Beyond the Barricades

When Aquilino blinks again after an immeasurable span of time, lost in thoughts that have kept his eyes fixed wide open, he discovers that dusk is drawing near. He is still beside Bruno. He has run farther than ever before, almost without stopping; for the rest of the way, his student had to carry him on his back. They crossed several streets to escape the chaos. Bruno stops and lowers Aquilino from his back. Both are exhausted, the old man most of all.

"Are you all right, Professor?" Bruno asks, somewhat out of breath. He watches the old man bend over and cough.

"I will never feel all right again after this."

"Do you drink? Smoke?" The professor bends over.

"I was never an athlete. I neither drink nor smoke, but I am old enough to retire," he barely manages, with what little air reaches his lungs.

Bruno takes a moment before speaking again. He too is winded, although not nearly as badly as Aquilino.

"How long has it been since we crossed the Downtown checkpoint, Professor? I don’t recognize this area. I never get off the train before my stop."

"We are in the heart of Eastown, Bruno. Perhaps a couple of hours have passed; I’m not sure. We are near my apartment, only a few blocks away. I never imagined such a short distance could feel so difficult to cover."

"There are more barricades ahead. I can see them from here. What do we do?"

"I believe you, but I cannot see them. In fact, I cannot see anything. Without my glasses, I can barely make out shapes. It will be worse after dark. We must go. Let’s take this street."

"I imagine this district is much quieter than usual."

"Traffic ordinarily moves very freely through here, both vehicles and people. In the morning, when I leave home, I usually see crowds going to and fro, each person in a world of their own. It is nothing like what you see now. These people in the streets appear calm, but the tension can be felt in the air," he says with great difficulty, starved of breath.

"You really are observant, Professor. I don’t notice any of that. Where did your glasses fall?"

"I no longer remember. I can see well at very close range."

Less than a yard away, a hole in the roadway has exposed an underground pipe that appears to have burst. Even Aquilino can see a jet of high-pressure water forcing its way through the opening and surging to the surface. It drenches both the cracked sidewalk and the road, scattering droplets around them like rain. Amid the turmoil, still catching his breath, the professor surveys the area. Half a block ahead, he witnesses a violent head-on collision between a delivery van and a handsome sky-blue sedan.

The collision unleashes an uproar among the surrounding people and vehicles. People scatter in several directions like ants after someone has trampled their nest. Night is nearly upon them; the sun already lies half-hidden below the horizon. Aquilino lifts his gaze, his blurred vision focusing upon the second story of an old building. A voracious fire consumes the interior of an apartment. The flames burn with such ferocity that they lick the window frame and the outer wall. A desperate woman flees wildly across the asphalt. She strikes Aquilino’s arm and continues without looking back. She wears a single high-heeled shoe; the stocking on her bare foot is torn. She limps but does not slow.

Elsewhere, a group of young men exploits the chaos of the traffic accident to steal appliances from a shop closed under the public-health emergency measures. On the opposite sidewalk, an elderly couple runs hand in hand until a pack of outlaws suddenly plows into them.

"Perhaps being outside the barricades was not such a good idea after all," Aquilino reflects aloud.

"Don’t even say it, Professor. We have to keep going. I’ve recovered. How do you feel?"

"Like a fish out of water."

"Do you think we can continue? How many streets are left?"

"I still cannot absorb the shock of all this, Bruno. Everything happened too quickly."

"Do you mean what happened to Karma, or to Jessica?"

"Both. And what I saw on that entertainment program this morning. Everything that happened to Brittany Condon."

"We don’t have that channel at home, Professor. It is too expensive for my family."

"You are missing nothing. Far too much disorder for me to bear." He looks perplexed for a moment after saying it.

He turns his head, his eyes drawn almost hypnotically toward the water erupting from that accidental spring no one will repair anytime soon. He watches the jet climb several feet toward the sky through the cracks in the ground. It rises under tremendous pressure: a spring of drinking water, a scarce resource in thousands of homes, being squandered. He dwells upon this. He stares as though answers to profound questions might be hidden there. The fascination is brief. A second car brakes furiously, followed by another collision and then an explosion, shattering his concentration for good.

"Professor, time is running out. We must reach your home as soon as possible. We need to stay clear of this insane traffic."

The educator does not appear to hear him. He can barely breathe, and his chest hurts. He continues watching the water burst so fiercely from the cracks in the ground. To his blurred vision, the droplets striking sidewalk and asphalt seem to move in slow motion. The crystalline water streams along the curb like a brook. Amid accidents, fires, explosions, and general chaos, Aquilino attunes himself to the slow, monotonous rhythm of the falling droplets and their impact. He wants to compose himself. Watching them seems to calm his racing heart and ease the terrible tension he has carried since being forced from his classroom.

"Professor? Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Bruno, but I need a moment." The boy moves closer.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"You are very kind, but no. Again and again I see the wounded, the infected, and the dead in my mind—more than I have seen in my entire life."

"I know. It happens to me too."

"You are young. In time you will start a family and forget what you saw today. In my case, I know this will remain with me for the rest of my life." He becomes lost in exhausting, troubling thoughts and abruptly falls silent. Incessant regrets allow him no peace.

"Professor, we must continue. This is becoming very dangerous. It is only a matter of time before..."

"I still remember Karma’s parents, you know? They came to speak with me one day. We met, and they asked me to look after her." The professor releases a sob. "She had been admitted to hospital. She was still fragile, but she did not want to miss her classes. I promised to look after her, Bruno. I promised her parents while looking them in the eye."

"There is nothing we can do for her now, Professor."

"Nor can I forget the day Emma asked me not to lower her grade on an exam. She might have lost her scholarship."

"Emma must be home with her son. I am sure she is all right."

"I don’t know. And what of Jessica’s excellent grades—always so diligent?" Aquilino suddenly begins to cry.

Bruno moves closer and tries to console him. At the same time, he attempts to lead him away so that they can continue.

"None of what happened today was your fault."

"Jessica excelled like no one else in every subject she took. She had such a future ahead of her..."

"I know. Talk to me while we walk." The professor allows Bruno to guide him toward the corner.

"And Britania—Miss Machado, always so precocious, asking me for advice on how to enjoy her time with her boyfriend."

"She is the one you should worry about least, Professor. She is rich, famous, and powerful now. She is probably aboard a boat at this very moment, enjoying the sea."

"I hope so. Her parents were deeply religious; she could not ask them for advice. She came to me because she felt I was a professor she could trust."

"Professor, where do we cross to reach your home? Which street do we take? Just tell me that, then keep talking. I will support you."

"Over there."

"All right." Holding the old man gently by his narrow shoulders, Bruno steers him in the direction Aquilino indicated.

"I advised her as best I could. What I want to tell you, Bruno, is that every one of my students is dear to me, without exception."

"That is obvious. You don’t even need to say it."

"I love them all like the children I will never have."

"Well, thank you, since that includes me."

"But it causes me profound pain to think that most of them may now be dead or infected. It hurts my heart."

"Everything has been terribly shocking, yes. Now think about the fact that we are almost home, where we will be safe."

"My mind is old and tired, Bruno."

He turns his head all the way around. Bruno thinks the old man wishes to look at him, but Aquilino’s eyes are fixed instead upon the precise spot where the stream emerges from the broken pipe. He no longer sees it as clearly; it has been left far behind and is now only a blur. Amid weary memories, he faces forward once more. They cross a street and reach the opposite sidewalk among people running in different directions without any apparent logic.

"And my colleagues—overrun and trampled by packs of frenzied people."

"Professor, please. Let us try to reach the apartment. Once we are there, we can talk about all of this."

"I have no doubt that nothing will ever be the same again—not for me, not for the city, nor for any of us who live here."

An epiphany, its invisible path laid through memories his mind had forgotten simply because the necessary piece was absent, finally releases Aquilino’s gaze. After they fight their way through a full block of chaos and reach the corner on the other side, the educator tilts his head upward. He casts a blurred look at a gleaming new building: Waters Tower. The imposing fifty-five-story work of architecture was erected a few years ago in an attempt to rival other landmarks of similar stature. It belongs to the company that manages the drinking water supplied to every home and business in Stormport.

"I need a minute, Bruno. I cannot go on. I cannot breathe." Bruno grows irritated, but nevertheless stops at the corner beside the old man.

"Things seem a little calmer here. Even so, I do not like crossing these avenues at all under the circumstances."

"I see water being wasted without pause, Bruno—the most precious natural resource. It was squandered back there through that broken pipe, and it made me think. This deliberate waste before us is far worse. It is waste elevated for all to see, accepted by the people in the streets. It is as though they were rubbing our faces in the fact that..."

"Professor, no one walks around looking upward. Please do not waste time on that. Catch your breath and let us continue. The street is becoming very dangerous." Aquilino stops speaking. In truth, he does need to recover his breath.

Although he lives just around the corner from this architectural feat, Aquilino has never paid it any attention. The skyscraper boasts a genuine artificial waterfall, descending from the penthouse pool at the top of the tower to the thirty-third floor. On the vast terrace of that apartment stands a transparent, spoon-shaped pool filled by the falling water. The worldwide shortage of drinking water has sent the company’s shares soaring. The company, in turn, is merely a subsidiary of UHR Ecology, which supplied the funds to erect the building—funds ultimately sustained by the labor of people like Aquilino.

"Can we continue, Professor? A gang is approaching, and I do not like the look of them at all." Aquilino glances at what Bruno indicates but does not care. He remains badly winded. Then he looks up at Waters Tower once more.

"The cost of that building has probably created a debt that all of us will be paying for decades."

"I won’t be paying anything."

"You will, when the monthly bill arrives."

"Professor..."

"I was offered a job in those offices when they were still housed in the old building. The advantage of working for a monopoly like that is that you are never without employment. But do you know something? I made the right choice. I refused."

"I no longer know how to tell you this, Professor: this is not a good time for that story."

"I am happy with my profession, with my work, with you—my dear students, whom I failed to protect today."

The boy has already caught his breath and is desperate to leave. He waits for the old man, who can barely feel his legs and whose entire body aches from his feet to the roots of his hair. High above, near the low clouds and dense fog, the fantastical artificial waterfall—far removed from the catastrophe below—continues its vertical, sonorous cycle of self-recycled water, indifferent to Aquilino’s words and thoughts, and to every troublesome citizen.

"I want to see another sunrise, Professor. I do not want to die at the hands of gang members, much less fall as one more infected victim of this pandemic. I know the risk, but I am taking that bus coming around the corner."

Aquilino hears him perfectly, yet fails to grasp the reality behind the boy’s words. In his mind, there is no possibility that Bruno might leave alone. The words reach him mingled with all the other noise.

"There are so many things I have left undone. I long to take Kika to see the beach."

Hearing his own words, the professor becomes entangled in a nostalgia that makes him realize how terribly he misses his beloved Kika. He wants to embrace her; he cannot imagine his life without her. He cannot stop thinking of how he left her locked inside all day without food or water. He remembers the winter afternoon when he found her in the street, still a puppy, starving and nearly frozen to death. Aquilino cannot help smiling at the memory; emotion overcomes him. This time Bruno pulls him down to earth without gentleness, abruptly breaking the spell.

"Professor! Aren’t you listening? I said I’m leaving now! Look..." Bruno announces, pointing toward the bus approaching the stop. It belongs to Urban Streets Buses, better known by the acronym USB, itself a subsidiary of the megacorporation UHR Transportations.

The boy is clearly worried and, why deny it, very frightened. After all, he is only a boy caught in the middle of a sudden and unexpected apocalypse. Aquilino looks where he points. Incredibly, a single city bus remains in service—probably the last one that will run that day before a state of pandemic is declared throughout Stormport. Bruno is eager to take it, but looks at the old man as though awaiting some measure of approval. There is nothing Aquilino can do or say to dissuade him.

"I am one block from home, Brunito. Do not worry; I will be all right. Go home."

The educator remains somewhat winded after their recent rush through so many streets, but he concentrates upon delivering the words without choking for breath. Everything hurts, yet the rest has restored him somewhat. He has managed to recover a little air.

"I’m sorry, Professor, but I have no time. The bus is leaving. I cannot abandon my family; they need me. I do not even want to imagine anything happening to them. That bus will leave me relatively close. I will run the rest of the way and arrive before night grows too late."

"Go, Brunito. It is almost night."

"Take care. I hope to see you in class again soon."

Without waiting for an answer, the young man breaks into a run, crosses the street, and intercepts the bus in time. He boards, and it sets off toward a stop near Los Condominios, where Bruno lives. Once the vehicle resumes its journey with its limited number of passengers aboard, it will no longer stop even for red lights. Aquilino watches until the bus, Bruno inside it, disappears from his blurred field of vision. Sunset comes to an end. Vestiges of daylight remain, but shadows begin to claim everything. The streetlights come on, insufficient against so much fog.

The streets gradually empty. The professor hears screams, shattering bottles, gunshots, ambulances, the occasional patrol, and other sounds warning him that criminals are emerging. His blurred night vision exasperates him; he can barely distinguish light from shadow. The damp fog descending to the asphalt makes matters worse. Aquilino knows he need only cross one more street, then walk half a block to reach home. He knows the neighborhood like the back of his hand and trusts that he will not become lost despite lacking his glasses. He longs to be reunited with Kika and fixes his mind upon that thought alone.

Even without his keys, he will try to open the door by whatever means he can. He hopes the building superintendent might help him, provided the man has not also left to care for his family, as Bruno just did. Aquilino hurries. He looks left and right, steps from the sidewalk into the road, and attempts to jog toward the opposite side. Pain tortures him. As he advances, he takes one final look toward the top of Waters Tower, dimly admiring the illuminated floor and its waterfall. Despite his exhaustion, he moves as quickly as he can.

"Such grandeur, such waste for the benefit of a few. So much water squandered when others have none."

From his right comes the sudden, violent screech of tires against asphalt. Jolted from his thoughts, he turns and looks. He can barely distinguish two lights swelling larger and larger. He closes his eyes. A millisecond later, the vehicle strikes with such force that the history professor’s fragile body skids across the wet ground beneath its ton of weight.