Grex & Denga: Part 1
The dripping was starting to get to Grex. Growing up deep in the hive made him used to all manner of constant background racket. Even the quietest night cycle was marred by a constand low hum of distant machinery, people bustling in the streets and, more recently, sporadic gunfire. This was different though. This noise was new and constant - he'd been hearing it for hours now as he lay trying to forget how hungry he was.
Plip... plip... plip... plip...
He dragged himself from the stained mattress that served as his bed in the half-ruined hab block. He was sure it was a dripping pipe, but he knew that the water supply to this block had been shut off for as long as he'd known it. He grabbed his autogun and hefted it onto his shoulder with a grunt. It was heavy. It didn't used to seem heavy. He caught sight of himself in a broken pane of glass. Instead of the muscular youth of a newly initiated gang member, a ragged, wiry and scarred spectre stared back at him, wearing the flak vest and trousers of a larger man. He looked like shit. But at least he was alive - unlike two thirds of the Ratchet Crazies gang.
He stepped from the room, over the curled up form of one of the Juves sleeping restlessly in the corridor. He was meant to be guarding Grex whilst he slept. Grex considered kicking him awake for a second, and decided against it - the kid could rest.
He listened instead.
Up. The noise was definitely coming from above. He walked along the partially collapsed floor with practiced precision, avoiding by instinct the boards and joists which would plunge him to the floors below. A wobbly, rusted ladder with various rungs missing and sketchy fastenings to the wall led upwards towards the roof. It groaned under his weight as he slung the autogun and began to climb as smoothly as possible.
Plip... plip... plip...
Andro, the lookout on the floor above, peered over his shoulder as Grex climbed.
"Hey Boss, nothin' much goin' on. Goin' for a look-see?"
Grex just grunted and kept climbing. Boss. Grex was new to the gang only a few months ago. Andro was an even newer recruit - but still looked like a grizzled veteran now.
Another floor up and the ladder got very shaky, another and it was abruptly truncated by the telltale half-melted, half-burned impact of a lascannon shot that had come right through the exterior of the hab. Part of the wall above had collapsed into the street, and whilst the ladder continued to hang temptingly a few feet above the hole, Grex knew it was only held in place with two or three rusted bolts.
Plip... plip... plip...
It was getting louder. And definitely coming from what was left of the roof. Grex looked around. He'd never tried to get up there. This was the tallest building still standing in the immediate vicinity, and the upper floors provided a commanding view without having to get all the way to the top. He very carefully made his way along the corridor. Fire had ravaged this floor and the one above. He wondered if it had been caused by the lascannon shot as he made his way along, trying to stick to corners and edges where the floor should be stronger. The rooms, where they weren't open to the outside or completely lacking a floor, were bare - long since looted. Towards the end of the corridor he found what he was looking for - a large section of exterior wall was gone and part of the floor above had fallen in, leaving a steep ramp he could clamber up to the floor above, and slightly further along the roof had collapsed into the building leaving a manageable climb to the very top of the building.
Here, effectively outside and beyond the reach of any long since gone cleaning units, everything was covered with a two inch thick accumulation of chemical dust and ash. It floated up as he tried to find handholds to climb with, and irritated his lungs, causing him to cough which kicked up yet more ancient dust. He pulled his bandana down over his mouth with a dusty hand, filtering out the worst of it.
"This place needs a bloody good wash" he muttered to himself as he slowly crawled up. He'd heard of high class domes where they periodically turned on overhead sprinklers to clean the buildings and streets. The thought of wasting that much water appalled him, but he had known a scummer from a higher dome who swore he'd lived under one of the swanky zones in a town called Sky Springs - every few weeks a deluge of dirty water would pour into the settlement and they'd try to capture and filter enough of it as possible to sell on. It would bring with it the occasional credit token or piece of lost jewellery. The scummer had an earring fashioned from a dainty gold ring set with a ruby he'd purportedly pulled from a filter in his youth.
"No such bloody luck" Grex groaned as he hauled himself the last precarious few feet to the rooftop. He looked around. The roof was festooned with long-dead air scrubbers, a broken crane derrick, a rusted water storage tank and dust, lots of dust. The dripping was coming from the water tank. As Grex moved towards it, he found the roof was disconcertingly springy underfoot. He could just see that it bowed inwards towards the water tank at the centre. Could it still have water in it? Perhaps it was only just rusting through and dripping onto the roof.
He very carefully crawled forwards on his hands and knees to distribute his weight, leaving a snail trail of disturbed ash behind him. Now that he was closer, he realised why he could hear the sound of the dripping four floors below - the drip was coming from above, and landing in the water tank, which amplified the sound like a large drum. He could now see where the fluid had subsequently dripped from the holed tank onto the ash, darkening it with moisture. He briefly wondered how much heavier wet ash was than dry ash, and whether his guys would have to find a new bolthole before the roof collapsed completely - he was reasonably sure if it did the heavy metal water tank would take an express ride to the ground floor taking everything in its path with it.
He made it to the tank, and looked in through a rust hole. The top of it was open. He peered up, trying to discern detail in the distant blackness of the dome roof. The dome lighting wasn't functioning directly above, but lights were working to the left and right of him, making it impossible to see the concrete and pipework he knew was above him.
He caught a glimpse of a glimmer of light and managed to focus on the tiny star. Plip. The drip fell and landed in the tank, making it vibrate slightly.
Then another - Plip.
He carfully hauled himself into the tank through the hole and towards the impact point. The tank shuddered and rumbled like an oil drum with his movements. Plip. The drip landed right in front of him. They'd carved a perfect little circle of bare metal in the ash as they fell, and washed a small rivulet towards where it subsequently fell to the roof. He couldn't see any extra corrosion, and risked holding his hand out to catch the next drip. The large heavy drip didn't burn. He used the next couple to roughly clean his grubby hands. Now the risky part, he thought - cupping his palm he allowed a dozen drips to accumulate into a little pool.
He pulled down his bandana from his nose and mouth, and tentatively sniffed the fluid. It didn't seem to have a smell beyond the rust, ash and recycled air of his immediate environment. Very carefully, he dipped his tongue in it. Then took a sip. He spat it out immediately - it tasted like stale spit and acid burps. He knew of only one thing that tasted like that. Clean water. He was tasting his own foul mouth as it washed his numbed taste buds clean.
He took a bigger sip and swilled out his mouth, spitting again, before trying more.
It wasn't quite pure. There was a chlorine tinge to it, with a hint of iron, but it was the cleanest fluid he'd drank for a long time. He waited a while, allowing more to accumulate in his hands, and took a more refreshing drink of the lukewarm water.
He smiled - hunger was a killer, but thirst would get you quicker. This could keep some of the guys alive, and he could probably trade it for food, if only it fell a little faster and he could figure a way to collect it. He was just contemplating getting a couple of gangers to start shovelling the worst of the heavy ash from the weakened roof when he realised something... the drips were falling faster.
Plip-plip-plip-plip-plip
Well, that would help the gathering, but they'd have to hurry before the weight of water accumulated too fast.
The drip became a trickle.
Grex lay down and put his face and mouth under the stream. He couldn't remember his last shower. He looked up as he backed out of the water tank, dripping water from his hair.
"Well, shit" he said, dead pan.
The silver string of the trickle soared up towards the dome roof... where it became a collection of stars... which became a wall of frothing white, dropping fast.
***
Denga slipped around the corner just in time to see the gang's bolt hole implode. A foaming lance of water punched through from above, right through the building. It shot from the ground floor windows and doors before the lower walls bulged and the building burst open, collapsing into the frothing torrent with a thundering boom.
Denga turned and ran as hard as he could as a wall of rubble filled water pursued him along the alley.