Free The Dawn: The Bombs Fall (A Dystopian Science Fiction Series) by Michelle Muckley Page A

in
place from the many trades before.
    Zack pushed open the door to the
water treatment plant. Ronson stared at the three giant pipes rising up along
the far wall. Attached to each was a series of taps, all locked behind a
reception desk boarded up with wired glass. There was a gate at the side that
opened with an electronic grunt when Zack punched in a key code.
    “Won’t be long before others arrive. Hand
me the card.” Ronson fumbled in his pocket, his fingers clumsy with nervous
excitement. “Thanks,” Zack said as he took it from him. He pushed it into a card
reader, and the name Boris Matthews shone in tiny yellow LED dots. Zack pulled
a large plastic container from underneath the counter and positioned the
opening up to the tap behind him. After a couple of clicks on the computer they
heard the rumble of water cascading against the plastic.
    “Simple as that,” Ronson whispered,
not once taking his eyes from the container. Once it was full the tap
automatically switched off. Ronson felt the presence of another body behind
him, and when he turned around there was a man standing with a small plastic
bottle in his hands. The man smiled but Ronson did nothing. A stranger could be
a dangerous thing in the sublevels, and even after all this time stuck down
there, they were still around every corner.
    “Morning,” the stranger said. “Got
yourself a five litre, eh? You must have been putting some hours in,” the
stranger said to Ronson. Ronson, conscious of his clothes, his smell, his hat,
and of nothing more than the scar on his face that he hoped so much wasn’t
showing, just about managed a smile back with the side of his lips that still
moved. The sound of the water container hitting the desk grabbed Ronson's
attention and he turned back to Zack without answering. Zack tipped it on its
side, lifted a small hatch door and slid the water carrier through the space
underneath the glass partition.
    “There you go, Boris. Get that
straight home, right?” Ronson nodded, almost unable to lift the container, the
sides of it buckling back and forth as it contorted from the volume of water
inside. “Don’t make any stops.”
    “He spoke to me,” Ronson whispered as
he leaned in. “He said good morning.”
    “You need a rest, Boris. No more
extra shifts for you this week. Got it?” Zack stared at him, wide eyes
imploring him to grab the container and go. The stranger was also getting
impatient, and this was the last thing Zack needed. The stranger took a step
forward, rested a hand onto Ronson’s shoulder.
    “I think you’ve finished here, Boris.”
The stranger’s fingers bored into Ronson’s skin through the threadbare jumper. He
scrunched up his nose, smelling the air, inching closer and closer towards
Ronson. “I think I feel thirstier than I thought I was. I’ll take five litres
today as well. I have been working hard, too.” He slapped his card on the desk
with his grubby hand. He pushed it along the counter, and then raised a finger
to the underside of his nose. Zack knew that the man had realised that this was
a trade, and that Ronson didn't belong here.
    Zack inserted the card into the
reader. Richard Donoghue. “You don’t have enough credits.” Zack placed his
hands down on the counter in an effort to look immovable. “Boris,” Zack said,
turning to Ronson. “Time to leave, Boris.” Ronson nodded, wriggled free of
Richard's grip. He wrapped his arms around his five litres of water and took a
few steps towards the exit.
    “I think you must have made a mistake,”
said Richard. “I know for a fact that there are fifty credits on there. Check
again.” Richard took a step towards the door, his eyes still on Zack. “Or, I
could just tell one of the Guardians that Boris stole my water. If you'd prefer
to play it like that.” Only a second from running, Ronson turned in time to see
Zack pulling up another five litre container. With his head down, Ronson fled. He
flew through the corridors