"Pick her up out of there."

  "But you just said not to be under your orders." 

  "That's not nuclear waste fool," the man in jeans and wet sweater pointed down at the girl dog paddling with her feet. 

  "We're not your commanders anymore." Another man on a bicycle but not knowing to get off or go said.  His voice echo'd some in the cement tunnel.  "If we ever were." 

  "Oh God.  Here's a towel." A small-framed woman dug around in the bicycle bag.  "She's lost her arms." 

  "But the water's not bloody." 

  "He just said it's not nuclear water." 

  "Oh Lord," a shallow breath in to sigh.  "Still broken or I'd be in there me self." 

  "Are you English?" 

  "We've been British for a while in our neck of the woods." 

  "Don't look at my butt." 

  "Hard not to I need the leverage." 

  A smack.  "Are you one of those?" 

  "Intelligence?  Dumb as a rock." 

  "Why'd you smack me when she was insulted?" Jeans guy asked while feeling the heat rise in his cheek. 

  "Not insulted loves.  Just out of the loops for a while." 

  "Where have you been honey pot?  My pies are sucking.  Like cardboard.  That one called them cardboardy.  I'll pull, you push.  Aim for the towel." 

  "Don't 

  "Bite me again and I'm leaving you in there." 

  "Pull on my neck." 

  "Push!  Lift the butt cheeks like your a stool!" 

  "Stool pigeon fer sure." 

  Like a cork the figure, mostly metal boned, rose.  Four arms worked to get under armpits and (i)heave, 

     (i)HO(i). 

  "Bloody stuck on a bit of cable or something." 

  "Is my make up fucked up?" 

  "Fuck you for eating all those waffles." 

  "Hold up, hold up." 

  "Johnny cakes they called them." 

  "Shit, shit, tipping over."