Still Go On
A Story of the Inundation
Image from Wikicommons in the public domain.
Still Go On
The hazy sky held an unnatural calm as if the day held its breath. With a glance at the driver, Sylvia followed the Family into the port buildings. The car pulled away. She’d made her choice, she would never see him again. Out on the quay, three seaplanes were moored.
“Well you ‘d think they would make an effort to create a better ambience,” Mrs Lattimore said, wrinkling her nose.
The waiting area of the dock was utilitarian. Sylvia doubted that the Lattimores had ever seen anywhere without carpet to shield their expensive shoes. Other exclusive people, like the Lattimore, stood in isolated groups holding their noses up at their surroundings as their serving staff, like Sylvia, negotiated the baggage towards the collection area. Mrs Lattimore disdained suitcases with wheels so Sylvia struggled with four trunks on a flat cart, along with her own more modest carry-on bag—all she was allowed to take with her into the promised safety.
Mr Lattimore strolled over to where the other men in the group were arguing with six pilots, to learn the status of the flight. The family steward followed him attentively.
“The Storm is moving too quickly. The last report shows it is speeding up,” the oldest pilot said. “I’ll take you inland and then we can do reconnaissance to see if your Sea Towers stood up to the power.”
“Nonsense,” Mr Lattimore said. “Our Sea Towers were built with greater tolerances than that Storm. You’ll do what you are contracted to do: fly out there today.”
“Not me.” The older pilot stepped away.
“I’ll do it,” a younger pilot pushed through the group.
Mr Lattimore smiled scornfully at the older pilot’s cowardice. “You’ll receive a bonus, and have to opportunity to live in the towers. As will any pilot who chooses to fly us out today.”
The five remaining pilots looked interested, while the oldest one walked away shaking his head. Sylvia watched him walk further into the port buildings as she directed the luggage cart towards the drop-off point. Was it really unsafe to fly today?
“Mama, where’s my jewellery case?” Jacey, age 6, said. “I want to change my necklace.”
The nanny, holding baby boy Blaise, winced at Jacey’s demand.
“Stop, girl,” Mrs Lattimore said.
Sylvia halted her manoeuvring of the cart and brought up an attentive smile. She had to pay for this safety with her service. “Yes, Ma’am?”
“Open Jacey’s trunk and find her jewellery box.”
“Yes, Mrs Lattimore.” Sylvia dragged the first trunk from the top. She’d had the help of the Steward to put them on the cart, but he was occupied taking instructions from Mr Lattimore.
“Gently,” Mrs Lattimore said, sharply. “Anything broken, you will pay for.”
Sylvia tried, but the case cracked on the concrete floor. She didn’t duck the incoming slap from Mrs Lattimore. They could still withhold permission for her to board the plane. With tears in her eyes, she fumbled for the keys in her pocket. Thankfully, the second case belonged to Jacey. She flipped open the lid.
Jacey ran up to the cart. Sylvia managed to grab the brakes in time to prevent it from skidding through the concourse as Jacey jumped on board. The little girl climbed into her trunk and flung the neatly packed clothing everywhere.
“It’s not here!” Jacey shrieked.
Mrs Lattimore gestured for Sylvia to join Jacey. “Find it.”
Sylvia lifted clothes out of the way, folding them as she went along. But not even the bottom of the case, filled with the toys, hid the jewellery case.
“Where is it?” Jacey screamed and slapped Sylvia. “You’ve stolen it!”
Now other members of the elite were taking notice. A steward walked up to the Lattimore steward and expostulated.
Their steward walked over to the nanny. “It’s your job to stop the children from disturbing everyone. Give her what she wants.”
Still clutching Blaise, she got to her feet. “Now, dear, it wasn’t Sylvia’s job to pack your belongings.”
“It was on my dressing table,” Jacey said. “I got it out of the trunk so I could decide which necklace to wear this morning. The nursery maid should have put it back in.”
Mrs Lattimore shook her head. “You can’t get the staff. You, girl, go back to the house, and pick up Miss Jacey’s jewellery.”
They all turned away from her. How was she supposed to get home? The town had been all but deserted for days when the first forecasts of a hypercane building in the Pacific had come in. Everyone had left in the Convoy.
The nanny glanced at her and then away. They both knew that her invitation to live in the safety of the Sea Towers had been rescinded. Mrs Lattimore needed someone to blame for the lack of the jewellery, and Sylvia was the chosen sacrifice.
There was no way she could make it to the Lattimore’s house and back before the planes departed. She walked away, leaving even her little case. Once the storm hit, she was dead anyway.
A breeze had picked up in the short time she had been inside the port buildings. Darker clouds scudded in from the sea. A glance beyond the fence showed the three seaplanes being loaded with the luggage of the elites who had funded the construction of the Sea Towers.
Six families, six Towers. The accommodations were better than the ones promised to those people who had sold their souls for transport to the Mars colony started by that billionaire, but not by much. Sylvia had still sold her soul for a chance at safety, no matter how small the room and how filthy the work was.
This occupation was precipitated by the on-coming hypercane. In theory, the Towers were ready, but they had planned to take up residence next year. Once the families had established their rule, they would reach out to bring in more residents, like the University people who had designed the place. But for now, it was just the six families and their chosen servants. No, she had agreed to be a slave. Now the Lattimores had just two servants.
To the best of her knowledge, neither the nanny nor the steward knew how to run the hydroponic gardens. But she supposed they’d be able to read the manuals taking up valuable space in her small allocation of luggage.
For want of any direction, Sylvia walked towards the Hills Estate, where the Lattimores lived. There might be a little protection from the incoming storm if she could reach there.
Away from the port, shop windows had been boarded up. In a futile attempt to pretend there would be a return to normal after the Storm hit. But everyone knew this town would be left underwater for months, if not permanently. In the distance, a few cars drove towards the desert after the Convoy, but these were the last few people remaining. She imagined the whole of the West Coast was empty, except for her and a few rats that hadn’t got the message.
So lost in her self-pity, Sylvia didn’t notice the car that pulled up beside her.
“What are you doing here?” Hamilton, the Lattimore’s driver said. He’d switched to the smaller car the Lattimore family kept for servant transport. “You should be boarding that plane.”
Sylvia jumped. His bitterness at the abandonment coloured his tone. She’d made her choice, safety rather than his company.
“They dumped you? At the gate?” His words mocked her.
“Jacey left her jewellery behind. I’m sent to fetch it.” She turned to continue her walk.
A hand grabbed her. “You’ll never make it back in time for the flight.”
She spun and glared at him. “You think I don’t know?”
“All that studying and sacrifice for nothing,” he taunted. “All that ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, sir’ and they just throw you away.”
She dropped her gaze and yanked her arm away. She didn’t need telling. She left him on the sidewalk and trudged away.
The car caught her 50 metres down the road. He pulled in ahead of her and got out to watch her.
“Going to stalk me all the way?” Sylvia said. “Just so you can gloat?”
“Get in,” he said. “You might get back in time if I drive you.”
“Don’t you have places to be?” Sylvia snapped.
“Just get in.” he returned to the driver’s seat.
Sylvia stood, staring at the car. The growing wind tugged at her hair. For one moment, she considered walking away, then she yanked open the door and slid into the seat.
Hamilton drove off. Ignoring the speed limits, he raced towards the Hills Estate like the clouds racing in off the Ocean.
“Why are you still in town?” Sylvia asked. “I thought you’d be part of the Convoy by now.”
“I was looking for food and water, extra fuel,” Hamilton said. “The journey is ten days over the desert. Not even the solar panels will keep the car going that long.”
The first fat plops of rain fell on the windscreen as the car tore up the driveway towards the empty mansion. All the servants had left two days ago, only Hamilton of the daily staff had been retained to drive them to the port on the last day. Even to the last, he had hoped to be invited along.
He skidded to a halt outside the front door. “Run,” he said.
Sylvia jumped out of the car. She fumbled in her pocket for the keys and opened the front door. Her shoes barely gripped on the marble floor that Mrs Lattimore had required her to polish last night so they could remember how lovely their home was.
Jacey’s room was out in the east wing. Sylvia charged up the stairs and along the corridor, slamming back the door into the girl’s bedroom. The case was on her dressing table as the girl had said. The contents spewed out all over the surface. There was no point in thinking she should have brought the case along herself or tidied up after herself. The girl had been brought up to know that everyone else would do everything for her, including think.
Sylvia scrapped the necklaces and rings into the case and slammed the lid. With a glance around, she saw nothing else to take. Jacey’s night dress was flung on the floor, her cupboards open and the clothes sliding off their hangers. Even the rich had to leave things behind when evacuating in an emergency.
Sylvia skipped down the stairs. She didn’t bother to lock up as she jumped into the car. Hamilton churned up the gravel under the tyres as he raced down the drive towards the port. Halfway through town, the first seaplane rose above the tower blocks.
“They’re leaving,” Sylvia said in despair.
“There’s still two more,” Hamilton said. “The servant’s plane will leave last. However, I think they’re cutting it fine with the timing. They should have left yesterday if they wanted to avoid the storm.”
“One of the pilots said that but Mr Lattimore didn’t want to lose the extra day trading,” Sylvia said. “None of them did. This Storm is likely to send the markets into a nose dive, and he wanted to get his money out.”
“As if money means anything.”
He pulled up outside the port buildings for the second time that day. Sylvia jumped out. Then hesitated.
“Get going!” Hamilton said.
With a backward glance at him, she raced through the empty waiting area. A roar outside the window showed the second of the seaplanes taking off.
Her case stood where she had left it. A pair of Jacey’s socks lay under a bench. Sylvia tucked the socks into her pocket and, carrying the jewellery box under one arm, she grabbed her case. She ran for the quay. The final plane, the one for servants was just loading. Relief filled her, she was in time.
Time to take up her place of constantly being blamed for every single thing that went wrong. A place where there were no labour laws. No pay, except for being allowed to live in the Sea Towers. Certain slavery versus a struggle to live and find food. Taken like that…
A squall of heavy rain slammed into the door as she pushed it open. Out on the dockside, the pilot argued with the Lattimore’s steward. He waved his arms at the black clouds coming in.
“I imagine my fellow pilot has just seen the latest weather report,” a voice said behind her. “I wouldn’t get on the plane.”
Sylvia spun. It was the older pilot who had walked away.
“What do you mean?” Sylvia asked.
“I was supposed to be the pilot on the first plane but refused. The Storm’s too close to the flight path and speeding up.”
The Lattimore Steward won the argument. The pilot got into the cockpit and the Steward boarded the passenger compartment. He didn’t even look to see if Sylvia had made it.
Now, she had to run for her flight. But she didn’t. She stood in the port buildings, as the seaplane door swung shut. She could have caught the flight. The seaplane taxied away from the quay and out into the bay, picking up speed.
She turned away, angry with herself.
“They’ll never make it,” the pilot said. “See you in the Convoy.” He strode away.
Now she had to find a car and try to catch that stupid Convoy. She trudged back through the waiting area, still carrying Jacey’s jewellery case and towing her luggage. She glanced down. Oh! She had the manuals for the hydroponics system in there. She hoped that Mr Lattimore would be able to borrow the manuals from one of the other Towers.
A car pulled away from the door as she approached. Hamilton had stayed to watch her departure. She sprinted out and waved at the car. For a moment, she thought he hadn’t seen her, but he stopped and reversed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked for the second time.
“I…” She was about to say she’d missed the flight. Then she changed her mind. “I decided not to go. There’s plenty of food at the Hills Estate.” She lifted the keys from her pocket and slid into the passenger seat. “We can pick up enough to join the Convoy.”
ENDS
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