shit.” Tiago stopped. People in the Plaza were turning too. Nervous murmuring spread. People stood up from picnics or meals and stopped haggling over tables in the market as vendors swept up their goods. The edges of the crowd were already scattering for safety.
The dreadlocked woman smacked into Tiago and grabbed his upper arm, crushing it.
“Take your damn money,” Tiago shouted at her, squirming to try and get away. “I don’t want it. I’m sorry. Just please let me go.”
She looked puzzled as he shoved the paper money into the pockets of her jacket. He may have even given her more than he’d stolen, he wasn’t sure.
“What’s …?”
Tiago pointed up the mountain. “It’s going to rain.”
She looked over the buildings and let him go. “I forgot.”
Forgot? As far as Tiago was concerned there were two things on the island to remember: stay out of the rain, and more recently, avoid the Doaq’s attention by staying inside at night.
Tiago bolted. The last thing he saw was the armada of harbor ships, parasails kiting around in the air overhead. They moved fast enough now that their hulls pulled themselves up onto hydrofoil skids that jutted out underneath.
Then the fire sirens began to wail.
Chapter Three
From the open sweep of the docks and seawall of the harbor, Tiago sped deep into the upper hills of Harbortown. He could breathe easier seeing overhangs above him and walls he could put his back to.
People hurried about with carbon-fiber and steel umbrellas. Richer folk had already gotten into bright yellow imported hazmat gear.
The klaxons wailed in the background, constantly blearing out their warning for all to find shelter. Shops slammed thick windows shut and bolted them while people yanked tables, chairs, and billboards inside. Customers packed in, shoulder to shoulder.
No self-respecting shop would let Tiago inside, though. Not with his ripped and melted clothes, dirty face, and bare feet.
They’d toss him out on his ass faster than he could get inside.
A stinging mist settled down to street level. Tiago squinted and slowed down. First timers would run faster now, trying to avoid the stinging chemical burn on their skin, but then they’d inhale more.
Tiago cupped his hands over his mouth with a piece of flannel to filter the air. He looked down at the cobblestoned street to protect his eyes.
His calloused, flattened feet knew the street. Knew how many steps it would take to reach the alley, knew how many times he’d have to pull himself up on the old pipe running outside to get up onto the roof, and how many more steps across the concrete to get to his niche.
It was a spot between two old storage buildings where the hill started climbing steeply enough to be more properly called a mountain, almost near the Xeno-town enclave. One of the buildings had a large, reinforced concrete gutter along its edge, and when the second building had been built right alongside, wall-to-wall, the design left a sheltered ledge the length of the building.
Twenty families had taken bricks and concrete and built a wall along the overhang and crammed into the space between the two buildings. It was on the very edge of this that Tiago had fought, paid for, and built his very own room.
Last year the owners of the buildings had paid enforcers to come in and rip it all out. They had taken all their possessions away in a dumpster and beaten anyone who tried to remain.
But after a few nervous cold nights out, most of them had returned with new pieces of weatherized plastic sheets, sticks, bricks, and construction glue to start building all over again.
To get to his piece of the niche, Tiago stepped out over the edge of the building and then behind the wall.
He was safe, now.
His skin stung from contact with the mist, but he could sit in the entryway along the corridor leading down to the seven foot by four foot concrete cubicles they called home and watch the rain to the sounds of families cooking,
The dreadlocked woman smacked into Tiago and grabbed his upper arm, crushing it.
“Take your damn money,” Tiago shouted at her, squirming to try and get away. “I don’t want it. I’m sorry. Just please let me go.”
She looked puzzled as he shoved the paper money into the pockets of her jacket. He may have even given her more than he’d stolen, he wasn’t sure.
“What’s …?”
Tiago pointed up the mountain. “It’s going to rain.”
She looked over the buildings and let him go. “I forgot.”
Forgot? As far as Tiago was concerned there were two things on the island to remember: stay out of the rain, and more recently, avoid the Doaq’s attention by staying inside at night.
Tiago bolted. The last thing he saw was the armada of harbor ships, parasails kiting around in the air overhead. They moved fast enough now that their hulls pulled themselves up onto hydrofoil skids that jutted out underneath.
Then the fire sirens began to wail.
Chapter Three
From the open sweep of the docks and seawall of the harbor, Tiago sped deep into the upper hills of Harbortown. He could breathe easier seeing overhangs above him and walls he could put his back to.
People hurried about with carbon-fiber and steel umbrellas. Richer folk had already gotten into bright yellow imported hazmat gear.
The klaxons wailed in the background, constantly blearing out their warning for all to find shelter. Shops slammed thick windows shut and bolted them while people yanked tables, chairs, and billboards inside. Customers packed in, shoulder to shoulder.
No self-respecting shop would let Tiago inside, though. Not with his ripped and melted clothes, dirty face, and bare feet.
They’d toss him out on his ass faster than he could get inside.
A stinging mist settled down to street level. Tiago squinted and slowed down. First timers would run faster now, trying to avoid the stinging chemical burn on their skin, but then they’d inhale more.
Tiago cupped his hands over his mouth with a piece of flannel to filter the air. He looked down at the cobblestoned street to protect his eyes.
His calloused, flattened feet knew the street. Knew how many steps it would take to reach the alley, knew how many times he’d have to pull himself up on the old pipe running outside to get up onto the roof, and how many more steps across the concrete to get to his niche.
It was a spot between two old storage buildings where the hill started climbing steeply enough to be more properly called a mountain, almost near the Xeno-town enclave. One of the buildings had a large, reinforced concrete gutter along its edge, and when the second building had been built right alongside, wall-to-wall, the design left a sheltered ledge the length of the building.
Twenty families had taken bricks and concrete and built a wall along the overhang and crammed into the space between the two buildings. It was on the very edge of this that Tiago had fought, paid for, and built his very own room.
Last year the owners of the buildings had paid enforcers to come in and rip it all out. They had taken all their possessions away in a dumpster and beaten anyone who tried to remain.
But after a few nervous cold nights out, most of them had returned with new pieces of weatherized plastic sheets, sticks, bricks, and construction glue to start building all over again.
To get to his piece of the niche, Tiago stepped out over the edge of the building and then behind the wall.
He was safe, now.
His skin stung from contact with the mist, but he could sit in the entryway along the corridor leading down to the seven foot by four foot concrete cubicles they called home and watch the rain to the sounds of families cooking,
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