Radio Hope (Toxic World Book 1) (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Marcus Callahan woke to the sound of the tea kettle whistling. It was too damn early but with the
harvest market starting up The Doctor needed him to help screen the goods. Rosie was already awake, bless her, up at dawn every morning like clockwork, even though they hadn’t owned a clock in decades.

Marcus winced as he sat up, his sciatica sending a sharp jab down one leg. Th
e morning was cool and he put a sweater on over his shirt. Pulling on his jeans, a movement that gave him another jab all up and down the leg, he shoved his feet into his shoes and headed to the kitchen.

“Hey honey, how are you this morning?” Rosie said as she turned from the fireplace where the kettle whistl
ed happily on its grating. She was a round little woman with a smiling face and gray hair tied up in a bun. She wore a faded old smock. Marcus reminded himself to find a new one for her in the market. The choice was always better around harvest.

“Too damn old and up too damn early,” he grumbled.

Rosie made a pouty face and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Oh you poor old man.”

Marcus gave her a squeeze and kissed her on the lips. “Not so old. Want to go back to bed?”

Rosie smacked him on the ass. “Come on back at lunchtime. You’re late already. Sit down and I’ll get your tea. There’s some of yesterday’s bread and a bit of that blackberry jam Sylvia traded to us.”

Marcus sat down at the wobbly card table in the corner of their kitchen and looked out the window. A feeble light poked through the gray da
wn and he could see New City starting its day. A few people were about, either bundling up goods on carts to take out to the market in the Burbs or standing in the doorways of their little frame houses, trying to wake up just like he was. The entire view to one side was taken up by the huge concrete rectangle of the old warehouse. Beyond that he could see the gray line of the city wall, a haphazard collection of concrete slabs, steel plates, and old buses filled with sandbags. A few figures moved along the catwalk. Marcus could see their guns as black lines against the gray sky.

Rosie set a mug of tea in front of him and he drank gratefully.
After a few sips he said to his wife, “Sit down with me.”

“Once I get a few more things done,” Rosie said.

“Doc’s paying me today.”

“Good.”

“Market’s picking up. Think I’ll go and find you a new smock, or do you want to pick one out yourself?”

Rosie made a face. “You know I don’t like the Burbs.”

Marcus grunted. Who could blame her?

“Any particular color?”
he asked.

“I don’t
care, just make sure it’s in good condition. Warm, too. We’re in for a bad spell of weather.”

“Your
joints aching?”

“Oh, they’re all right.”

Marcus got up and went over to where she hunched over a washing bucket.

“First off,” he said while taking a pot from her hands and plunking it down in the sudsy water. “
Let me do that. And second, give me those hands.”

Marcus gently massaged each swollen
knuckle.

“You’re going to be late,” Rosie said.

“Doc can wait.”

“Clyde won’t wait. He’ll be opening the gate any minute.”

“Just let me get this last finger and do the dishes and I’ll be out of here.”

Rosie gave him a kiss on the lips and lingered there a moment, then she pushed on his chest.

“Go away,” she said with a smile. “Have fun with the scavengers.”

Marcus
rolled his eyes, kissed her again, and headed for the door. At the front hall he paused by a group of framed photographs. Two boys and a girl smiled at him from behind glass. The pictures showed them as laughing babies, children hanging upside down from a tree limb, gangly teens. They were arranged every which way, so that one would show a child as a baby right next to one of her younger brother on his twentieth birthday. They were as jumbled up as his memories of the people they represented. In one photo a younger version of Rosie smiled from amid a tangle of the three waving children. In another the two boys, now young men, stood proudly in the uniform of an army long disappeared from a city-state whose name had been all but forgotten.

And there he was, h
is hair blonde instead of gray, and with a hairline that hadn’t crawled halfway to his butt, standing arm in arm with his daughter on her wedding day. By then they didn’t make wedding dresses anymore, but she had on a nice white shirt and a veil just like in the Old Times. There had been music and dancing. Rosie had even managed a wedding cake.

Marcus forced himself to look away. He unlocked the door, unlatched the chain, unslid
both bolts, and headed out. He lingered in front of the house he had built with his own hands from the remnants of earlier houses. A seagull screeched in the gray sky. Winter’s chill was coming in strong and Marcus was glad for the sweater. Once he heard Rosie lock the door he headed to work.

Screening the goods always took place at a long table set up outside the ware
house since non-citizens were never allowed inside that building. As he approached he waved to two men lounging by the table with rifles in their hands. One of them called to him.

“He
y Marcus, The Doctor isn’t here yet. Could you get him? Clyde’s getting antsy.”

“All right,” Marcus replied
, changing course for the warehouse door, where another guard stood. He shook his head. A good man, Clyde, but too high strung for the job of Head of the Watch. And letting scavengers inside always made him even antsier. Last citizens meeting he brought up the issue like he did every year but Doc shot him down.

“We can’t have a completely closed city,” Doc had said. “Makes us look elitist, and besides, I have to let in patients, don’t I?”

And that was that.

Marcus nodded to Bill, the guard on duty at the door, and walked on through. Inside
, the ground floor of the warehouse was one giant room with a high ceiling. The citizens of New City had put up partitions throughout the place, which had been a shipping center for a major company back in the Old Times, dividing it into workshops, storage areas, a prayer room, even a few homes. It was snug in there, but Marcus and Rosie preferred to have windows. The lights were always kept too dim in the warehouse anyway. The tidal generator and a few solar panels gave New City plenty of juice but they traded most of it to the Burbs. On the opposite end of the warehouse was the loading dock, where Kevin and Rachel lovingly preserved a few vehicles and a supply of biofuel.

Marcus headed to a metal staircase along one wall and
ascended, his sciatica twinging in protest. He passed Ahmed coming down. The young nurse had a smooth brown face, eyes as black as two opals, and spiked hair to match.

“How’s he doing?” Marcus asked.

“Poorly,” Ahmed replied. “You better go up.”

“Where are you off to?” Marcus called over his shoulder.

“The Burbs. I have broken nose to set. Some scavenger got into a fight.”

“Go figure,” Marcus muttered.

He rounded the landing and entered the second floor. Much of this level was empty except for some storage units. The freight elevator was broken beyond repair so nobody bothered putting much up here. The back half was blocked off for the Doctor’s personal use. Marcus went through another door and into the front office, where a teenaged girl sat at a desk with a radio. In a large tidy hand Marcus could read even at this distance, she was copying down the announcer’s every word.

“. . .and don’t forget to store your preserves in a cool dry place. If you can, build a root cellar.
Broadcasting from somewhere in the wildlands, this is Radio Hope. Coming up next, my colleague will give easy-to-follow instructions on making a small root cellar you can hide under a board or even under your tent. . .”

The girl, name
d Catherine, gave Marcus a smile as he passed. He smiled and waved back. Kevin and Rachel’s girl, and the sharpest kid in the city. Sadness tugged at him. He shook it away and entered Doc’s quarters without knocking. He was the only person who could do that.

Stepping into T
he Doctor’s rooms was like stepping into the Old Times. Bookshelves lined the walls. A functioning computer sat on a desk. There was wall-to-wall carpeting and the concrete walls had been painted a clinical white, broken up with old paintings and engravings on the few places the bookshelves didn’t cover. Through the far door was a well-equipped medical office.

The Doctor sat at a table with a mirror in front of him, putting skin-colored cream on his gaunt face. Mar
cus saw he was developing that unhealthy gray pallor that showed he’d run out of medicine again.

“How are you?” Marcus asked, not that he needed to
ask.

“Sarcoma’s coming back,” The Doctor muttered.

“I can’t see it,” Marcus said.

But I can see you’re covering something up with cream. Just how long do you think you can keep this a secret outside the walls?

“Clyde open the gates yet?” the Doctor asked, examining himself in the mirror.

“No, but if you don’t get down there soon you’ll have to treat him for a heart attack.”

“All right, all right,” the Doctor sighed, lifting himself off the chair. Marcus hurried to his side. “Help me down the stairs and then get your hands off me.”

“Wish the harvest had been
better,” Marcus said, letting The Doctor drape an arm over his shoulders. “City’ll have to be conservative in its buying.”

“How’s Rosie?”

“Fine, just fine. You’d know that if you got out more often.”

“Yes, mother.”

Clyde hadn’t waited and the first scavenger was there with his bags when Marcus and The Doctor arrived. Abraham Weissman from the Merchants Association was there too, drumming his soft fingers on the table.

“Morning Abe,” they both said as they came up. Abe was old enough to remember the O
ld Times like they did, but time had been kinder to him. He had few wrinkles and most of his hair, although what he had was completely white. Blue eyes glittered from behind a pair of gold wire glasses.

“Morning,” he nodded. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

As Marcus and the Doctor sat down the scavenger dumped the contents of several sacks onto the table. Marcus recognized him as someone who had traded last year, so they didn’t have to explain the rules. Once they’d determined there were no medical supplies and the scavenger had traded for his market token, The Doctor wished him well and sent him back out the gate.

Clyde sent in the next one and Marcus a
nd the Doctor fell into the familiar routine. Abe sat back and watched. The Merchants Association had no role in this but Abe always asserted his right to observe. Abe gave his opinion about a couple of items he thought the city could use but otherwise just sat there with his hands folded in his lap and kept quiet. Marcus preferred him that way, preferred him better when he wasn’t around at all.

Pickings were slim. The sca
vengers came with fewer goods every year, and every year their offerings were of worse quality. The whole region was almost picked clean, and except for a few lucky finds and some bold long-distance traders plying the coastline, there wasn’t much of any more than routine interest. Marcus did notice a nice collection of dresses he’d have to look at later. A few looked just Rosie’s size.

By midmorning Marcus could see
Doc was getting tired. He told the guard to tell Clyde only one more before they had a break. Abe muttered about having other things to do but Marcus silenced him with a look. The Doctor’s health was more important.

The final scavenger for the morning approached the table and Marcus recognized him as the guy Ahmed
must have treated. He was tough-looking old coot with face knitted into a scowl. Marcus didn’t have to wonder why he was scowling. A white cast encased his nose, affixed with white tape that made it look like a giant albino spider had latched onto his face. An old army pack was slung across his back and he carried a long cardboard box. Behind him came a youth carrying another pack. After a moment Marcus realized the youth was a girl trying to look like a boy.

The man and the girl set the packs gently on the table.

“Welcome to New City,” The Doctor said, “I don’t recognize you. Are you joining us for the first time?”

“Yep,
” the man replied.

When no othe
r information was forthcoming, The Doctor went on.

“L
et me go through how this works. New City is only open to citizens and associates. The gates are closed at night and only citizens sleep inside. Anyone can live in the Burbs. Everyone calls me The Doctor because I’m the only one here. I and my assistant are always here to treat you free of charge, but you already know that. For the good of the community I get first dibs on any medicine or medical equipment you have to trade, and you have to trade although I have to give fair price. I also get to make first offer on anything I see that the city could use, but unlike the medicine you don’t have to trade if you don’t want to. For a stall you also have to trade. It isn’t much and you get access to the biggest market I know of anywhere.”