The Water Wars - Cameron Stracher [34]
It’s French, I thought. The men were Canadian. Had the truce between Minnesota and Canada been broken? Were the countries at war? The world was too large and complex to grasp. The intricate allegiances of governments and people seemed to flutter as unpredictability as that butterfly in the jet stream. I was just a girl trying to find my brother, my friend, and my way home.
Then in perfect English, the voice said, “Who are you?”
I opened my eyes, but I still could not see.
“Who are you?” the voice repeated again.
“Vera,” I said.
“How did you get here?”
“The pirates brought me.”
“Shut off the damned light,” said the voice.
The world was plunged back into night. Now I could see the man standing over me. He wore a green beret, a dark green shirt, and green camouflage pants. The men surrounding him were dressed similarly. I assumed they were wearing the uniform of the Canadian army, or maybe the Water Guard. Will would know if he were here. I fought back another round of tears.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“The People’s Environmental Liberation Army,” the man said proudly.
I had heard of PELA but thought the organization was just a horror story told by shakers to frighten kids. PELA did terrible things—bombing desalinization plants, poisoning reservoirs, kidnapping and killing WAB ministers, burning oil supplies. They made pirates look like respectable citizens. Now I was in their hands.
“Did you blow up the dam?”
“Of course we blew up the dam,” said the man. He seemed offended that I might think otherwise.
“And kill all those pirates?”
“Most definitely.”
“And what about the Minnesotans?”
“They’re dead too.”
I took in all this information. It was almost too much to bear. My father once told us that all people believed in the same God, although each had a different name for Him. But Will said there was no God, just a need for people to believe. Wherever they were, I hoped Ali and the pirates were at peace.
“Are you the leader?” I asked.
“I’m Nasri,” said the man. “Chief environmental scientist.”
“You’re not much of a scientist.”
“Who do you think invented those explosives? Ordinary dynamite or C4 couldn’t blow such a structure.”
Nasri was practically hopping on one foot, as if he couldn’t wait to get going in some race. He was small and wiry with a short beard and stubbly hair. Once I got a good look at him, he didn’t frighten me at all, although his eyes looked wild—one brown, one blue—and I could see them shining even in the darkness. His men hung back, as if they didn’t know whom he might strike next. There were eight of them, each bearded, each wearing the same combat outfit.
“They’ll come after you,” I said. “Now that they know you’ve blown the dam.”
“You’re an expert?” asked Nasri. “It’s twenty-five kilometers to Canada, and there’s clear passage all the way to Niagara.”
Canada? Were Nasri and his men allied with the Canadians? If so it was a strange alliance. The Canadians had destroyed the environment, hoarding much of Earth’s water and killing thousands of species of fish and land animals. Years ago their prime minister had been indicted for environmental crimes by the world court, although he was never prosecuted after the court was destroyed in a terrorist attack and the chief justice was killed.
“Shouldn’t be surprised,” said Nasri. “The Canadians need us, and we need the Canadians. Suits all our purposes.”
“But what about when the war is over?”
Nasri laughed—a short, sharp bark. “The war will never be over. Not as long as there’s water on Earth. Humans will fight for the last drop.”
“I don’t believe it. Earth is too important.”
“Ha! You’re an environmentalist.”
“If being an environmentalist means blowing things up and killing people, I’d rather be a pirate.”
Nasri stopped hopping and fixed me with a glare.