Page 75 of The Lost Zone (Dark Water #3)

The walls of the buildings were covered in ropes and rickety handmade wooden ladders that spidered over every square inch of the surface.

These were the only ways into and out of the buildings.

There were some fairly large landing points dotted around the complex, easily identifiable by the amount of traffic around them and the gaping maw of their openings.

Many of these entrances had once been huge windows, long since smashed in to create easy access points.

Josiah directed his duck towards one of the less busy entrances. He didn’t have time to deal with the jostling around one of the larger entry points; he’d take his chances inside.

The weather was still appalling, with Storm Jasper screaming all around.

The water was choppy, and it took a few attempts before he could line up his duck against the side of the building.

Despite the weather and the lateness of the hour, there were dozens of feral kids hanging from the sides of the buildings, easily hurling themselves up and down the rope exteriors like little monkeys.

He’d been one of them once. He parked next to a port, opened the top of the duck, and glanced up.

Immediately above him, several curious faces gazed down.

Kids hung off ropes and from ladders, staring with hostile intent at his shiny Inquisitus duck.

He whistled, and the children moved forward in a wave, so eager he could sense their hunger. They all wanted a piece of his suit, his duck, and his clean, shiny life.

“I have cash cards.” He held them up. “And a weapon.” He held up his revolver. He didn’t usually carry a gun, but he knew a stun gun would be little deterrent in the Quarterlands. “You can have half the cash cards now and the rest when I return – if my duck is exactly as I left it.”

He was suddenly surrounded by dozens of interested kids of various ages, all dour and sharp-eyed.

“If it isn’t, no more cash, and I’ll call the Thorities to clear out this entire building.

” He waved his Inquisitus ID around so they could all see it.

They gazed at him sullenly, unimpressed but wary.

These weren’t cheeky kids with hearts of gold.

They were hard-nosed Quarterlands kids – they’d as soon knife him in the heart as guard his duck, but they were scared of Inquisitus, and with good reason.

He had the power to make their lives very difficult indeed, and they knew it.

Josiah threw the cash cards at the kids, and they erupted, screaming, each of them desperate to capture one.

In the ensuing chaos, he climbed out of the duck through the roof and straight into the dark, dank remains of what might once have been an office block.

It was highly unlikely that his duck would be there on his return, but Reed was on his way, so there was a route out of Canary Quarter should he need it later.

Keeping his gun drawn, he strode into the depths of the building, glad to be out of the driving rain. The smell was overwhelming – the combination of damp and sewage made him retch, but he’d grown up with it, and the feeling of nausea soon passed.

The building was crammed full of people, some sitting on the floor, so off their heads on croc that they just rocked back and forth, sobbing.

Others were on more serious drugs, and, among the many bodies littering the place, Josiah spotted at least half a dozen that were no longer alive.

This was common in the Quarterlands. Every morning the gangs who ran this Quarter would do a sweep and throw the dead bodies into the water.

He waved pictures of both Neil and Alex around but barely received a flicker of response. These people were too far gone to even think of robbing him – and no doubt his gun and powerful build were also deterrents.

He ran down a hallway filled with people – some of them had torches, but it was otherwise pitch black.

The extremities of any Quarter were always filled with the biggest no-hopers: newcomers, drug addicts, and the sick and dying.

Further in, he knew he’d find more order and structure.

First, he had to traverse endless hallways and rooms full of the hopeless and dispossessed.

People crying, whether from croc or not, others too far gone to even argue over food and resources.

There was little point anyway. The Quarterlands were run by various big gangs, many of them in a state of constant warfare with each other.

Rebellion was put down ruthlessly and immediately, no questions asked.

Everyone knew that. Nobody wanted to draw attention to themselves.

There was obviously a generator somewhere in the building, because a string of rickety lights had been hung along one section of the hallway, leading him to believe he was going in the right direction.

Nobody lit up a section of the Quarterlands unless they had resources, so he was clearly reaching gang territory.

His father had been a gang member, but that had been in a very different kind of Quarter, where a group of more or less decent people had gathered together to create some kind of order for themselves and their children.

These little pockets of almost civilisation could be found in most areas of the Quarterlands, amid the squalor, and he was clearly reaching that area in this one.

Not all Quarterlanders were involved in crime; some worked jobs on land, among the dry folk, but couldn’t afford to live there.

Those people were more inclined to want order and a well-run facility.

Still, even the people that presided over those areas were tough.

Nobody had ever messed with his father. Like him, his father had been a big man, and not one who said much, although when he did speak, everyone listened.

He hadn’t been a crook, either. He did the very valuable job nobody wanted but everyone needed of emptying the sewage.

There were no toilets in the Quarterlands, but there were plenty of buckets, and Matt Raine had spent his days emptying them.

This brought him into contact with every single occupant of their Quarter.

It didn’t pay much, but if you didn’t live near a window, most were prepared to toss him something to take care of it.

That something might be money but was equally likely to be a scrap of food, or some shiny object he could sell on.

It had been a hand-to-mouth existence, but he’d been well respected.

There were always people like Matt Raine in the Quarterlands, committed to making their lot as decent as they could manage, and keeping their Quarter as clean and well maintained as possible.

These were the people who kept the lights on, mended parts of the building that were becoming dangerous, organised schooling for the kids, and chased away the worst of the criminal gangs that were encroaching on their territory.

It was a mistake to assume that only criminal gangs ruled the Quarterlands. All Quarters were ruled by gangs, but plenty of those were committed to their own kind of law and order, and happy to enforce it by any means necessary.

Josiah’s Quarter had been ruled by Letitia, a huge, fearsome woman who’d order violent offenders to be thrown out of the highest window without a second thought, but who loved little children and was at her happiest with her big dark arms wrapped around a baby or two.

Matt had instilled a massive respect in Josiah for “Tish”.

“Don’t ever cross her,” he’d warned. “She might have rocked you on her knee when you were so high, but she’ll give you the Quarterlands Splash in an instant if you ever screw her over.”

Josiah never did. He instinctively recognised a natural leader when he saw one.

He wished he was one, but he knew his own nature was too solitary to elicit the obedience and adherence of followers.

Esther was a superb leader, and Peter had been outstanding, but while he could lead a small team, he knew his limitations.

He simply didn’t care enough to want the devotion of the mob.

Now, he’d entered an area where his presence was sure to be noticed.

Before long, the leader of this Quarter would want to know what he was doing there.

Mostly, they were cautious where the authorities were concerned, so Josiah wasn’t in fear of his life – yet – but he knew he had to tread carefully all the same.

The rooms were warmer in the interior as the jerry-rigged generator enabled people to plug in little electric fires.

The whole place was a fire hazard, of course; the Quarterlands always were, and many blocks like this had gone up in flames.

Still, a dedicated sparky or two would run all the electrics in the building, in return for a small fee.

Those who couldn’t pay the small amounts required to live in any kind of comfort were condemned to live on the edge in the outer areas, by the water and at the mercy of the elements and their fellow men.

Josiah passed through the remains of old shops and offices, now turned into a shanty town and full of families and loose collections of people who operated as families.

They sheltered under cardboard blankets next to open braziers, burning any detritus they could get their hands on.

The lights would likely be on for only a few hours a day and the place would always be cold.

People huddled together for warmth, doing deals, having sex, playing chess, or just talking.