Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever by Phoenix Sullivan (bill gates book recommendations TXT) 📗

of the river, in SunGear-clad groups of two or three, sometimes looking over at us, sometimes simply walking. It was hard to tell if they were guards, watching for any attempt to build a bridge, or just going about whatever business they had to do over there.

“They look inhuman in those masks,” said the old man.

“It is inhuman, what they’ve done.”

He shrugged. “It’s only what we’ve done to them for decades.”

I’d always thought those blank SunGear masks had no expression. But as I watched the Other Siders glancing over at us I suddenly thought they did. They looked smug. “Do you think they turned off the electricity?”

The old man shook his head. “I think they just saw a chance and took it. The electricity — I think that’s got more to do with the crack in the Vault.” I looked at him blankly. “Over on the east side. It’s been in the FloScreen news for months.”

“I don’t watch the news.”

“Ah. Well, the government swore there was no danger.”

“I hope they’re behind StayClosed.”

A smile split his pale cheeks. “I’m sure they are.”

“You seem to be well organized. Had you thought about building a bridge?”

He shrugged. “Too old, too weak. They’re waiting for us anyway. They’d have us tipped into the river before anything we built even touched the other side. Some strong young men like you, though…” He glanced over at Vin, in his distinctive fetal position, and frowned. “Beppies?”

I nodded. “Not long, now.” Phrocking Vin. I’d tried so hard for him and now he was going to die anyway.

The old man hesitated. “Might be able to help you.If we could still get some into him.”

“You’ve got Beppies?”

“Plenty where we are.”

“Could we … would you … please?”

He hesitated again. Then nodded. “Sun’s come up; it’s time we headed out anyway. Think you can carry him?”

Normally, no way. But today was no normal day.

I sprinted back to where Vin lay, and heaved him up into a sitting position. I bent down, throwing one of his arms over my shoulder and around my neck and stood up, half carrying him, half dragging him back to the group of Olds.

Vin groaned in pain. “Phrock,” he scraped out between clenched teeth. “Phrock. Don’t … want that … be my phrocking las’ … word.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be.” As long as it wasn’t far to go. For my sake as well as Vin’s.

The Olds were filling their last trolley, the line breaking up. They formed into small groups and walked away, through the buildings. The old man with the silver hair waited for us. With Vin hanging off my neck, my pace easily matched his slow steps as he led us along a few city blocks and down a narrow lane that opened up into a wide Geocrete courtyard. In the middle of the yard stood a wide building of only three stories. The building was ancient, built from flaking Fabbro, with six square windows on either side of the double front doors — regular doors. Third Illusory Veterans Home read a small Metallo plaque to one side of the doors.

Inside, the building was just as decrepit, with peeling yellow paint on the walls and ripped Plast-O-Lay on the floor. This was the honor that veterans won themselves. I wondered if Disposal wouldn’t be better.

Their medical room, though — that was a whole other matter. A white-walled room opposite the front door, it was lined with cupboards with clear doors, every one packed with medicines of all types. I dumped Vin on a long narrow bed near the door. He tried to groan, but all that came out was a puff of air.

“I’m Nondo Wild,” said the old man as he typed the code into an old-fashioned security panel: 123456. They sure trusted these veterans with their Pharma. He lifted down a small yellow bottle. “I think we’d best dissolve one of these. His throat muscles are probably half closed already.”

He dropped a Beppie into a glass of yellowish water he poured from one of many jugs that lined the counters. “We leave the water to settle and filter on its own.” I could see in one clear-sided jug how the sediment had settled into a dark brown solid layer at the bottom, blending upwards through shades of lighter brown, to the pale yellow at the top.

I sat on the edge of the bed, propping Vin up against me. I forced his mouth open and Nondo poured the liquid Beppie in, bit by bit. Vin’s face was frozen, but the muscles in his throat worked wildly, trying to get the stuff down. What he couldn’t manage to swallow spilled out of the sides of his mouth.

“Give him an hour or so, then get him up,” Nondo said. “That’ll get it moving around his body faster. When he starts to twitch, that’s the right time. When he’s ready to move, come and find me. Turn right into the corridor and then turn right again. I’ll be at the terrace — you can’t miss it. Ah — and this is for you.”

He handed me a little tube of Silveral burn healer. Once he was gone, I peeled off my Bluesuit and slathered it all over my body. I put it on the bits of Vin’s skin I could see — his face and neck. The rest of him would have to wait until later. I looked down at the Bluesuit, a pool of stained Plast-O-Fabron on the floor. I didn’t want to put it back on again. Not all of the cupboards had locks. I opened a couple, finding wipes and mats, and in one of them, a pile of loose Fabron pants. I put them on.

Alone, bare-chested and barefoot, I paced, with no idea of time, studying Vin, lying still on the bed. Drug-addicted, stupid krig that he was, he was all I had. I thought about the Beppies, about how much had spilled out the side of his mouth. I thought about the strength of Vin’s