He was trapped halfway between comatose and lucidity. The outside world was shut off. In this half state he could sense what his body was doing to heal him. The process was automated. Connor could only watch, or rather feel. The broken bones and scrapes had been relatively easy to heal compared to reattaching his arm. He was drained of resources, however, and whatever oversaw the healing program while he was unconscious also oversaw mining raw material from other parts of his body. With a sweep of his mind he could see that his skeleton, though healed, was weakened from the mining, his blood supply was barely high enough to function and his muscle mass had been depleted. Whatever fat he had before had long been burnt up. He needed food and he needed it now.

A timer seemed to go off at the thought of food. Connor cracked an eyelid. He was wrapped in a polar-blanket, the kind that kept you warm but didn’t breathe. He could smell his fresh sweat and a dozen other unpleasant odours on the filthy wrapping. Three people stood around an open gallon drum, warming their hands on the low fire, dressed in bulky coats and cheap military surplus clothing. He recognised them as the people that had fished him from the water. It was dark, wherever they were. The fire was the only source of light. He looked around. The outline of concrete fabricated walls strewn with steel pipes and valves could be seen in the sketchy light. There were other fires scattered around the open space. Battered pop-tents, stacks of cardboard and laden super market trolleys filled the space. It smelled of wood smoke, decay and urine.

One of his rescuers noticed he was up and elbowed his friend, a silver haired man with an eye-patch. The one-eyed man approached Connor. He stopped a short distance away.

“You awake, boy?”

“Yes.”

The man crouched down. “You feeling better?”

Connor nodded his head.

“That was something to watch. I don’t recall anyone swimming the river in fall. You must have been in real trouble,” said the man.

Connor grimaced. “I was.”

The man grunted. “Cops have been looking for you. We had to move. Somewhere their drones can’t fly. You’re safe here, for now.”

“Where are we?” asked Connor, thinking of how he could get home.

“Abandoned industrial space, south of Hatcher park,” said the man. “We sleep here during the colder months. Far enough from the tenements that the gangs don’t bother us, much.”

“Ah,” replied Connor, lost for words.

The older man leaned closer. “Why are you on the run, boy? Are you some escaped loony patient?”

Connor bit his lip. “Nothing like that.”

“Then tell me.”

“You won’t believe me.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

Connor didn’t see the harm in telling him. “The government wants to take me away and study me.”

The homeless man stroked his chin, his fingers making an audible scrape along his long, silver stubble. “Why?”

“I have… I mean there’s…” stuttered Connor.

“Spit it out, boy, and don’t lie to me. I was in charge of dozens of snot-faced grunts. I can smell a lie when I hear one,” warned the man.

“I can do things,” said Connor. “Different things.”

“How different?”

“I was hurt. I should have died.”

The man nodded his head slowly, yet his face betrayed his cynical thoughts. “So, you ran.”

“It was all so shady. The hospital had the C.D.C come in. They were talking about all of these other people like me, and some facility in Ohio. I just knew if they got me there I’d never get out again.”

“I know all about those C.D.C rats, boy. Believe me. Changed a lot during the war. Became the government arm of Kemprex. A.R.C trialled a whole bunch of chemical and bacterial weapons. The Centre got given the power to oversee the infected. Whole wards would just disappear, never to be seen again. Then there were those faulty Pros. Ugly stuff watching a man fall apart,” spat the vet. “The Centre was doing that bastard, Kurniec’s bidding, way back during the war. They’re just cogs in the Illuminati machine.”

“The Illuminati?” asked Connor, trying to hide his scepticism.

“Yes,” hissed the man, inching uncomfortably close. “Secret society above the law. They control everything!”

“Okay…” said Connor.

This guy is batshit crazy.

“I hope you’re not tormenting the poor boy, Allan,” called a woman’s voice.

Allan’s eye had gained a strange lustre during his talk of the C.D.C and the Illuminati. He spun to look at his friends then back to Connor. “We can talk more, later. Come and meet my unit.”

“Your… unit?”

What have I got myself into?

Allan had walked over to the gallon drum. A cheerful woman and another man stood around it. Allan beckoned him over. Connor stood, a struggle with his weakened body. The blanket seemed to weigh a tonne. He picked his way carefully in the dark, wary of glass cutting his feet.

“Oh, you poor thing. When was your last meal? You look famished!” exclaimed the woman, clutching her only arm around her.

“This here is Lisa, and that quiet one is Bill,” said Allan, pointing to his friends.

“Hmm,” muttered Bill, looking at the fire.

“My name is Connor,” he said, taking a position by the drum.

“Lisa here was a pilot during the war,” said Allan. “Flew bombers over Africa and Eastern Europe.”

Connor thrust his hand out automatically, switching hands when he realised Lisa was missing her right arm. A pilot that survived the war was said to be lucky. A modern-day chimney sweep – shake their hand and some of their luck may rub off on you. Lisa gave him an exaggerated sigh and shook his hand.

“Bill here was infantry, like me,” said Allan. “We served together on the front. Found each other on the street after it had wrapped up. Been together ever since. Can’t get rid of the fucker if I tried.”

“Eh, what’s that?” asked Bill, his attention returning to the conversation.

“Nothing that concerns you,” said Allan.

Connor put a hand out to shake Bill’s. Allan shook his head. “He’s not here right now…” he whispered.

Connor mouthed an ‘O’ and held his hands over the fire.

“Boy was saying he’s on the run from the Illuminati,” said Allan.

“Did he now?” replied Lisa, giving Connor a wink.

“C.D.C goons are after him,” hissed Allan. “Kurniec’s private police! Everyone knows he owns half of the politicians in the Capital. Just like Hershlag owns the other half!”

“Calm down, Al, you’re scaring the boy,” giggled Lisa.

“It’s true! We’re all pawns!” shouted Allan, spittle flying.

Lisa made a calming motion with her hand. “Yes, Al. We hear you. But can we talk to Connor first about his troubles? The boy looks like the wind could knock him over.”

Connor realised he was swaying from the effort of standing. He humped the blanket higher onto his shoulders.

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“Is there anything we can do to help, sweetie?” asked Lisa.

“You’ve done more than enough,” said Connor.

“Where is your family?”

“Downtown Boise…. I hope…” said Connor, his thoughts going to his mother and brother. Would they have been arrested? Were the cops watching his house?

Lisa nodded her head. “Will they take you in?”

“In a heartbeat,” said Connor.

“Do you have any spare clothes?” she said, turning to Allan.

Allan spat in the fire. “What am I? A fucking clothing shop? I’m wearing everything that I own.”

Lisa jerked a thumb to her silent friend. “What about Bill?”

“The kid’s as thin as a pencil. Bill’s pants would cover him twice over…” laughed Allan.

“Then give me something to work with. He can’t go around bare assed. He’ll freeze to death,” said Lisa, her tone of voice still cheerful.

“Kid’s so skinny he probably doesn’t have an ass…” said Allan, slapping Connor on the back.

“I’m right here,” muttered Connor.

Allan stretched and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s okay. I’ll pull some strings. I’m owed a few favours. What size feet, kid?”

“Umm… nines.”

“I’ve never heard of ‘Umm-nines’. Must be some Asian brand. I’ll be back,” said Allan walking away.

Bill watched Allan go. Without a word he followed, shuffling along in the darkness, his lungs wheezing like an accordion.

“Is he alright?” asked Connor.

“Which one?” chuckled Lisa.

“Is Bill upset with me or something?” asked Connor peering over his shoulder.

Lisa shrugged. “Maybe a little. You do have his blanket.”

“Oh.”

“He’s just a little shaken. Seeing you flop out of the water cold and bleeding stirred something inside of him. Bill has never been good at articulating himself. He shuts down at the slightest sign of trouble,” said Lisa, her eyes piercing the fire as she turned her hand over the rising heat. She shifted to look at Connor. “How are you, by the way? Do we need to get you a doctor?”

Connor felt a bitter smile develop. It stopped just short of full laughter. “No, thank you. My wounds have healed.”

“I can have a look, if you like? I had to do basic med as part of my training.”

“Trust me. I’m fine. I’m hungry is all. Mighty hungry.”

“You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Didn’t they feed you in the ward?” giggled Lisa at her own joke.

“They fed me,” said Connor, looking over his shoulder. He saw other groups of similar people standing about fires, silent in their own thoughts or talking without expression. Many of them wore army surplus as well.

“Are they all vets?”

“Many, yes,” sighed Lisa.

“Why?”

“‘Why’?” she shot back with a hint of anger.

Connor looked her in the eye. “Yes ‘why’. You guys are heroes. You fought back the Khalist armies that threatened to take over the world. You saved generations of people from an insane regime. You should be living in palaces, not the street. Seeing this makes me depressed. It makes me angry.”

Lisa’s friendly smile switched off. “I’m sorry we make you feel bad inside. We’ll clean up better next time,” she said, the warmth in her voice dissipated. “Just give us a week’s notice next time.”

“It’s not you…” started Connor.

Lisa pointed at Connor, the gesture like waving a sidearm. “Did you ever consider that some of us want to be here?”

Connor shook his head.

“There was nothing for us after the war. No support. No training. No thank you. I lost everything I loved. My fiancé. My family,” said Lisa, beating her chest. Tears leaked from her eyes. “I couldn’t go back to a civilian life. I tried. I failed. I couldn’t pretend the war didn’t happen. I couldn’t be told what to do by some shit brained civ. At least here I have my friends. My brothers and sisters in arms. Out here we are together. Bonded in blood and the tar of the streets. We watch each other’s backs like we did in the skies above Europe, the trenches of Africa or the jungles of South-East Asia. It may not be pretty. But it’s all we have.”

Connor looked away. The fire crackled, filling in the silence. “I’m sorry…”

Lisa breathed in, her tear-filled eyes looking to memories hidden beyond the darkness of the night. “Don’t speak, please. Not yet.”

“Hey ho,” said Allan, returning from his quest, his arms laden with clothing. Bill followed behind, ruddy face down and feet shuffling through the detritus.

“Look what I hauled,” said Allan, dumping the clothes on the ground. He picked up a heavy jacket and examined it in the light. “I might keep some of this for myself… It’s so nice.”

“It won’t fit your fat ass,” chortled Lisa.

Allan ran a hand down his body. “It’s all muscle, baby.”

“Whatever…” sighed Lisa.

“You are half right. It won’t fit me. It will keep this little grunt warm, however,” said Allan, thrusting the jacket at Connor. “Here. Take it.”

“Thank you,” said Connor, taking the jacket in his hands. He shook the blanket off and started to dress in front of the others.

“There is some under wear. Can’t say I’d wear ‘em though,” said Allan.

Connor noticed the grungy looking boxers and gave then a miss. He slid on some khaki pants — covering his modesty with the hospital gown, a paint splattered t-shirt, mismatched woollen socks and the heavy jacket. The jacket and pants seemed to be army issue gear, warm yet scratchy on the skin. Kneeling, he slid on some lace-up tennis shoes. The stitching was coming apart in multiple places but they would be serviceable so long as he didn’t overtax them.

Connor retrieved the fallen blanket and approached Bill, holding it at arm’s length. “Here’s your blanket, Bill.”

Bill’s eyes flickered from the fire to the offered blanket. A hand snaked out and snatched it back, his chest wheezing with the slightest physical effort.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, giving Connor a fright. Allan swung around, looking up. Following the man’s gaze, Connor saw a catwalk high up, obscured in the darkness except where it criss-crossed over an open fire. A dark figure stood in front of a row of windows. They made a motion with their hand high above their head, visible in the darkness thanks to the partial light of the window.

“Shit! The feds are coming,” snarled Allan.

“What do we do?” hissed Lisa, hand clutching her curly hair. “I don’t want to go to prison.”

“We won’t go to prison. We haven’t done anything wrong,” replied Allan.

“We could be accessories!” hissed the pilot.

Connor looked around the dark room, feeling trapped. “I need to get out of here! You need to help me!”

Allan shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, kid. We’ve already helped you a bunch…”

Connor reached for Allan’s shoulder, but the veteran shrugged him off. “They are going to experiment on me! They’ll strap me to some table and cut me open! You can’t let that happen! Please!?”

Allan looked at his feet, his brows furrowed as he thought. Lisa gave Connor a withering look, then turned to confront Allan. “We don’t owe him anything, Al. We don’t need to get in trouble because of him.”

Bill started to cough and hack. He doubled up, spitting large mouthfuls of fluid onto the floor.

Connor pointed at Bill. “Look, I can help your friend. I can heal him. Clear up whatever is wrong with him.”

“Bullshit,” spat Allan. “He’s just got a little asthma. Happens when he gets too excited.”

Connor shook his head. “That isn’t just asthma. He’s got some kind of infection. I can heal him. Just get me away from the cops.”

“Get a grip! The cops probably want him for something else. The kid’s probably lied about everything. Healing people my ass…” replied Lisa, throwing her hand in the air and storming around the fire drum in a tight circle.

“I am not lying,” said Connor, cutting in.

“I call bullshit. He’s an escaped mental patient,” replied Lisa.

Allan’s jaw worked in overdrive, his eye settled on the crackling fire. Suddenly, he looked at Connor. “Are you lying, Connor?”

“No.”

“Prove it.”

Connor looked at the others. Bill was too busy hacking up his lungs. “Fine.”

He pulled back the jacket sleeve, exposing his forearm. Concentrating, he worked the miniature muscles which extended the tendril. It came out of the puckered lump of skin, red and slimy.

“What the hell!?” exclaimed Lisa, backing away.

Connor held his arm closer to the firelight. “Told you something was wrong.”

“What the hell is that? What are you?” said Lisa at a safer distance.

“I was shot in the chest and arm several days ago. I should have died. I survived, thanks to my… talent. When I woke up, I had these… things. Do you believe me now?” said Connor, twisting the tendril in the light. It was difficult to control, something he’d have to remedy if they were to be of any use other than frightening homeless vets.

“Okay. Okay. Just put it away,” said Lisa, wincing.

“If the police get their hands on me, they’ll turn me over to the C.D.C, who’ll put me in some private laboratory,” said Connor, retracting the tendril back inside his forearm. “I don’t want to be a lab rat.”

“I’ll help,” said Allan, his voice firm. “We get you out of here, then you fix Bill.”

“Al…” started Lisa.

Allan cut her off. “Bill needs help, Lisa.”

“Is there a way out of here?” asked Connor.

“Yes,” replied Allan. “It will take us into the tenements, which may pose its own problems at this time of night.”

Connor looked back to the catwalk. He could see the blue and red glow of flashing lights through the window. “Lead the way.”

Allan gave him a sly look. “I give the orders around here.”

He turned to his friends. “Are you with me?”

Lisa sighed and threw her arm in the air. “I don’t like this at all, Al. Who knows how many laws we could be breaking or how many federal agencies will nail us?”

Bill grumbled something and stood behind Allan, blanket clutched in his hands. His skin looked pale in the firelight.

“Move out.”