Liberty Vengeance: The White Dove

1

I don't know what to watch out for anymore. I felt on the window ledge, but there was no window, just a concrete niche, nothing more. I was about twenty feet off the ground, and on this old building, I could easily be flattened on the ground by a flattened brick. My every move had to be perfectly thought out to avoid an unwanted accident. I leaned out from the ledge so I could look above me. The wind seized the opportunity and blew a strand of hair that had fallen out of my dreadlocks into my face. I tucked it behind my ear, but the wind slapped it again. I angrily wrapped it around my dreadlocks and cursed: Thank you, little breeze, you're a great co-worker in my mind I thanked him. I ignored the curtain of hair in front of my eyes and focused on my mission.

I looked up. My destination, the rooftop, was still very far away, some ten meters away, I estimated. It may not seem like much, but when it's horizontal and the wind is blowing with the force of a truck, it's a little harder. After a while of recovering, I finally decided to move on. The convention starts in an hour and I HAVE to be there. It's my duty.

I carefully pick myself up. I adjusted my glasses, which had slipped down to the tip of my nose thanks to sweat. I pulled on my favourite black gloves, just in case they happened to be looking for fingerprints on the outside wall twenty feet away in a forgotten alcove. Crouched down, I readied the pick I was using to move around. I adjusted the rope that connected me to the pick to prevent an unwanted fall of twenty feet to the dry ground. I took a deep breath, steered my hand, and drove the pick into the hollowed-out spot. I tugged on the rope to make sure the pick was wedged securely. I felt the open space between the two bricks. I stuck my fingers in, wiggling a few times to make sure I could manage it safely. When I was confident enough, I braced myself and pulled myself higher up the rope with my hands. When my foot touched the wall, I quickly put the hand I had in the crevice over the rope so I could insert my other foot into the hollowed out crevice a few inches higher. I scrambled over to the handle of the pick, carefully sliding my foot over to make room for the other so that I could keep both feet secured if possible.

With one hand, I gripped a fairly steady piece of brick about thirty centimetres above the embedded pick. With the other, I reached behind my back into my pack, where I had a second pickaxe and rope ready. I felt the handle that was sticking out of my pack and pulled it out meticulously, careful not to accidentally get something tangled in the rope. I couldn't risk Chrisanten falling out. Then my action would be wasted.

I ran my eyes over the wall above me, searching for the right place to stick the pick. My eyes rested on a half-fallen brick. I grinned.

If I stuck the pick somewhere at that level, I could throw the brick out completely to make room, that would help me quickly.

I looked around the vicinity. Just above the brick was a crack. That would be ideal. I held onto the rope with one hand and took aim with the other. Making sure I didn't lose my guard, I swung and slammed it into the wall with all my strength. A shower of tiny brick fragments showered me, but I hit the crack precisely. I had to praise myself for such accuracy. I tugged on the rope with my hand to make sure it was solid, then snatched the first pick, tossed it into my pack, and climbed higher up the rope to be closer to the falling brick. Once I was near it, I clasped one hand in the empty part and tried to pull the brick out with the other. I jerked it. Nothing. It didn't even move. I was a little disappointed because it didn't go on the first try like it seemed to. I wiggled it for a good three minutes before it finally gave way.

About forty minutes passed before the bricks were replaced by rusty sheet metal. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, but my body trembled with tension. I crawled over the red-hot metal ledge and collapsed, all out of control, onto the old, worn roof. I breathed heavily, letting the adrenaline wear off, but not too much again, because I was going to need it later today. When I'd regained some strength and my heart rate had settled, I sat up and looked around at the red wasteland around me. The building I was currently on was built in the shape of a square. It was large. Very big. It had about seven stories and stretched fifty feet on each side up a hill dotted with rooftop emergency exits and attic windows with broken glass or, at best, boarded-up cardboard. The white plaster, over its years of wear and tear, lay like snow all around the building, denser in some places, thinner in others, depending on which side it faced. In the centre was a courtyard that had obviously been used for a variety of things in its existence. There were concrete stoves here and there, as well as a pillar resembling a tree. Hot air rippled over the red-hot sheet metal like invisible dancers on the Spanish Riviera. After savouring the ugliness of time's bitter reality, I packed up my clogs, fixed my hair so it would no longer threaten me while I worked, and headed for the nearest skylight.