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and full of pain.
    Suddenly, Flynn
recognized the face under the thick layers of dirt! The man used to be his
neighbor. Lived in the very same building… before disappearing a few years back.
Mullins was his name, Flynn remembered, and he had worked as a doctor’s aide in
the Infirmary. Once a healthy young man, big and strong and full of energy, Mullins
was now a shadow of his former self! The sight of his gaunt face and sunken
eyes sent shivers down Flynn’s spine. He remembered all the whispering that
went on after Mullins had disappeared…That he might have been involved with a
rebel group… planning some kind of an uprising against the Government… talking
about change, a new beginning! And then, Mullins was gone! Everybody thought
him dead, killed by the Van Zandt militia… But here he was, alive… just barely
so! A crushed and broken man … an example of what awaited those who dared to
rock the boat!
    Slowly, the man
raised his arm and extended a hand toward Flynn. The hand was shaking like a
leaf, begging silently. Flynn threw a quick glance around. There was no one
else, just him and the Waste Crew. The men had stopped moving and were staring
at him and the fish. Flynn stood stock still. To his surprise, an overwhelming
sense of pity began to choke him. Normally, Flynn would ignore other people’s
misery and carry on with whatever he was doing. Hardship on the Lower Side was
taken for granted… you just got on with your life… But now, without thinking,
he dug into the bag, took out the largest of the fish steaks and tossed it to
Mullins.
    Trembling with
excitement, the man caught the fish, bowed his head and whispered his thanks.
Flynn nodded and stepped on the pedals, somehow managing to squeeze his raft
past the Waste Crew’s barge, without retching his guts out. Just before going
round the corner, he glanced back over his shoulder. All four men were tearing
at the fish like a pack of wild animals, grunting as they gnawed at the raw
meat.
     Shaken from his
encounter with Mullins, Flynn turned and steered the Seeker into the
entrance of his building. Its large doorway was nothing more than a gaping hole
in the outer wall, with rusty armature wires sticking out from its broken
edges. Once inside, Flynn realized he was still holding his breath… Not that the
place smelled that much better, but compared to the Waste Crew’s barge, the
stench of rot and decay inside the building was a lot more bearable. Flynn was
now moving through the building’s docking area, where the entire sea-level
floor had been gutted out to make room for dozens of boat slips. With all partition
walls removed, Flynn’s building boasted one of the largest and most cavernous
spaces on the Lower Side. The only remaining parts of the original structure’s
interior were its staircase, the elevator shaft and the support beams. Those
were covered in black slime and barnacles, rising from the murky pool of water
and reaching two stories up. Before the Flood, the docking area had been the
thirtieth floor. Testament to this was the stenciled number ‘30’, still visible
on one of the columns. Now, it was known simply as the “Marine Floor”.
    A few dim lights
flickered on the damp walls, barely illuminating the floating slips. This was
where the boats and rafts of the residents were safely moored for the night.
Flynn's raft glided through the greenish-brown water, pushing away the floating
garbage in its way. It bumped gently against the car tires that lined Flynn’s
designated docking spot. After securing the Seeker to the tires with
some rope, Flynn bent over the side and reached under the raft’s platform. His
hand found the hatch to his secret compartment hidden inside one of the rusty
barrels. Flynn pulled it open. With a brief glance over his shoulder to make
sure no one was looking, he started taking his stash out, stuffing it inside a
mesh sack. He worked quickly, his movements well practiced. A minute later,