into the ground-floor vestibule.
A glint of metal on the floor caught his eye. Without even approaching it, he recognized it as the head of Ed's front door key. The stem, he knew, would be twisted off in the lock. Through the door's four-inch window, he found the building's power line, not outlined against the starry sky, but on the ground.
Clenching his jaw, Graham left the vestibule and felt his way between the dark lumps of machinery to the trap door. The rope and pulley would hold his weight. He'd slide down and swim to the bank.
Graham swore as his fingers found a shiny padlock latching the grate closed. None of the scrap pipe nearby fit in the steel loop to give him leverage.
He sank back on his heels, disgusted with the futility of his hands. From the new vantage point, an unfamiliar, dropcloth-covered mound in the corner caught his attention. He drew aside the filthy shroud, finding a bank of solar batteries, joined by cables. Ed's new power source, probably bought with the money from the sale of the truck. My truck , Graham thought.
Somewhere up in the warehouse, Ed operated his cell signal blocker. A signal blocker requiring power. Graham looked at the batteries in front of him. He picked up a length of pipe, weighing it in his hands. Had Ed really left himself so open? He knows how toxic they are , he thought. How close to the water supply. He doesn't think I'll do it .
He hefted the pipe over his head. "You want to be off the grid, Ed?" he hollered towards the elevator shaft.
Then he let it fly.
Graham's victory yell faltered when he noticed the light shining from the elevator opening. His cell showed no reception. The nutjob still had power. He had to have a supplemental source.
Graham couldn't tunnel his way out through the brick walls. He would have to get to the signal blocker himself.
He tried the first flight of steps. On the second flight, the metal creaked and began to swing. Graham's instincts stabbed at him. After a second's hesitation, he bolted back down. One flight from the exit door, he heard the top platform snap loose. Level after level clapped together above him in a screeching avalanche. When it hit bottom, dust sprayed over him where he had landed.
Graham got his heart rate under control, walked to the shattered pile of metal, and found the bright spots in the iron where it had been cut most of the way through. He knew, then, where Ed wanted him. He looked up at the three-story distance above him. Stay and starve, or.... Well. Really, he had only one option.
For once he wished the river louder, to mask his grunting progress up the elevator cable. His heart beat high and thin as he neared the top of the shaft. He leaned out to catch the lip of the warehouse opening, wincing as his busted finger took his weight. He pulled himself onto the floor, the concrete cold against his stomach.
He hauled himself to his feet, swaying, and stumbled into total disorientation. Vegetative aromas. Wood smoke. A thin raw scent like spilled blood. Trickling noises sounded all around him in the clammy air. A single battery-powered work light stood in the center of the floor. Once Graham neared it, he made out the shapes surrounding him.
Hydroponic tanks. Floating plugs sprouting vegetables. Growth lights. Racks and racks of dried, smoked fish. On a nearby table, some bits of grey fur and feathers being worked into a garment.
"Sustainability," he whispered.
"I built it for us." The voice echoed from the darkness. "Totally self-contained. Regenerating, rather than depleting."
"That's not possible. You can't avoid an impact."
"It is possible. It's what the world could be like, if people didn't lose sight of the vision."
"I've got a pretty good glimpse of it now," Graham said, struggling to concentrate on the direction of Ed's voice.
"This is the first step of many," Ed said. "I'm not the only one who sees the way things are going. Who sees a world addicted to profit and plastic and overconsumption.
A glint of metal on the floor caught his eye. Without even approaching it, he recognized it as the head of Ed's front door key. The stem, he knew, would be twisted off in the lock. Through the door's four-inch window, he found the building's power line, not outlined against the starry sky, but on the ground.
Clenching his jaw, Graham left the vestibule and felt his way between the dark lumps of machinery to the trap door. The rope and pulley would hold his weight. He'd slide down and swim to the bank.
Graham swore as his fingers found a shiny padlock latching the grate closed. None of the scrap pipe nearby fit in the steel loop to give him leverage.
He sank back on his heels, disgusted with the futility of his hands. From the new vantage point, an unfamiliar, dropcloth-covered mound in the corner caught his attention. He drew aside the filthy shroud, finding a bank of solar batteries, joined by cables. Ed's new power source, probably bought with the money from the sale of the truck. My truck , Graham thought.
Somewhere up in the warehouse, Ed operated his cell signal blocker. A signal blocker requiring power. Graham looked at the batteries in front of him. He picked up a length of pipe, weighing it in his hands. Had Ed really left himself so open? He knows how toxic they are , he thought. How close to the water supply. He doesn't think I'll do it .
He hefted the pipe over his head. "You want to be off the grid, Ed?" he hollered towards the elevator shaft.
Then he let it fly.
Graham's victory yell faltered when he noticed the light shining from the elevator opening. His cell showed no reception. The nutjob still had power. He had to have a supplemental source.
Graham couldn't tunnel his way out through the brick walls. He would have to get to the signal blocker himself.
He tried the first flight of steps. On the second flight, the metal creaked and began to swing. Graham's instincts stabbed at him. After a second's hesitation, he bolted back down. One flight from the exit door, he heard the top platform snap loose. Level after level clapped together above him in a screeching avalanche. When it hit bottom, dust sprayed over him where he had landed.
Graham got his heart rate under control, walked to the shattered pile of metal, and found the bright spots in the iron where it had been cut most of the way through. He knew, then, where Ed wanted him. He looked up at the three-story distance above him. Stay and starve, or.... Well. Really, he had only one option.
For once he wished the river louder, to mask his grunting progress up the elevator cable. His heart beat high and thin as he neared the top of the shaft. He leaned out to catch the lip of the warehouse opening, wincing as his busted finger took his weight. He pulled himself onto the floor, the concrete cold against his stomach.
He hauled himself to his feet, swaying, and stumbled into total disorientation. Vegetative aromas. Wood smoke. A thin raw scent like spilled blood. Trickling noises sounded all around him in the clammy air. A single battery-powered work light stood in the center of the floor. Once Graham neared it, he made out the shapes surrounding him.
Hydroponic tanks. Floating plugs sprouting vegetables. Growth lights. Racks and racks of dried, smoked fish. On a nearby table, some bits of grey fur and feathers being worked into a garment.
"Sustainability," he whispered.
"I built it for us." The voice echoed from the darkness. "Totally self-contained. Regenerating, rather than depleting."
"That's not possible. You can't avoid an impact."
"It is possible. It's what the world could be like, if people didn't lose sight of the vision."
"I've got a pretty good glimpse of it now," Graham said, struggling to concentrate on the direction of Ed's voice.
"This is the first step of many," Ed said. "I'm not the only one who sees the way things are going. Who sees a world addicted to profit and plastic and overconsumption.
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