Lucia froze. The blood drained from her face and her voice shook. “What do you mean they’ve got him?”
“They threw him in jail. They claim he killed someone when he was trying to steal some Cladoxpan. He’ll be on the train that leaves in two hours, along with everyone they arrested in the raid.”
Lucia turned to Prit in panic. “We gotta get him out of there!”
“That’s not possible.” Strangärd shook his head. “The train is heavily guarded and the crowd at the station wants to lynch him. There’s a price on your heads too. If you show up, they’ll shoot you, no questions asked.”
Prit looked like he’d been gut-punched. Lucia slumped against a wall and slid to the floor, nearly choking on her tears.
They’re going to kill him. First the slaughter in the ghetto and now him. Oh, God, it’s all my fault. How could I have been so stupid?
Alejandra put her arm around Lucia’s shoulders and tried to comfort her, but she couldn’t stop sobbing.
“Whadda we do now?” Alejandra cast a lost look around the room.
Mendoza was red-faced with anger. “It’s time, Gunnar,” he said, quietly. “We need the help of the Just.”
“You’ll have our help; don’t worry,” Strangärd replied calmly. “We’ll get the stash when I get back to the other side.”
“Wait a minute,” said Prit, shaking off his gloom. “What’re you talking about? What stash? Who’re the Just?”
“Not everyone on the other side backs Greene,” Strangärd replied. “There aren’t many of us, but we see how corrupt Gulfport is. We’ve organized an underground movement. If Greene found out, we’d be on that train.”
“The Just have helped us from the start,” Alejandra added. “They’ve let us know about changes in documents and given us fake IDs, medicine, food, and even weapons. We built that submerged bridge with their help.”
“We have to be very cautious,” Strangärd said. “Greene has eyes and ears everywhere. The minute I saw you three, I knew you weren’t like those people. I wanted to explain the situation to you on the ship, but I never got the chance. Captain Birley and his crew kept a close eye on you.”
“How many of you are there?” Prit asked.
“I can’t say for sure. We’re organized in independent cells. If they capture one, the rest of the organization isn’t affected. But we have people in most sectors.”
“The uprising doesn’t sound so ridiculous now, does it?” Mendoza broke in.
“It still sounds ridiculous… and suicidal,” Prit replied. “But there’s no other option.”
“I’m afraid not,” Strangärd said. “We’ve heard rumors of a huge raid on the ghetto in a couple of weeks. Only two thousand helots will be left alive. We have to act now.”
“The Cladoxpan…” Pritchenko said.
“That’s no problem,” said the Swede. “We’ve hidden nearly four thousand liters of Cladoxpan in a secret warehouse. Our people in the lab have risked their lives to stockpile it little by little. Greene will cut your supply, but you’ll be able to survive for a few days. Long enough for the uprising to succeed, God willing.”
“What if it fails?” asked the old professor. “And what happens when that Cladoxpan runs out?”
“If the uprising fails, that’ll be the least of our problems. We’ll all be dead,” Mendoza said coolly. “How do you plan to get it to us, Gunnar?”
“Getting it past the Wall is impossible. There’s too much to transport at one time. Making several trips would take too long and would be too risky.”
Mendoza blurted out, “What if you left it someplace where we could pick it up later?”
“Good idea,” Strangärd said. “But where?”
Silence filled the room. They’d reached a dead end.
“Outside,” said Pritchenko, suddenly. “On the other side of the Wall.”
“Not a bad idea.” Strangärd smiled for the first time. “We could disguise the drums as garbage bins…”
“Our people can pick them up when they take the trash to the dump.” Mendoza finished the Swede’s sentence. “We’ll hide those drums on the garbage trucks. The Greens never search them.”
“Perfect.” Strangärd turned to Pritchenko and smiled. “Brilliant idea, my friend.”
“I have my moments,” Prit replied uncomfortably. “When can we start?”
“The next trash dump is a week from now,” said the Swede. “That’ll give us time to transport the drums of Cladoxpan to the dump.”
“A week?” Prit stirred uneasily. “That’s too long! You just said the deportation train leaves in two hours!”
“We can’t do a thing for those people.” Strangärd shook his head. “But we can save the lives of those still here.”
“You heard him!” Mendoza shouted to the crowd. “We’ve got seven days. Get your groups together, round up your weapons, and wait for my signal. In a week, the Wrath of the Just will fall on those sons of bitches in Gulfport!”
A cheer filled the room. Everyone felt strangely calm, as if they’d crossed a bridge and burned it behind them. Everything was riding on this one plan now, but at least fear wasn’t eating away at them.
As people filed out of the room, someone grabbed Strangärd’s arm. He turned to see Lucia’s tear-ravaged face.
“Please,” she sobbed, “please, you’ve got to help him. I love him more than anything in the world. If he dies, nothing matters to me. Nothing! Help me, please!”
Strangärd studied her for a moment. “I can’t do anything for him. I can’t get him out of jail or off that train. It’s too dangerous.”
“Listen to me.” Lucia squared her shoulders, gathering every ounce of energy she had left, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “I know what I’m asking is really hard, but the man I love is on that train. If you can’t help me, I’ll cross that damn bridge, walk to that station, and get on the train with him. If he dies, I’ll die with him. If he lives…”
Strangärd swallowed hard. What the girl was asking was far too risky, but the gleam in her eyes told him she was serious.
“‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once,’” the Swede recited quietly, staring off into space.
“What does that mean?” Lucia asked weakly.
“It means I’ll help you,” Strangärd sighed. “I’ll help your man.”
“Thank you.” Lucia’s eyes flooded with tears. “Thank you.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll get out of the huge mess he’s in,” Strangärd added. “I can get some supplies to him. The rest is up to him.”
“Don’t worry,” said Lucia with a shaky smile. “He’s a born survivor. He’s gotten out of worst situations. I know he can do it.”
34
Colonel Hong was furious. The convoy had stopped for the third time that day, and the current delay was lasting longer than the other two combined. A very long bridge over a swampy ravine was blocked by two eighteen-wheelers, which were sprawled across it. The driver of the first truck must have abandoned it when it ran out of gas. Then the second truck crashed into the first, resulting in a pile of twisted metal stretching across the bridge. The back end of the second truck’s trailer teetered over the edge.
After two weeks of traveling through the remains of the southern United States, even Hong’s steely nerves were frayed. They’d made pretty good time, but not without problems. Their strategy was to find fuel and keep moving. Unfortunately, most of the derelict cars littering the roads didn’t have a drop of gas in their tanks and were slowly falling apart. Their owners probably drove until the tanks ran dry, then got out and walked. At this point, many cars were just heaps of metal and broken glass.