JOHN

2414 CE

John, an older man with a long, drooping mustache and a sawed-off shotgun holstered to his left leg, felt like talking to her. “Sit low beside me, Miriam. Gotta keep a clear view tonight. Had a run-in already.”

She slouched down. “You okay?” She’d fixed him up two or three times; this man seemed to have a charmed life. Maybe she’d invite him over for a nice dinner to thank him for all the times he’d picked her up and driven her through gunfire.

He picked a tooth with a finger, his eyes darting at all the shadows as they moved. “Yeah, I’m fine. Tell you, though, I’d love to get a country place, even if the water was bad. Or maybe the Moon. Maybe just a visit, a vacation.” He scanned the cross street as they moved toward Miriam‘s tower. “This place is getting worse by the day.”

“Do you know a better place?”

“Nah. They’re all shit. Been to Cairo, Rio, all over. Hold it.” He braked the battered electric car to a stop.

“What is it?”

“Sshh. Stay down, damn it.” His voice was a hiss.

She waited. Shortly the taxi began to glide forward again, and John said in a low tone, “Grab your bag and run, and keep low. The guard’s at the door waiting. Don’t stop for anything, now hurry!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, John. Thanks--“

“Go! Now!”

Her door sprang open, and she scuttled for the building entrance, clutching her pack under her belly. The guard beckoned furiously, crouching a little; she dived in, the door slammed behind her, and a burst of explosions buffeted her ears.

She spun and grabbed the door, fearing for John, but the guard blocked her way. “They were coming up behind you,” he explained. “He’s gone.”

She sagged with relief. “He got away? Thank God.”

“No,” the guard said, replacing the door bars, his shoulders stooping as if the bars’ weight was far more than usual. “He’s dead. They blew it up, and what’s left is burning.”