Authors: Bill Leviathan
“I have to get Paul, God dammit!”
I shrugged off his grip and made my way toward Paul. I made it no more than one step before my legs were taken out underneath me as Slim tackled me to the ground.
“This whole situation is FUBAR, Pete! We have to get the hell out of here! Paul's gone in some fiery hell. Get your shit together and save yourself.”
Slim got off of me and started leading the worker down the scaffolding. I looked back toward where Paul was again. Nothing but flames. I kept staring at them hoping I'd see him jump through unscathed. As I continued to look, seeing the fire creep closer and closer to me, I began to accept that Paul was gone. I still had one choice to make, sit there and die with him, or find the will to get up and get out of there. I like to think I got up because I knew it’s what the old man would have wanted, but as the fire got closer the realization of the pain and torment of burning to death was what drove me back down the scaffolding. Paul was gone, and I needed to get the hell off that scaffolding.
I was able to catch up with Slim as he had to assist the worker down, who looked like he busted his leg as he fell through the scaffolding. I tried helping them myself as best I could, though the entire time I just wanted to ditch both of them to save my own ass. Paul was gone, what the hell were we going to do now?
We got to the bottom and met up with Tim and Jim as they were fighting off the ever encroaching fires. It seemed like we were about to be swallowed up. It was just the devil reaching up to the world to collect a few more souls. Then, same as what I saw happen to Paul, the fire seemed to work its way up Tim and Jim's powder streams, and they burst into flames. I could hear their wails of pain for a brief moment, before I imagine the fire sucked all the air from their lungs. Paul was gone, and now Tim and Jim too.
“What the fuck is happening here, Pete!?”
“Like you said, Slim, this whole thing is FUBAR. Just run for your God damned life.”
At that point we had just bailed on the worker we helped down the scaffolding and took off running. I'd like to feel bad for that, but to be honest I didn't give a shit. Paul was gone. There wasn't anyone I gave a damn about any more. The sooner I could make it out of there, the better, but everyone else could go fuck themselves. Paul was gone, and I was getting the hell out of there.
We made it back to the entry of the facility, where the facilities manager still was. I ran up to him, grabbed him by his collar, and started screaming, “What the hell is going on here, man!? What's in that powder you had us using? Three of us are dead now. Paul is gone!”
“I-I-I don't k-know. They just told us it was to be used if a fire broke out. I know nothing else!”
“Who the hell is 'they'?”
“Upper management. They gave me a call yesterday saying we were to be getting our fire suppression supplies replaced.”
Too much was happening at once now. Paul was gone, this whole place was going up in flames, and this worthless waste of space was no of help to anybody. I tried to concentrate on what to do, but the only thing running through my mind was that explosion that took Paul, over and over again. Seeing the fire spread back through the powder toward him, then getting knocked on my back, then back to the beginning to see it all again. All while the sound of the waste facility burning and crumbling pounded inside my head.
Now I could hear a new sound. Some sort of rumbling off in the distance I couldn't identify. As it got louder and I was able to tell what direction it was coming from, I could see helicopters coming toward the waste facility, carrying what looked like giant buckets underneath them. When they finally arrived there, they started dumping powder on the fires, and they looked to be doing a pretty good job of putting everything out. Angels soared down from the heavens to come and save us. Save all of us, except for Paul.
“What the hell are those?”
“They’re the mining company's. They're used for fire outbreaks.”
“Why weren't they here earlier? What were you doing calling us here when you have God damned helicopters!?”
“HQ said they were inoperable at the time. I guess they fixed them or got the firefighting equipment ready or something.”
“You fucking guess!?”
The cavalry had arrived, and Paul was gone.
Paul was gone, and I started drinking again. I don't think I had been proper drunk since he took me into the woods all those months ago. It was amazing what a little time off did to my tolerance. I finally had a steady job with as decent pay as I could hope for, and it cost me about half as much to get slammed as it used to. It's just great how life can work out in your favor like that.
Speaking of my job, I wasn’t sure how much longer I was going to last there. The season was almost over, and without Paul to speak for me, it wasn’t like Patti was going to want to keep on some foul mouthed brat. It didn’t help that I had been coming in groggy and hung over more often than not. What the hell could she have expected from me? The only guy in the world who had ever been sympathetic toward me went up in a ball of flames, and those two other guys as well. Slim had already run off to God knows where. I would have followed suit, but I wasn’t exactly sure where to go. The only place that seemed welcoming to me was the old reliable Sink Hole. The people there don't give a damn about you or your sad sack life story. A place I could go and be miserable in peace.
“How's it going this morning, Patti?”
Sighing, she said, “Fine, I guess. Once you get settled in, let me know. I have to discuss something with you.”
“Get settled in? I only came in for a new venue for my naps. Just talk to me now.”
“OK, Pete. At this point I'm not sure how much you care, but this department is closing down. Not just for the season, but for the foreseeable future.”
“What made the state decide that?”
“This department costs the state too much for too little return. The mining companies are offering to provide their firefighting services to the public free of charge. There's not much we can do to compete with an offer like that.”
“Alright, well, what to do we do now? Turn off the lights and go home?”
“We need to turn over all equipment and records to the mining companies.”
“Fine by me if they want to take some crummy old bike and stacks of water tank inspection forms.”
“Pete, they're also requesting all the documents Paul got from his brother. Do you know where they are?”
“Uh, yeah, he kept them in a storage unit. How did they even know he had them?”
“I mentioned to them that he was reviewing old documents of theirs. Now they're demanding everything be returned as it's still legally their property. They said if you don't return them, they'll press charges against you for theft.”
“Way to go, Patti. Here, take this key and give it to them. The unit number is engraved on the key. I hope you can get it to them before they decide to club our knees. Anyway, I'm out of here.”
“Aren't you going to help me collect and organize all this junk for the mining companies?”
“You just fired me, Patti. Deal with that crap yourself.”
“You're a real asshole, you know that Pete?”
“I don't need to be reminded.”
Well great, the inevitable had finally happened. I expected to get fired, but not for the whole place to go under. Though without Paul, there wasn't much left there. A Paul-less firefighting crew would do more harm than good to Helena. Can't say I expected much from the mining companies, but I was sure they'd at least protect all the people living in proximity of their properties.
Back to the only place that had ever loved me, the Hole, staring down the neck of a bottle. The crowd there had changed a little since the last time my life had bottomed out like this. Every now and then I saw this group of young punks sitting in the back corner. They wouldn't be all that noteworthy if they weren't the only people who spoke up to say anything other than ‘another’ to the bartender. I saw one of them on occasion looking up toward me, giving me this weird stare. It creeped me the hell out. It was similar to how Paul eyed me up before he took me in. I hoped to God I hadn't fallen so low that some pimpled faced little punk was going to be the one to turn my life around again. What could they possibly have provided me, advice on how to best pair Jager with Red Bull?
Shit, all that pointless pondering had left me just staring back at the goon. He must have taken it as an invitation to chat because he was walking over toward me. Why must my eyes always betray me?
“Hey man, are you Pete?”
“Yeah, how the hell do you know my name?”
“We used to have a mutual friend.”
“You don't say? Never met one of my Eskimo brothers before.”
“Uh, no, not like that. I mean Paul. I knew him too.”
“Yeah I figured, shithead. I've only had one friend here. It wasn't hard to guess.”
“Anyway, Pete, we have a thing going on later tonight. I want you to stop by.”
“Listen, kid, I'm not buying you and your friends liquor. You'll have to find someone else to supply your grade school party.”
“It’s not anything like that, man. Just quit the sass and meet us by the old 7-11, ok?”
“Fuck off kid.”
What the hell did he want to show me at some old, abandoned, run down convenience store? Some dead alien they wanted to poke with sticks? I felt like at best it was some trick to get me on the edge of town to jump me. Maybe it would just be a childish prank, like a good pantsing or a wedgy. Seriously though, what the hell could they want to have talked to me about? And how did that dimwit know Paul? Is that the kind of company Paul kept when I wasn't around? I was trying my best to hold onto my ideal image of Paul. I didn't need that twerp tarnishing that image all of a sudden.
Whatever. I was almost out of cash and my credit at the Sink Hole was no good. I figured I would swig down the remaining dregs and head their way. My shanty shack was along the way, so I would have ample time to change my mind and just stay home and weep myself to sleep like most nights if I so chose. Though, since doing that had lead me to having my best friend dead and getting fired from the only good job I’d ever had, maybe I should have considered changing things up. Go on an adventure. Or at least as much of an adventure as I could go on with a patchy-faced, barely post-pubescent wannabe tween.
Well, there went my house. I might as well have kept on walking to the 7-11. Turning back would be backtracking, and I can't begin to verbalize how much I hate wasting footsteps on ground I've already covered. At that point, I had to just meet the kid, look him in the eyes, and try not to cry too much as his friends pulled my underwear over my head. The joke was going to be on them, because there was no way my underwear had the structural integrity for that kind of harassment.
I could see the 7-11. It looked like there was only one person there. It was hard to tell, but I thought it was just the kid who spoke to me at the bar. I guessed it was past bed time for the rest of the gang. The odds of me receiving school yard bullying had dropped by a significant margin in my mind.
“Hey, Pete, over here!”
“What are you yelling at me for kid? And why is it only you here? Where are the rest of those brats you were with at the bar?”
“I have to go over some things first before we meet up with the rest of the crew. Is that ok with you?”
“Fine. Whatever. I don't really care anyway. What the hell did you drag me all the way to the outskirts of town for?”
“I needed to make sure no one would be around us to overhear anything. People are watching me and my crew, Pete. They’re watching you too, if you haven't noticed.”
“No, I haven't. My tin foil hat comes with blinders.”
“I'm still not sure who they're with. It’s why Paul contacted me. He knew we were facing the same kind of observations as he was.”
“Ok, kid. You keep saying you know Paul, and that's how you know me, yet I still have no clue who you are. Mind explaining a little for me?”
“My name is Pim. I help run the local AnCap group.”
“Ok, first things first, what the hell kind of name is Pim?”
“I was told my mom really liked Pims Cups.”
“Understandable, I guess. I'd ask what AnCap is but at this point I've already lost interest.”
“It means Anarcho-capitalism which is a political...”
“It's clear that Paul didn't reach out to you for your listening skills. Now back to a subject relevant to the real world. What did you drag me out here for exactly?”
“Here, take this and have a drink, Pete.”
“Is this some kind of joke? It just looks like a cup of water.”
“Yes, I know, now drink it.”
I figured there was nothing to lose. I had already drank piss before, so no skin off my back if it turned out to be some overly elaborate juvenile prank. 'Haha you drank my piss old man!', 'Great, I needed the electrolytes.'
“Tastes like water, kid.”
“My name is Pim.”
“Whatever you say, kid. So, did you have anything else for me besides this? Or did I just come off as thirsty and in need of a long walk to you earlier?”
“Now try this.”
“This is bottled water. Where did you come across this? Figures, anyone identifying as some baseball cap anarchist is probably just some trust-fund hipster.”
The water from the bottle tasted, well, different. It lacked a certain gritty, sandy texture. It didn't feel like thin porridge in the mouth. It was missing the harsh sulfur hit on the nose. It finished dry and smooth, no burning in the back of the throat. It was something that tasted, I don't know, good? Something that I'd actually want to drink. Something that I could consume for sustenance, keep me going through intense physical exertion. It didn't make my stomach lurch in pain, ulcers flaring from an intense acid influx. It wasn't any kind of water I’d ever had before.
“Where did you get this stuff, kid?”
“Last night my crew and I went into Vanderbilt Park. We found this in a trash can. There are people throwing this stuff away!”
“Jesus Christ. But still, I don't understand why you're showing me this.”
“Our mutual friend, Paul. He was researching the water around here.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, he hinted to us that he made some big discovery, but he wasn't able to tell us exactly what yet.”
“He kept saying the same line of crap to me too. I guess we do have some things in common.”
“Paul then told us to check out what those rich folk were drinking. We've been snooping around their homes. None of them even seem to have taps in their houses. All their water is shipped in. A lot of those unmarked trucks the mining companies use, they’re carrying water, and delivering straight to Vanderbilt Park.”
“So those rich assholes are in on this conspiracy too?”
“We're not sure yet. That's why we came to you, Pete. We need access to the documents Paul got from his brother. It will allow us to tie everything together.”
“God dammit, the mining companies just confiscated all of Paul's stuff today. I don't have anything anymore.”
“Shit. Are you sure? There was nothing else Paul left behind for you?”
“Not that I'm aware of.”
“How could you just hand everything over to them, Pete? Jesus man, our entire operation is shot to hell now!”
“Don't lash out at me you little punk. It's been a week since Paul died. I've seen you eyeing me up in The Sink Hole every night since. You had plenty of time to come to me before now. Though I guess I can't expect more of some lazy Generation XYZer.”
“You're no more than 5 years older than me, Pete!”
“Can it, kid. Are you so helpless now that you don't have these documents from the now deified Paul?”
“I'm just not sure what to do now. We've always been working under the assumption that whatever we found out snooping around Vanderbilt Park would help give Paul his big breakthrough.”
“Ok, listen to me then. You said you're still unsure if these richies are even in on all this, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, well, have you tried speaking to any of them?”
“No.”
“Well, then it seems simple, don't it kid? Tonight, sneak into Vanderbilt Park like you guys did before. Now, instead of rummaging through some trash like the disgusting rats you are, get into one of their homes, and start questioning these people.”
“Before we were just sneaking about outside their homes. We've never been inside one before, and we definitely haven't spoken to anyone who lives there. What are we going to do, just waltz right into someone's home? What if we get caught? Or set off some alarms?”
“Well, kid, then you better hope you can run faster than the guy next to you.”
I had heard of Vanderbilt Park, but I’d never seen it for myself. The townsfolk made it seem like some sort of lordly castle from a fairy tale. Surrounded by a moat and guard towers and protected by a nefarious warlock who would turn any would-be intruder into a pumpkin. Turned out, what Vanderbilt Park really was, was just some relatively small McMansion complex surrounded by tall, black iron fences. The fence must have been close to twenty feet high, and completely covered in razor wire. You might think that at least all those snooty rich folk had to see that they lived in a prison like environment just to keep this level of comfort and security, but the sight of the fence was blocked by this ivy or vine or whatever that grew all around it. Unfortunately for us would-be intruders, the ivy was also interspersed with razor wire hidden underneath, so we couldn't use it to aid climbing over the fence. There was only one way in, through this beautiful, ornate and impenetrable looking gate. Short of calling in an air strike, I don't know how the hell we were getting into the place.