The Abandoned Farm, Part 2

The vines didn’t offer much purchase for Ray’s feet, but they were strong and wound tightly around the abandoned factory’s drainage pipe. Ray wrapped his fingers through them, trusting his stability to his upper half while he kicked and scrambled with his feet.

He was no stranger to climbing. In the lower rings of Portas, where buildings are tall and pressed together, and you couldn’t see the stars through the polluted air, there was no other way to pretend you were elsewhere.

He had climbed after the other children, climbed away from punishment, and, most often, tried to climb as close to the moon as he could. Sometimes, when he would perch among satellites and ventilation systems on the atop rusting towers of housing, where the stars were clearer and breaths came easier, he could imagine he had been born in the middle ring. Never the upper, however, even as a child he had know that was a ridiculous fantasy.

Still, for all his climbing and dreaming, even his most ridiculous fantasies had never placed him as he was now, clambering up a drainage pipe while a fight raged below, in pursuit of a woman who could grow trees with her will.

About three-quarters of the way up the pipe, Ray found the hole that the white-haired woman had disappeared into. It was no bigger than a meter across and made smaller by vines that had partially filled it. Had the tusked ORA agent been the one following the woman, the vines might have held him up, but Ray was unburdened by inconveniences like exoskeletons and muscles. He slipped right through.

When Ray emerged on the other side, he was on the steel catwalk that ran along the wall above the main factory floor. The machinery below had been stripped and looted, leaving behind only the corpses of the great engines of production that the building had once housed. Dark haze hung heavy in the air—the ventilation system had long stopped working, and there were dried splatters of blood on the walls and floor. Some of it may have been left by synth-heads scrapping for a hit, but Ray doubted it. Synth was the only resource in the lower ring that seemed to have an inexhaustive supply.

For all the spots of blood in the factory, only a few were fresh, and they formed a trail that led along the catwalk to Ray’s right. They stopped at the top of a ladder and, when Ray descended it, they began again at his feet. He followed them across the production floor to a small door with a metal sign bolted to it. The sign had rusted to the point of illegibility, but Ray knew what it had said.

NO PRODUCT BEYOND THIS POINT.

RETURN ALL PROTECTIVE GEAR AND PREPARE FOR INSPECTION.

There was an identical sign on an identical door in the factory where Ray had worked. He pushed against the older twin, and it swung open easily.

Crimson boats rushed towards Ray on a river of green as red-flowered vines flooded through the doorway. They slithered around his torso, constricting his chest and growing up to his shoulders. Ray struggled, but the vines were strong and grew quickly, approaching his throat as they tightened around his chest. With his left hand, Ray tried to pull the vines away from his neck, but it was his right that saved him. He tore the gas mask from his face and threw it aside.

And suddenly, just as they had begun to curl around his throat, the vines stopped.

“Oh, it’s you.”

The white-haired woman sat at the far end of the processing hallway, her back against a wall that was plastered by more deteriorating signs. In her left hand, she held the ends of the vines that had wrapped around Ray, and in her right a bloody rag. A deep cut lay open on her face, carving a line from her cheekbone back through her ear, which was split in two. She was panting and glistening with sweat, though her breath slowed when she realized that Ray was alone.

“You look less mystical,” Ray said, allowing his own breath to calm now that the vines had stopped crawling up his neck.

The woman scoffed. “I let my guard down. It was my own fault, underestimating the people of this city. I should have known they wouldn’t all be as weak and ignorant as you.”

“Only one of us is bleeding all over the floor of an abandoned factory right now.” Maybe he was becoming desensitized to miracles, but Ray didn’t feel the awe that she had originally inspired in him.

“I could strangle you with these vines at a whim.”

“And I appreciate that you haven’t.”

The woman sighed and climbed to her feet. “That was rude of me,” she said. “I’m simply frustrated.”

She reached beneath her dress and drew out a small blade, with which she began to prune away the vines encircling Ray. As she worked, Ray was stunned by the change that a single day had inflicted on her.

Aside from her slashed face, her hair was messy and stained with grime of the abandoned levels. The same filth marred her silver dress, which was frayed all along the hem and torn along her ribs. Her vent box was flashing red, indicating her desperate need of a new filter, and the eyes above the device were tired.

“You’re not from here, are you?” Ray asked.

“From Sector Four? No, I am not.”

“That’s not what I meant. You aren’t from Portas, are you? You’re from outside the city.”

The woman’s knife froze on the vines, though it had already carved most of them away. “What makes you say that?” the woman asked.

“You just don’t know anything. I had to tell you last night that seeds were illegal, and anyone from the lower ring could tell you that the abandoned factories are heavily patrolled and would never have come here if they were committing organic crimes. You’re not prepared for any aspect of survival here, and just a minute ago you referred to ‘the people of this city’ like you’d never met one before me.”

“I suppose you’re right; I don’t blend in as well as I’d hoped.” The woman returned to her work, and soon the last of the vines settled to the ground around Ray. “I’ll learn, though, and I’ll pass as native before long.”

“I can help,” Ray said. “You should let me show you around.”

The woman chuckled. “Bold, for somebody who’s never seen…how did you put it…a woman like me.”

“I’m serious, I could help you.”

“I’m serious too. I don’t need help.”

“Are you sure?” It’s been less than one day since the ORA was aware of you, and already you’re almost dead.”

“Because I got careless.” The woman returned her knife to its sheath beneath her dress, and this time Ray could see that it was strapped to her legs along with several pouches. She withdrew a clean cloth from one and began to wrap it around her wounded face. “The ORA agent surprised me, but now he’s feeding a tree, and I could have killed you easily if you’d been an enemy.”

“And then they would have sent another. Kill that one, and two come the next time. It’s already happening, another agent arrived at the same time I did, looking for you.”

“And you made it past them in one piece?”

Ray nodded. “I came with a friend, one who is much stronger than me. He’s fighting the agent outside as we speak, giving me the chance to find you. Nobody survives alone in this city.”

“I will. I have to.”

“You won’t. Listen, I don’t know why you’ve come here, and I’m not planning to ask, but if you’ve drawn the attention of the ORA, your power is not enough to keep you alive. At least not on its own. It’s human to need help.”

The woman was silent for a moment, staring down at her hands, blood covering one and grime the other. “Your friends, are they powerful?”

“They’re alive, and the ORA doesn’t want them to be.”

Another moment of silence.

“I suppose that will have to be good enough for me.”

Ray grinned, and the woman returned it.

“Sylvia, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“My name,” Sylvia said, “when we met, I told you I might tell you later.”

Ray glanced around the room, looking pointedly at the foul floor and the walls that were shedding years of mandates and bulletins. “You sure have a knack for timing,” he said. “It would have been nicer to hear under the apple blossoms.”

Sylvia cocked her head. “I think you should feel lucky you’re hearing it at all. Now let’s gather your friend and get out of here.”

***

Yves stumbled back from his opponent, his breathing labored. The tusked agent settled back into a defensive stance, happy to let the fight pause, and Yves thought he saw a little shake in his legs.

Their first exchange had been furious as they both sought the head of the other, but it wasn’t long before they realized that they were evenly matched. When that happened, the agent had called for backup and gone on the defensive.

Yves had landed some thunderous blows since then, including one that snapped the tip off of one of the agent’s tusks, but he had been able to finish the fight. And if he wanted to retrieve Ray and escape by the time more agents arrived, he needed to finish it.

He glared at the tusked agent, who hid behind his blades, knowing that Yves wouldn’t leave without Ray. Every second of delay worked in his favor, and Ray didn’t seem to be in any rush to return.

Clenching his fists and rolling his shoulders, Yves straightened up. There was a way that he could end the fight, but it involved a method that he was reluctant to try. It was untested, and Ade would be furious if he broke something before she could perfect it.

Still, it might be the only way to ensure escape for Ray. He didn’t want to leave the kid behind.

“Forgive me, Ade,” he said, flexing his hands inside his gauntlets. “Let’s hope this works. Form Fou…”

He trailed off as a sprinkling of stones fell through the fog, landing silently in the soft cushion of grime on the alley floor. Not stones, he realized, seeds, just as a flood of red-flowered vines burst from them, expanding to fill the alley between him and the tusked agent.

“Quick, let’s go!” Ray called, and Yves turned to see him a step ahead of the white-haired woman as they slid down the drainage pipe vine and set off running.

“Unbind,” Yves muttered, and set off after them. As his gauntlets retracted back beneath his coat, he couldn’t hold back a booming laugh.