The Oasis of Filth Read Online Free PDF

looking for a dark-haired woman?” I panted. “I think I saw her running up 11th.”
     
    He looked at me with a sneer of disgust and suspicion. “Why are you helping me?” he asked.
     
    “Hey, I scratch your back, maybe you’ll scratch mine,” I said.
     
    “You people, always the same,” he said. He considered it for a second, then asked, “Where on 11th?” I mentioned a spot a block north. Enough to get him out of the way. The sun dropped behind the horizon as he thought about it.
     
    “You realize what happens to you if you’re lying to me.” It wasn’t a question. I nodded. He pulled out a device and pointed it at me, presumably taking my photograph. Then he walked off toward 11th Street.
     
    I waited for him to get out of view, then jumped back on the bike. I figured I could outrun Rosa if she was just following the river south. I was right. I had to jockey the highway, but I caught up to her on Water Street, just off Maine. She was walking as nonchalantly as she could manage, only occasionally looking over her shoulder. I stopped the bike and she saw me.
     
    “Go home. Please ,” she said, walking even faster.
     
    “You know I’m not going to do that,” I said.
     
    “Don’t waste the rest of your life on me!”
     
    “The way I see it, you were pretty much the only enjoyable thing in my life this past year, so if you don’t mind, I’m just going to stick with you. Where are we going?”
     
    She stopped and looked at me. A combination of incredulousness, relief, love, fear. “I have no idea,” she said.
     
    “Okay, then I do. Come on.”
     

7
    We headed for the waterfront near the old, abandoned monuments. I had an idea that, while even dumber than racing after Rosa on the bike, might just work. We passed all of the boats docked on the Anacostia River, because while they would do the job, they were big, excessive solutions. But more than that, I had no idea how to start any of them. It was a long walk, but eventually we arrived near the Jefferson Memorial, neglected and forsaken by a country that had turned its back on its highest ideals.
     
    I stared up at the rounded marble hulk, thinking about how far we had come from the days of Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence, founding father of a great country, now a sad, besieged city-state terrified of zombies and mold and its own citizens. If it weren’t all so terribly true, it would have been funny. I remembered walking under the dome, many years before the outbreak, and I recalled the words inscribed there: “I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.” If true, Jefferson, a founder of our government, would now be that same government’s sworn enemy.
     
    I made my way around the Tidal Basin to a tiny dock that once offered boats for tourists — small craft, easy to control, from what I remembered. The tourists were long gone, but a few of the boats still bobbed on the sick, oily water. I stared. Paddleboats. Really? Was this another cruel twist of fate? Couldn’t we just escape in a canoe, or something a little more… respectable ? No, we found only abandoned paddleboats. I was wondering if my so-called plan was turning out to be a joke after all. But we chose one, quite at random, and got aboard. Thankfully, despite 10 years of being ignored, its pitted fiberglass hull stayed afloat, and we started to pedal. But it was dirty . It terrified us to touch the thing. There were layers of filth, beyond anything we’d seen in years. I had visions of contracting the disease simply from touching the boat. But we went onward.
     
    My God, the boat was loud! How would we escape the city without being detected? Water slapped with every movement of the pedals. Our hearts sank. We may as well have shouted, “We’re escaping!” every 30 seconds to add to the sonic overload.
     
    As it turned out, no one cared. DC had become a walled city to keep