“What now?” Troy asked.
“Hang on a minute,” Enda said.
She opened a map and closed her eyes to better see the city grid laid over her contex. Her body swayed in phantom vertigo as her perspective rose high above the streets. Slashes of red divided Songdo into distinct islands—north and south split by the flooded banks of the canal, and swaths of land on both sides of the channel marked as no-go zones. The flooded ruins east of the canal would be underwater, though the stalwart residents there were likely better prepared than people dwelling elsewhere in the city.
Enda closed the map and checked the street signs to orient herself. “How’s your leg?”
JD lifted his foot and winced as his knee bent. “I’ll live.”
“Can you walk a couple of kilometers?”
JD shrugged. “I have to, don’t I?”
They walked north and east, the wind whipping at their backs, driving them forward. They clasped arms for stability as they waded through the deepest intersections, some lit only by the dull orange emergency lights of flooded cars, winking beneath the dark water like drowning buoys. Enda shivered in her sopping coat, and JD limped step by painful step, supported by Troy.
When they reached Enda’s building, she opened the street door and let the others inside first. JD brushed a hand over his hair, spraying water around the well-lit foyer, lined with mailboxes on one wall.
“Is this a safehouse?” JD asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“What’s that noise?”
“Not sure,” Enda said. “Either a generator, or pumps to keep the water out of the car park.”
JD gave her a curious look, and Enda shook her head.
“If you saw the cars down there, you wouldn’t be confused.” She pointed to the elevator: “Come on.”
They rode upstairs in silence, their reflections waterlogged and disheveled. The elevator released them onto Enda’s floor, and she guided JD and Troy down the warren of hallways that led to her apartment. At the door she turned her key back and forth through a quick sequence, disabling the hidden security system.
She opened the door onto her living room and the two men followed her inside, taking in the minimalist decor, the record player set into one corner, and the neat kitchen furnished with high-end European whitegoods. Beyond the window, huge portions of the city were rendered invisible by lost power. Here and there a block was lit bright, like an island in the darkness.
“This is your apartment,” Troy said.
Enda nodded, and hung her coat on a hook behind the door, where water spattered to the floor. She pointed down the corridor. “Bathroom—clean towels under the sink. You two decide who gets the first shower.”
JD left his bag by the door and limped down the hallway, trailed by Troy.
Enda’s phone buzzed against her leg. She removed it from her pocket and saw Crystal’s face on the screen—the photo she’d taken of herself the morning after.
Enda hesitated, then answered the phone.
Crystal smiled when Enda opened the door. Her hair was a wet mass over one shoulder, and she wore a waterproof olive-green trench coat. She stepped forward, wrapped an arm around Enda’s waist, and kissed her on the cheek.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“Come inside, quickly. I’ll get you something to wear,” Enda said.
“It’s alright,” Crystal said, undoing her coat, “I’m dry under here.”
“Alright.” Enda hung Crystal’s coat, and pointed to JD and Troy, seated on the floor flicking through Enda’s records. They wore their own relatively dry shirts and some old track pants of Enda’s, the elastic waists blown out so they were roughly the right size, even if the pant legs ended somewhere up their shins. “That’s JD and Troy. This is Crystal.”
They exchanged polite greetings, but Enda saw the flash of concern pass between the men. She wandered down the hallway to her room, with Crystal following close behind.
“How come you’re the only one that looks like a drowned rat?” Crystal asked.
“I let them shower first.”
“You must be freezing,” Crystal said.
“I’ve been through worse.” Enda took a set of clothes from her drawers and carried them into her bathroom. Crystal stood in the doorway, watching as Enda stripped and started the shower running.
“Jesus Christ,” Crystal said, seeing the bruised and bleeding wound at Enda’s shoulder.
Enda waved her concern away and stepped into the shower.
“What happened?”
“Police dog drone.”
“What?” Crystal asked, incredulous.
“Hacked and reprogrammed. Now I can see why so many people protest the machines. Fucking vicious.”
Enda washed herself quickly, and dried off.
“I’ll clean the wound for you,” Crystal said. She gingerly pressed a finger to Enda’s chest, where blue-black gave way to the usual pink-white hue. Enda winced, looked down at the outline of claws marked clearly in bruised flesh and torn skin.
“First aid kit under the sink,” Enda said.
Crystal took alcohol swabs and bandages from the box while Enda dressed her lower half.
“The information I sold you panned out?”
“Yeah,” Enda said.
“Which one is he?” Crystal asked. She tore open a small sachet and retrieved an alcohol swab. Chill over Enda’s skin as Crystal cleaned the wound, and she flinched at the fresh sort of pain.
“Neither; that kid’s dead.”
“Shit,” Crystal said, and a distance in her eyes made Enda shake her head.
“It wasn’t me.” Crystal began to protest but Enda pressed on: “I got there too late.”
“That’s my fault,” Crystal said.
“The kid told me to find JD. He took some finding; now we’re here.”
“Drowned and bleeding.” Crystal stuck a gauze pad over the wound. “All done. Thank you for letting me stay.”
“You’re welcome,” Enda said. She put a hand gently on Crystal’s cheek and kissed her. “Thanks for patching me up.”
They convened in Enda’s living room, and she made them each a cup of tea—Russian Caravan with lots of milk and sugar, because they all looked like they needed some simple carbs to fuel their lagging cells. Troy had chosen Louis Armstrong Plays W.C. Handy, which played quietly in the background, bringing a flood of memories to Enda’s mind. She didn’t care much for that simpler strain of
