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Chapter 17

For the first time in his life Richard slept on the ground. It had been twelve hours since his escape. He was exhausted. Every ounce of energy was gone.

With no money there was nowhere to spend the night. Shelters had ceased to exist long ago. So he wandered deep into the City, sticking to side streets and alleys until his legs gave out.

Everything took a turn for the worse a few hours earlier when News ran a story about Nickle being a fugitive. Warnings like this were uncommon and caused panic. There were more than sixty million residents packed into twenty five hundred square miles. With his face now displayed on countless Vidscreens it was only a matter of time before someone noticed him.

The only help was an old grey hoodie he found in a garbage bin a few blocks from Charlie's. This was his first dumpster dive. The smell that met him when he jumped in was thick and rank. Luckily the sweater was near the top. He grabbed it, hopped back out and threw up. The effort and nausea were worth it - with both hands deep in its front pocket and the hood over his face he looked more like a homeless man from the Underground than someone on the run.

And no one gave him so much as a second glance.

The length of his walk was a mystery. Richard had no way of telling time. But it had been a while. He escaped from the Foundation in the morning and now it was nearing dusk.

Fatigue decided a huge Grocery Superstore seemed like a good place to hide. In the alley behind it he leaned against a patch of dirty brick wall between two dumpsters and slid to the ground. When his body made contact with the asphalt he placed his face in his hands and stayed that way until morning.

*

The next day presented a new problem. Breakfast wasn't waiting on the kitchen table of a warm house, prepared by someone else – or even in a plastic hospital tray. It was whatever he could scrounge. The dumpsters were the only option. This made his stomach turn. All Richard could think of was the smell when he dove for the sweater. But there was no other choice. In the end hunger pangs won and he jumped in.

"Can I help you?"

Richard froze. Garbage fell from his hands. Among it was the remainder of a large muffin. The sight of it made his stomach growl.

"Sir?"

Unsure of what to do, Richard put up his hands and turned around. A lazy part of him was happy to be caught. That meant running was over. He could eat a real meal and sleep in a bed. The determined part of him was disappointed – it meant he had run for nothing.

The person who addressed him was unexpected. Instead of the steel helmet and blue uniform of a Security Officer there was a white apron and smiling face of an elderly man.

"Can I help you?" he asked again.

Richard could only stare. He had no idea what to say or do.

"Name's Bernie." The old man patted his chest to emphasize the introduction. "You look hungry. Can I grab you something?"

"That would be great." The offer was a surprise and seemed genuine. Richard had expected sudden recognition, followed by yelling and sirens.

"Let's head inside." Bernie waved toward the building. "No one's in for another hour. Won't be able to help you out of the garbage though, eyesight isn't what it used to be."

"No problem." Richard waded across the bin and hoisted himself out. When his feet hit the ground Bernie gave him a once over. There was no reaction beyond a hint of pity.

"This way," Bernie said, and turned toward the door. "Watch your step."

Richard trailed the old man into a huge stock room. Metal racks filled with boxes rose to the tall ceiling and stretched into the distance. With the exception of a few stacking robots moving among the shelves the place was quiet.

"My office is at the far end," Bernie said. "Got some bagels and coffee in there."

They marched through a maze before arriving at a large yellow door.

"You seem a bit down on your luck." Bernie pulled the door open. Inside was a small computer desk, a bookshelf, fridge and toaster.

"Things have been better." Richard said. He sat down on a chair beside the fridge and watched the old man.

"Been there myself," said Bernie. He opened one of the desk drawers and took out a bag of bagels, removed two, pulled each apart and dropped them in the toaster. "Can be a real bitch but you can't give up."

Richard stared at the toaster. His eyes glazed and nostrils flared. The smell of toasting bread made his stomach rumble. "Hard not to," he muttered.

"Nothing a man can't do if he sets his mind to it."

The bagels popped. Bernie grabbed them, set each on a plate and buttered both. Then handed one to Richard, took the other and sat in his chair. "Hope you don't mind if I'm straight up, but you also seem like a man with a lot on his mind."

Richard chewed and nodded.

"Do you have anyone to talk to?"

"There might be a few people I can trust," Richard said through a full mouth.

"Anyone that can pick you up? Maybe get you off the street?"

Richard sighed and looked around the room. "You have a land phone?"