prisoner’s head reared from under his covers. He spluttered his hoarse request through phlegm and smoke inhalation.

“Please. Please let me out. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t hurt nobody. You gotta believe me. He was already dead.”

Rhea fell back on her ass, dropping the cat. It hissed and scampered away to the nearest hidey hole

“Dammit, we just found that cat ” she hissed herself. “And you didn’t hurt anybody? Then why you in here?”

His head dropped. “I didn’t hurt nobody you know.”

“You ate my best friend.” Eddie said. He steadied his swaying legs against the bars. “But you know what? He was a fry cook. I think he’d be happy he got to serve you your last meal.”

The prisoner slithered off the mattress to the floor. “Please… I can’t breathe… to stay… awake…”

The overhead room crackled and soot drained across Jake’s body. Rhea took Eddie’s hand as the smoke grew denser and pulled him away from the bars. They stayed until the fumes threatened to poison them and ducked away with the cat in hand. The prisoner didn’t move after that.

They leaned on each other back through the Long House. Before re-entering, Eddie stopped Rhea and held himself up with his hands on her shoulders.

“Thanks for back there.” He said. “I needed that. Someone to, y’know, just be there. Hold my hand.”

Rhea cupped his cheek. “Is okay. If you need me, I’m there for you.”

She smiled and swayed at his blurry face and got a blurred, swaying smile in return. He stared at her eyes and she stared into his, both leaning on each other, faces closing in.

“Eddie!” a younger girl said. “What are you doing out here? Oh, I see. Am I interrupting something?”

Rhea’s head fell on the girl’s shoulder. “Shhh. People will think there’s something going on.”

Eddie’s head fell on her other shoulder. “You definitely interrupted something going on. A moment. We were having.”

The girl pushed them both off. “Aww, god. You’re smashed! I can smell it on you. What’s that other smell?”

“The vodka or the burning paper?”

“Or the burning people.”

The girl lifted Eddie’s arm around her shoulder. “C’mon you, I need you sober. Or at least able to perform.”

She helped Eddie stagger away to a stairwell. He waved back at Rhea who waved back from her knees.

“Another time, Rhea.” he said. “Yandi, stop dragging me.”

Rhea rolled backwards and heard a sharp meow from back behind them.

“Hey, cat-cat.” Rhea said. “You’re daddy and your brother are somewhere in the next room. I’m not sending the kid into the smoke to fetch you.”

She huffed as another meow echoed louder, and didn’t mention the sight she didn’t want Jamie to see.

“Rhea?” Holden said from a nearby cell. “That you? What are you doing?”

“I’m holding onto this light as hard as I can.”

“Why?”

Because the world’s spinning and if I let go, I’ll fall onto the floor.”

“The floor above you?”

“Can you get George, I need to see him.”

Holden stood over her. “He’s busy with the ladder. It’s a little short. You sure you’re okay?”

“Was George looking for me while I was gone?”

“No. To be honest, we didn’t even notice you’d gone. We only saw you about a half hour ago.”

“I was with Eddie. I was giving him comfort. Very close comfort I think. George should know about that.”

“I just saw Eddie leave with that eastern European girl. She looked like she was about to give him a different kind of comfort.”

Rhea covered her face again and groaned. “Holden, you’re a man, right?”

Je shrugged. “Sure. It’d explain the penis.”

“Is it some innate instinct men have to ditch their girlfriends for younger models?”

“Not at all. When I was fifteen, I dumped my first girlfriend for the chance to lie about my age to a women nine years older than me. Almost worked until she noticed my stubble was penned on with a permanent marker.”

“I shouldn’t be having moments with Eddie, but then little miss Old World comes along with her perky tits and big, naïve eyes and he goes running off with her with barely a wave back.”

Holden eased down beside her. “What kind of moment?”

“The kind you get when you’re drinking on an empty stomach after your boyfriend and his best friend think it’s okay to flirt with a pair of doe eyed stoner chicks and ignore the other women in their lives.”

She sat up and pointed at Laura and Cazz. The two girls happily flirted with George.

“See?” Rhea said. “You guys are all pigs. Well I’m not gonna stand for it. Help me up.”

He helped her up. “Okay, well before I head back to my mud sty for a snooze, this little piggy’s going to offer you some advice. Maybe try helping your boyfriend out instead of ragging on the girls who are.”

She left Holden to crash and watched how the girls assembled the ladder. They slid the old iron poles into the newer steel ones and laid them flat down the corridor of the cell block. When they went to get more, she stepped between the rungs and examined the structure. The pieces fit slid into each other before needing to be clamped closed. Spread out as it was, it would take George and the girls a long time to walk its length while carrying their loads in the confines of the corridor, so she went to the end and pushed with her foot, sliding the pieces together.

“What are you doing?”

Rhea spun to find George at the end of the ladder, a pole in his hand until it clattered to his feet. She steadied herself from the spin by backing into a wall.

“You,” she said. “Do you know what I do for you? Do you have any idea what I’m doing when you’re off living your life?”

George crouched and examined the ladder. He pinched between his eyes. “Sweetie, what did you do?”

“I’m helping.”

“No, you’re not. We were trying to space these bars out to extend its length without sacrificing strength. It’s took us an hour to work out these ratios.”

“Well I’m sure you and your bimbos were working very hard.”

“Rhea, get off the scaffolding right now.”

She crouched next to him, then tipped sideways. “Why are you always shouting? I’m trying to be honest with you. I am choosing to be loyal, you stupid ape. I could have fucked anyone, but I wanted it to be you.”

“Are you drunk? Did my dad give you something?”

“You know, it was called a honeymoon because the father of the bride was supposed to give the new husband a month’s worth of honey mead. Except this time, it was the father of the groom who gave it. And also it wasn’t mead, it was vodka. And I drank it all in half an hour, but I had Eddie’s help, because, aww, poor Eddie. His friend died and got eaten. So we killed the prisoner.”

George shot to his feet. “What do you mean you killed the prisoner?”

“We lit a fire in the records room. I saw your file. You’re a violent old ape who broke a guy’s teeth. I had a dream where my teeth broke once, but then I grew shark teeth and ate the shark that broke my teeth. Anyway, the smoke killed him.”

“He died of smoke inhalation?”

“What? No, why would a shark die of smoke inhalation? It lives underwater. The prisoner died of smoke inhalation.”

George took both her hands in his. “Hun? I’m taking you to your dad. Gonna get him to look after you.”

“No, it’s okay. He had a last meal. The delivery boy gave it to him.”

“Come with me.”

“No, you can’t get rid of me! I’m not a discarding toy. I’m your wife, you pig. I’m misses George!”

“You’re a pain in the ass is what you are.” He said, and dragged her to her feet.

Before she could counter him, he flipped her over his shoulder and took her back to the mess hall.

“Let go of me! Let me down, you son of a bitch.”

He did exactly that, interrupting her stunned dad’s latest sermon and left to fix the damage she’d done. Conversations around the room ceased as all eyes turned to the raving Rhea.

“Fuck you!” she said, and tore off her ring.

She hurled it at George, or at least one of the Georges in her double vision. It sailed wide and disappeared down a hole in a wall. George didn’t acknowledge her and left, shaking his head.

“Darling?” her dad said. “Calm down. We’re all overheating. Why don’t you find a place to lie down and cool off? I wish there was something I could offer you to drink.”

“A drink?” she said. “Yeah, that sounds good.

She rummaged in Zeke’s suitcase for another bottle, ignoring the stink of the passed out drunk. Then, without another word, she left her dad and his flock.

“I meant water.” Her dad said behind her.

Jamie snapped the scene while Cheppard mumbled about weak spirits and rueful daughters. The skin around his mouth had cracked and he coughed dryly. Each breath was a wheeze and he was dizzy. Focusing on finding defining shots to take was his only distraction now Rover was no longer a worry. Through the lens of his camera, he watched Zeke fail to be the father he’d promised and the flock listening twice as hard while the pastor faltered in his speech. When he went to the window, the drone reappeared under the basketball court and they took a mutual picture of each other.

“Hey, who’s controlling this?” he asked the room.

Everybody awake glanced around at their neighbors but no-one admitted anything.

The drone dipped in the air and flew off in the direction they were heading.

Jamie followed it, staggering as much from a lack of drink as Rhea had been from her excess. He headed down the juvie hallway to where George and the girls, joined by a rested Holden and his crew, dangled cables through a gap in the rebar above. They’d lengthened the bridge as far as they could and the drone filmed their efforts as they extended the ladder across to the next block.

It flexed as it protruded from the prison doorway, falling further aside than previous uses. Holden’s crew heaved on the cable while George’s crew grunted and pushed.

“Any further and we lose the ladder.” Holden said. We don’t have enough cable to support it.”

“Just another three or four feet. A meter, even.” George said.

The ladder’s edge stretched within inches of an open plan office window, but fell short. When one of the cable hands lost their grip, the lurch of extra weight pulled it from everyone else’s, and the ladder nosedived skyward.

“Hold it!” George said.

Holden dove to grab the bar with George, strained to keep it from falling while the back end tipped up, lifting Cazz and Laura into the air.

“I got it,” Holden said. “Pull.”

The cables were retaken yet, the bottom poles slipped out. A section of ladder sunk away, lightening their load, allowing them to reel in the rest. It also shortened the ladder. They reeled what was left back in and collapsed in an exhausted heap. The drone tracked the falling pieces.

“Shit.” George said. “We just lost a quarter of our length.”

“Fuck you!” Holden said to the drone. He broke off some melted masonry to throw at it.

The drone flew away.

“That’s it, I’m done.” George said. He left the pile of bodies and screamed at the waiting survivors in the Long House. “The ladder’s broken, we’re all gonna die. Padre, cast your spell, we’ll take turns jumping to our deaths.”

Cheppard cast him an indignant sneer. “It’s a prayer, not a spell.”

“Potato, tomato. Where’s Rhea?”

“Your wife left with a large bottle of scotch, courtesy of your father. Others around us have also followed her example.”

Zeke was still slumped in the corner. His suitcase, however, lay in the middle of the room, practically empty. The only booze he had left lay under the few pungent clothes he’d packed with them. George pulled out a tall rum.

“And what a great example it is, so when in Rome, viva la Remus.” He unscrewed the cap and swallowed half the bottle in one go. “Hmm, coconut.”

He took the bottle and roamed the cellblock. Some rooms had been taken by survivors looking to rest on what few un-petrified mattresses remained. Near the bottop of the tower, he found a familiar face lying on one such bunk with the last of a spliff between her lips.

“Hey, err, Yandi, right?” he said. “You seen Rhea?”

Yandi finished a drag and nodded in the direction of the next cell. “She came in here drunk outta her gourd. Eddie took her to lie down.”

George thanked her and chugged the other half of the bottle, then plucked the last of her spliff for himself and replaced it in her hand with the last mouthful of rum, and left her wondering what had happened. A few feet down the hall, he heard Rhea and Eddie talking. They didn’t notice him approach.

“I can’t believe we did that.” Rhea said.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Rhea pushed him from the bed and pulled the blanket up across her chest. “What did you make me do?”

Eddie righted himself and stood in defiance. He was naked. “Hey, it took two of us to tango, babe. You weren’t moaning a minute ago when you were, well, moaning.”

“I need to sober up. Oh, god, what’s George gonna say when he finds out? Eddie, would you put that away?”

Eddie fumbled into his pants and tucked it under his waistband. “You’re gonna tell him? Are you nuts? Didn’t you see his file? He’ll kill us!”

“You got that right.”

George’s fist shot out from the dark into the base of Eddie’s skull. Eddie dropped to his knees, already unconscious before he collapsed.

“George?” Rhea recoiled, pulling the blanket tighter against her body.

George loomed in the doorway. Without a sound, he glared at her, ripped the blanket away to confirm she was in fact nude, and quaking, he bared his teeth, raised his foot and struck Eddie’s face. He stuck again. Temple. Shoulder. Back. Ribs.

“Him?” George said. “The guy who’s fucked half the girls in the team? The guy who fucked all the married women? You’re leaving me for him?”

Rhea threw the blanket at George and tried to push him off.

“I wasn’t leaving you.”

George kicked at the semiconscious Eddie again, repeating until they heard a crack. Rhea shouted “No!” in George’s face and dove to shield Eddie. George froze, arresting his momentum barely in time. Rhea’s face opened, eyes and mouth stretched to their widest at the sight of his boot barely an inch from her face.

“Rhea!” he said, and pulled her up. “What are you doing?”

Rhea shot him with an expression he’d never seen, pure contempt without the restraint of understanding, and shook off his hands with a roar of frustration. Her own hands were faster than George’s. He saw her hand fly, but the slap still felled him.

She towered over George, shivering, nursing her palm, then curled up next to Eddie. A trample of feet behind them heralded the arrival of Yandi, who shouted “Here!” and Holden dashed after her to take in the scene.

“George,” he said. “What did you do?”

George picked himself up. His wife lay naked on another man, protecting him. Yandi screamed Eddie’s name and shook him, eliciting a moan and a cough of blood. George retreated past Holden and ran.

“Watch them.” Holden said, and chased after his friend.

George jumped the understairs, tumbling down half the skyscraper and crashed back into the first floor hallway. Several heads cocked in from the Long House to see the latest fuss. What they saw was Holden crash in the same way and chase George to the far end, to the bright exit where George had run out of room to run.

“George?” Holden said. He slowed his pace and raised his palms. “Don’t do anything rash. Yandi said you drank a whole bottle. That’s gonna be affecting your decisions.”

“My head’s fine.” George said. “That’s the problem. Tell Rhea she was right to do what she did. Wrong to do it for who she did, but right to do it. Look after her for me.”

“I don’t like the way you’re talking, bud.”

George spread his arms out and locked onto Holden’s eye. “Then I’ll cut the speech short. Look after Wendy. I’ll haunt you if you don’t. Tell my dad he’s an ass. Tell the Cheppard to pray for me. The way my luck’s holding out, there’ll probably be an afterlife. Might as well get the holy man to nudge me into first class with his influence. Tell Rhea I’m sorry and she deserves better.”

With everything said, George Travers rolled back his head, took in one final view of the Earth above and tipped backwards out the door with a hop. Holden called his name and ran to catch him, but it was too far a distance in too short a time. In front of his friend and a horrified audience, with a buzzing drone recording it all, George Travers threw himself into the sky, to his death.

He felt a glorious release from his worries as he plunged skywards, his arms outstretched to pay for his guilt. Maybe Cheppard was right. Maybe all heaven is was release from that which held you down. Now at last he could fall, not from grace, but towards it, in a leap of hope, descending as long as it took.

Bang.

The fall lasted a full second before he hit a solid surface.

“Ow.”

“George, are alright?” Holden said.

“Holden? Did you follow me into hell?”

George opened his eyes. Holden ran into his line of sight, the drone filming him standing there, mouth agape.

“Did you build this?” Holden said.

George sat up. He was sitting a bridge, a fully completed bridge that seemed to be a reinforced version of their ladder. It even had wooden planks to lie on, solid, professionally built with the correct materials, albeit holding itself up only due to the strength afforded by reduced gravity.

Holden turned to the drone. “Did you built this?”

An indignant scoff from across the way answered him. “Did you seriously just thank some flying camera for our efforts?”

They recognized the voice, as well as the one that followed. George whirled and backed into Holden. It couldn’t be…

“Honestly,” the second voice said. “It’s like they just can’t say well done when you do good work.”

“If I were more sensitive, I’d probably throw a strop. But then boss man did say thanks, even if it was to the wrong guy.”

From the ground level across the chasm, one floor above the bridge, a face to match the first voice jumped onto it with a familiar flip, followed by his trademark Cheshire grin.

Al?” Holden said.

“It’s Alfredo.” Alfredo said. He opened his arms wide.

Another thump behind them spun Holden and George around.

“And, if you don’t mind,” the other voice said. “I’ve taken a liking to Bobert.”