to see if we can get anything useful out of the dungeon at the Sun. They may even have some working phones, or something over there that we can use to get in touch with Germany. What do you say?”
Meredith sighed. “It’s not like I have anything better to do,” she complained. Then it occurred to her—the boats they’d seen on the river were all either on fire, or too far away too determine if they’d changed like the cars and planes. She mentioned this to Hjerald.
“No sweat, Reedy,” he answered, a broad smile on his face. “I’ve got an Amazonian longboat, all wood, and two paddles.”
“Should I even ask, where you got …”
“Actually, it’s …”
“Never mind,” Meredith said, waving. “You can tell me while we row.”
On the way out to the docks, Meredith caught a glimpse of Fujiko coming back up Solomon. Her head was bowed, and she looked as if she’d been crying.
Meredith made a mental note to speak to June about it when she got back … something was wrong, and after the scene on her porch the other night, she was uneasy about approaching Fuji directly.
At the dock, Hjerald helped Meredith into the boat, which was narrower than she’d’ve thought, but surprisingly steady. Taking up the oars, they pushed off from the shores of Silvertown and paddled slowly into the mists.
O O O
The journey across the river was uneventful. The snow didn’t really hamper visibility, and it wasn’t yet cold enough for the river to freeze; but without a motor to fight the current, it took a lot longer than usual to cross. It was mid-afternoon before they finally pulled ashore at the docks near Morristown Landing. The normally bustling river was completely silent. No skiffs, or sailboats; no cargo ships or tugs. Nothing that would have normally been heading in one direction or the other.
Something Hjerald forgot was that they’d also be on foot to get into the city; fortunately, after only a few minutes of walking, they came across a horse wandering around in a field near some industrial buildings, searching for grass where the rise of the buildings had blocked the snow. Smaller than most horses Meredith had seen, it was an odd, mottled yellow color—it also had incredibly short legs—but a horse is a horse, and a long walk is a long walk. They approached the docile animal, and climbed on, Hjerald in front. He gave it a gentle kick to the flanks, then clicked his tongue. But the horse didn’t move. He kicked harder, then slapped the horse’s shoulders—nothing.
Meredith had resigned herself to foot blisters and was climbing off, when Hjerald snapped his fingers.
“I got it.”
He grabbed the horse’s ears and yanked them backwards, while simultaneously stretching his leg back to kick it in the genitals. Suddenly the horse gave out a snort and shot off down the road like it’d been fired from a cannon.
Barely hanging on, Meredith pulled herself up and hugged Hjerald more tightly, incredulous. “Hjerald,” she gasped, “what the hell did you do?”
“I figured it out, Reedy,” he explained, grinning.
“What did you figure out?”
“It’s not a horse,” said Hjerald, “it’s a Honda .”
Cruising easily at about forty miles per hour, Hjerald pointed the four-legged motorcycle towards the highway, and they headed into Ottawa.
O O O
It took about two hours to get into the city. After tying down Honda in a park (where he could eat some grass while they attended to business), Meredith, and Hjerald walked the rest of the way to the offices of The Daily Sun , not noticing until they were there that except for themselves, the streets were empty.
Completely empty.
Pausing outside the Sun’s lobby, they realized that they’d been deafened by Honda’s continuous farting (having only a 140 cc engine, which was terribly noisy and no fault of his), and so had not realized that the absence of life was mirrored by an absence of noise; even discounting the mechanical noises which had
Meredith sighed. “It’s not like I have anything better to do,” she complained. Then it occurred to her—the boats they’d seen on the river were all either on fire, or too far away too determine if they’d changed like the cars and planes. She mentioned this to Hjerald.
“No sweat, Reedy,” he answered, a broad smile on his face. “I’ve got an Amazonian longboat, all wood, and two paddles.”
“Should I even ask, where you got …”
“Actually, it’s …”
“Never mind,” Meredith said, waving. “You can tell me while we row.”
On the way out to the docks, Meredith caught a glimpse of Fujiko coming back up Solomon. Her head was bowed, and she looked as if she’d been crying.
Meredith made a mental note to speak to June about it when she got back … something was wrong, and after the scene on her porch the other night, she was uneasy about approaching Fuji directly.
At the dock, Hjerald helped Meredith into the boat, which was narrower than she’d’ve thought, but surprisingly steady. Taking up the oars, they pushed off from the shores of Silvertown and paddled slowly into the mists.
O O O
The journey across the river was uneventful. The snow didn’t really hamper visibility, and it wasn’t yet cold enough for the river to freeze; but without a motor to fight the current, it took a lot longer than usual to cross. It was mid-afternoon before they finally pulled ashore at the docks near Morristown Landing. The normally bustling river was completely silent. No skiffs, or sailboats; no cargo ships or tugs. Nothing that would have normally been heading in one direction or the other.
Something Hjerald forgot was that they’d also be on foot to get into the city; fortunately, after only a few minutes of walking, they came across a horse wandering around in a field near some industrial buildings, searching for grass where the rise of the buildings had blocked the snow. Smaller than most horses Meredith had seen, it was an odd, mottled yellow color—it also had incredibly short legs—but a horse is a horse, and a long walk is a long walk. They approached the docile animal, and climbed on, Hjerald in front. He gave it a gentle kick to the flanks, then clicked his tongue. But the horse didn’t move. He kicked harder, then slapped the horse’s shoulders—nothing.
Meredith had resigned herself to foot blisters and was climbing off, when Hjerald snapped his fingers.
“I got it.”
He grabbed the horse’s ears and yanked them backwards, while simultaneously stretching his leg back to kick it in the genitals. Suddenly the horse gave out a snort and shot off down the road like it’d been fired from a cannon.
Barely hanging on, Meredith pulled herself up and hugged Hjerald more tightly, incredulous. “Hjerald,” she gasped, “what the hell did you do?”
“I figured it out, Reedy,” he explained, grinning.
“What did you figure out?”
“It’s not a horse,” said Hjerald, “it’s a Honda .”
Cruising easily at about forty miles per hour, Hjerald pointed the four-legged motorcycle towards the highway, and they headed into Ottawa.
O O O
It took about two hours to get into the city. After tying down Honda in a park (where he could eat some grass while they attended to business), Meredith, and Hjerald walked the rest of the way to the offices of The Daily Sun , not noticing until they were there that except for themselves, the streets were empty.
Completely empty.
Pausing outside the Sun’s lobby, they realized that they’d been deafened by Honda’s continuous farting (having only a 140 cc engine, which was terribly noisy and no fault of his), and so had not realized that the absence of life was mirrored by an absence of noise; even discounting the mechanical noises which had
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