A car drove by, a taxi honking at the pedestrians who were strolling in the street, pushing them out of its way. The taxi was filled with more visitors. A plume of sooty smoke trailed after it.
Ron felt completely bushed. He had been walking painfully for more than an hour. Finally, far up the street, he could see a thick crowd of people swarming. And beyond them, the heavy steel criss-cross beams of Manhattan Dome came down to street level.
The gate.
There were open shops and restaurants on the street now. People still buzzed in and out, doing their last bit of shopping or eating or drinking before the City closed down for the year. Everybody seemed to be rushing about even faster than usual. They looked wild-eyed, frenzied, like there were a million things they had to do before the gate closed.
But they didn’t look happy at all. They didn’t seem to be enjoying their fun.
Is it really fun? Ron wondered.
A pair of white-haired women came out of a shop gripping huge plastic bags that bulged with packages. They almost bumped into Ron because they were too busy talking to each other to notice him. He stepped back as they jostled past him. They stared at Ron as they passed.
“My goodness, look at him,” said one to the other.
“Disgusting.”
“Is that dirt or bruises?”
“What’s the difference?” They headed toward the gate.
Ron stood there in the midst of the surging crowd. The people flowed around him the way water flows around an obstacle. They stared at his ragged clothes and bruised face. They talked about him. But no one spoke to him.
Above the heads of the crowd, Ron could see a policeman in his clean white helmet. For some reason he couldn’t understand, Ron edged away from the gate, away from the policeman.
And then he saw Sylvia.
She was pushing through the thickening crowd, frowning and looking around. Searching for somebody.
For me? He was glad and angry and scared, all at the same time.
He made his way toward her. She spotted him and her eyes lit up. They both pushed through the crowd until they were standing face to face.
“I didn’t know if I’d make it in time,” she said, breathless. She had to raise her voice to nearly a shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd.
“I don’t have any more money,” Ron heard himself say to her.
For a moment she didn’t answer. The crowd pushed at them. It was hard to stay in place.
“Al toldja I took yer money. Right?”
“Right.”
She shrugged and said nothing.
“Well, did you? Or was he lying?”
Sylvia shook her head. “No, he ain’t a liar. I took it. While you was sleepin’ in the hotel room.”
Ron didn’t know what to do, what to say. He stood there while the people streamed by, jostling them. The crowd was getting bigger and noisier. His head was hurting. Cars and buses full of people were honking and growling along the street. It was hot and dirty and noisy and confused.
“Why’d you come here?” he blurted.
“T’ warn ya.”
“Warn me?”
“About th’ gate. They won’t letcha through without an ID The hardtops’ll throw ya in th’ Tombs.”
“What’s the Tombs?”
Sylvia glanced across the crowd at the helmeted policeman. “It’s like a big jail. Underground. It’s real old and rotten. They toss ya in there, you never come out again. Nobody ever comes outta th’ Tombs.”
“They can’t do that,” Ron said.
“They sure can,” she insisted, her eyes frightened. “I thought Al gave you back yer ID But Dino’s still got it. Gonna sell it fer fuel, he said. If you got no ID, the hardtops won’t letcha outta th’ Dome. They’ll think yer one of us.”
She was serious. “You really stay here in the City all year long?” Ron asked.
“Yeah. We can’t get out.”
“But . . . how come Al didn’t warn me? Why would he just send me to the gate to be arrested? You told me—”
“Al don’t care. He just wanted t’ get rid of ya.”
“And you do care?”
She frowned. “I . . . I don’t wanna see nobody tossed in th’ Tombs. Nobody. Ya never get out.”
