Complex City

by G H Edwards

  “Your farm is so beautiful. You must be so proud,” Claire said after the prayer had finished and everyone began to eat.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a lot of work,” Tim said with a nod..

  “I know how much effort all of you must have put in to have us here. So I want to say thank you very much. I can’t express how lovely it’s been.”

  Jenny smiled from ear to ear, got up, and gave Claire a big hug. “Of course, darlin’. I mean, we’re neighbors, I guess.”

  After the embrace, Claire retook her seat. “On our way back, we’ll stop by, but this time we’ll bring you some greasy cheeseburgers,” she said, smiling at Judy.

  “Oh, really,” Tim said with a laugh.

  “But I think we should be getting on our way,” Claire said sadly.

  There was a moment of silence in the room before Jenny said, “But ya’ll just got here. Why don’tcha stay one more night?”

  Claire looked at Michael, who was leaning over the table on his elbows. His skin had turned even paler than she’d ever seen it, and he looked like he might vomit at any moment. “Well, I don’t think…we have time,” she said.

  “Girl,” Tim started, “ya need to stay here and let your husband rest some more. When he’s feeling better, ya’ll can head out.”

  “The sooner we get to Miami, the sooner we can get the cure.”

  “No, the sooner ya get on the road, the sooner he’ll start gettin’ worse,” Tim said, his grave tone returning.

  “Well, we’ve been here for two days,” Claire said, “and he isn’t recovering much, so I think we need to move on. There’s only one cure and it’s in Miami.”

  “Maybe,” Tim said bluntly.

  CHAPTER 26

  Claire had helped Michael shuffle out of the house and down the porch steps. By the time they had reached the truck, she was exhausted. Tim, Jenny, and even Judy had helped them pack their things in the truck. Promises to visit were made, and Claire even gave them her address in the off chance they couldn’t find their way back on the return trip—and the even less likely chance Tim, Jenny, and Judy went to Houston. Neither Tim nor Jenny could tell them how close they were to Miami or where on the map they were, but Claire was confident it wouldn’t be much longer. Thankfully Ol’ Blue started on the first attempt. After repeated hugs and tearful goodbyes, they waved as the truck chugged away.

  Claire was behind the wheel and glancing at Michael. He sat leaning against the door; she thought he might have gained a little more color.

  The beautiful beaches disappeared behind a row of trees as far as they could see on both sides. With the truck back to cruising speed, Claire noticed again how loud everything was. The sound of the engine, the roaring of wind, and the tires smacking the cracks and small gaps in the road was almost deafening. Even with the noise, she was happy to be driving again. As the routine of driving down empty highways set in, Claire’s mind wandered to what Tim had told her. She wondered how much of what he’d said was actually true. She had always found it a little strange that no one ever left the city. But even though there were no flights or trains or buses that left the city, they were still allowed to leave, she debated. It wasn’t like there were fences or gates or anything like that; they had just driven out. Anyone could get a car if they wanted and drive out, just like they had done, although she’d never seen a car for sale. They had gotten very lucky she had a crafty uncle; without him there was no way she would have gotten a vehicle. But it wasn’t illegal to own a car. No one said we can’t have a car; it’s our choice, she thought. But it was very expensive to own your own car. The taxes and insurance were outrageously expensive, and there was almost zero parking in the city, but that didn’t prove anything. Lots of things were expensive; it didn’t mean they were illegal. And yes, almost everyone in Houston lived in the blocks, owned by one company, but people could live anywhere they wanted; it was just that other places to live were expensive and extremely hard to find. Once again, just because things were rare and expensive didn’t mean they weren’t allowed to have them. In the cities, they had freedom. They could vote and go where they wanted, and they could own guns. Claire reached down under the seat and felt the handle of the large handgun her uncle had given her. It reminded her that she had freedom and wasn’t controlled. She decided that not many people had the money or time to do lots of things, but it didn’t mean they were controlled and owned by some rich super villain. And even if someone did own everything, why did she care? If a company or person wasn’t breaking any laws and giving her a cheap place to live, then what did it matter?

  Claire’s thoughts were interrupted by Michael, who had a loud coughing fit. She slowed the truck to check on him. With a few light pats on the back, the coughing stopped, and Michael fell asleep with his face pressed against the passenger-side window. Claire sped the truck back up and was soon deep in thought again about her world. The huge highway bent and twisted and passed dozens of empty towns and went over the crumbled remains of collapsed overpasses. Often she’d thought they were on the wrong path and had to stop the truck over and over to find and read the old road signs that had fallen down years before. Most of the signs were lying facedown in overgrown ditches, so she had to trek through the grass and flip them over. Both pairs of shoes she had packed weren’t made for stomping through overgrowth, and every step she took reminded her how unprepared they had been. It was an exhausting and dirty exercise, but it paid off when she found a sign for Miami. The compass ball was reading “S,” and she knew they were on the right path.

  Claire drove for hours over flat, broken roads that often were flooded. The only break was to stop for gas, which was much more often that she wanted. When the sun began to dip low in the sky, she was getting tired. She found the seemingly never-ending stretches of empty highways hypnotic and had to fight to pay attention. As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder shook Claire awake. She looked upward and noticed the sky had filled with dark clouds. When the rain started, she felt discouraged as the drips seeped through the door and began to soak her. She soon found an old overpass that was intact and pulled under it. She rolled all the truck’s windows down and heard rain coming down all around her. The temperature had dropped slightly when the rain appeared, and Claire was grateful. There also didn’t appear to be any bugs, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She searched their bags and pulled out what she was looking for. During the drive she had come up with an idea, she would jam some T-shirts in the window frames to keep the bugs out but still let the air in. After some work and even more ingenuity, she was able to execute her plan and could tell right away that it had worked. She lay down on the floorboard and felt proud as a breeze blew in. She knew she needed to refuel the truck again, but the cooler temperature and the beautiful sound of the rain hitting the ground lulled her to sleep.

  Claire awoke at sunrise the next morning and felt very cramped. She stretched and looked over to check on Michael. He was still in the same position that he had fallen asleep in hours ago. She got out of the truck, walked around a little, and found a bush to relieve herself behind. Her thick brown hair was a mess, and she was yawning as she walked back to the truck to wake up Michael. After many shakes, Claire started to worry; Michael wasn’t responding. She was near panic when she finally was able to get him to move. He was extremely weak and barely able to talk. Claire knew he was dying right in front of her, and she felt horrible that she had stopped for sleep. If she had driven through the night, they might already be in Miami.

  Suddenly feeling the extreme need to rush, she jumped out of the truck and quickly filled the tank with gas from their last fuel can. She hadn’t noticed before that they were running so low on their only fuel. As she impatiently watched the last of their precious fuel pour into the tank, she grasped with finality that this trip had been a very bad idea. Soon they could be out of gas, alone somewhere, as her husband died in her arms. She thought he probably could have lived longer if they’d stayed in Houston. They had the machines and
medicines that could help people extend their last days. She knew Tim was right and they should have rested longer. She thought about turning around and going back to Tim and Jenny’s but knew it was a useless idea. She scrambled back into the truck and sped off.

  With one hand on the wheel and the other rubbing Michael’s leg, she pushed the truck faster than she knew she should. She couldn’t decide if she should let him sleep or try to keep him awake. After a few hours, Michael rolled over and looked at Claire like he wanted to say something. His eyes were sunken and looked empty. She slowed the truck to a crawl and leaned in close to him.

  “Keep going,” Michael whispered feebly.

  “Okay, baby. We’re almost there,” Claire said, trying to look happy.

  She had no idea how far she had driven, no idea how far they had left to go and if they even had enough gas to get there. The few signs that were left standing were of very little help, but she felt confident she was heading in the right direction. It had been hours of fast, problem-free driving. The compass still read “S” but the gas gauge was approaching “E.” She couldn’t explain it but she somehow knew they were close; she could feel it in her bones. She noticed there were more and more small buildings on the roadside, and they were looking less dilapidated. She began to feel something that she had forgotten: hope. The road was becoming much less bumpy so she sped the truck till it could go no faster. Claire was in an extreme state of awareness—awareness of not just signs and buildings but people. Soon the road had widened to four lanes, and Claire knew she was nearing something and hoped it was Miami.

  Hope began to overflow inside her. She reached over and shook her husband’s leg. “Michael, I think we’re coming to something! It might be Miami. I think we made it!” she nearly yelled. Michael once again didn’t move. Claire shook his leg more. “Michael! Michael? Michael, are you awake?” she said, her voice getting higher.

  Claire shook his leg hard while glancing back and forth at the road. Her attention was grabbed when she looked back at Michael and saw that his leg had fallen off the seat. His body was twisted as his lower half fell down to the floorboard, but his upper half stayed in his sleeping position on his side.

  “Michael! Michael wake up!” Claire screamed in a near panic. She shook him more violently as she pressed the brake. Tears rolled down her face. “Michael, wake up. Please wake up!” she cried.

  As Claire slammed the truck into park, the truck made a loud snapping sound. She crawled over to him and shook him harder. Tears rained down on his clothes and face as she brought herself forehead to forehead with him. He felt cold and heavy. She knew he had died right next to her.

  CHAPTER 27

  Claire didn’t know how long she had lain with Michael, crying. She didn’t want to move again; she wanted to stay there with him forever. Her mind was made up; she’d never leave his side; she’d die with him on this strange highway in this old truck. Someday someone would find them there together, lying in peace and in love. Every bit of her heart and soul hurt with a pain so deep and strong that she thought it never would heal. The guilt she felt overflowed, and she sobbed for hours. She knew if they’d stayed in Houston, he would have died, but at least they would’ve had more time together. But she had forced him to leave, and now he had died too early. She felt exhausted and wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Lying nose to nose with her husband, she wondered how long it would take to die. As she started to doze off, she was awakened by a violent shaking. She was startled and opened her eyes; she was still nose to nose with Michael. He looked so different from her memories of him. He was incredibly thin and so pale that he appeared to glow. She put her hand on his cheek, which was cold.

  Again, she was rattled by a sudden shaking, this time worse than the first time. She raised her head and saw through blurry eyes the light and then the last of the shaking and sputtering as Ol’ Blue ran out of gas. Suddenly the noise of the engine, which she hadn’t noticed before, was gone and the silence was deafening. The only noise was a slight humming, almost a buzzing sound. Claire felt defeated as she sat up and her vision began to return. She was stiff and felt drained. She looked around the roads and saw that it was dark just off the road, but it was light where they were stopped. She looked through the windshield and up at the large sign almost directly above her. She had found the source of the light and sound. The giant illuminated sign said, welcome to mega city miami.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Claire lay back down because she had another reason to cry. They had driven together for days to get to Miami, and their journey had ended five feet from the city. She cried for her husband; she cried for herself; she cried for her family. She cried that she had let down everyone she had ever known; she cried that she didn’t make it.

  When the sun rose the next morning, she felt the heat rising. She had spent all night in anguish and thinking about death, thinking about her family missing her. Would they ever find out what happened to Michael and her? Would anyone ever find her? Who would tell her mom? Would they just assume she had died or made it and never left Miami, maybe killed by one of Miami’s gangs or diseases? She thought about Tim, Jenny, and Judy. It felt like so long ago. She felt bad that they would be the last people to see her. She felt bad that she had used them and given them nothing in return. She pictured little Judy waiting by the road for Claire and Michael to return, waiting for a truck just like Tim had when he was young. She felt terrible that she would let Judy down. She thought about what they had said—they had told her to stay; they had told her Michael wouldn’t survive the trip. What if she had stayed with them? Would Michael have lived longer? What if they had stayed there forever and lived like them?

  She wondered how long she had lain there, wondered how long it would be before she died. She wished it would hurry up. Claire was starting to think she was losing her mind. Her brain was forcing her to think of anything but the pain; it reminded her of the night of the hurricane. Her mind kept going back to what Tim had said. What if he was right? What if some big company had used the water and power to tried and force them into a city? She wondered what she would do if suddenly her electricity and water were too expensive to pay for. She had seen how they had to live, and it was incredibly hard. She and Jenny had discussed at length how it was they survived. Jenny was forced to walk thirty minutes to a nearby river to get water then walk all the way back. They’d boil the water over a fire made from wood they had to chop—boil it in pots they had to fix and couldn’t replace. Claire couldn’t imagine doing that every day for decades. Just seeing the amount of work they put in for a simple meal was astounding. She could see why people were quick to move. No one forced anyone to move, but people moved to survive.

  Her mind continued to wander. She thought of an old teacher she had in high school, Mr. Ali. He was a tall, thin, black man with a white beard. He was very funny and passionate about any subject he taught, and you couldn’t help but get passionate with him. Students would leave his classes and suddenly care deeply about learning Spanish or geology or any of the wide range of subjects he taught and knew so much about. Claire remembered him standing in front of his whiteboard one day, marker in hand, and asking his students one of his favorite questions.

  “What’s the most important word in the English language?” he asked with a cheeky smile.

  The students spat out a wide range of answers.

  “Love.”

  “Happiness.”

  “Peace.”

  “Money.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Houston.”

  Mr. Ali would smile and encourage them, but in the end no student, including Claire, could guess the answer. He theatrically popped the cap off the marker turned to the board, and wrote in giant letters, “WHY.”

  “‘Why’ is by far the most important, powerful, world-changing word we have in our arsenal,” he said. “Three letters ask, ‘What is the reason, cause, purpose, motivation?’ If you can find out those things, you can find out the worl
d.”

  The students all nodded, failing to understand the significance.

  “Okay, let me give you an example,” Mr. Ali continued. “Recently I heard a few students complaining about the school’s new policy, which bans disposable water bottles. I have to tell you, I didn’t like the policy when it was first announced, until I asked why. When I asked why, I found out the reason. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Yes,” the students said in unison.

  “Well, good, because I was going to tell you anyway,” he said with a smile. “The Houston Standing Army is looking to upgrade a number of its weapons and vehicles, and they’ll need more plastic to do it. This is the same plastic that’s used to make disposable bottles. So if the school reduces the number of plastic water bottles it uses, it’ll help defend our city. Not so bad, right?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Any problem you have, anything that doesn’t make sense can be solved by asking ‘Why?’ enough times. But the best part about why is that it’s free and easy to use,”

  Claire had taken the lesson to heart and constantly asked why, much to the chagrin of her mother and teachers. Right now, she decided to focus her mind on the “whys.” Why would a company want to move everyone out of the countryside? She remembered that Tim and Jenny had different answers. Tim said it was to save money and get power, and Jenny said it was too expensive to supply them energy so far out. Claire didn’t know what the right answer was. They both sounded plausible to her.

  A thought popped into her head regarding a time she had asked why and gotten a good answer. It was with Mr. Ali, and he was teaching a class on some kind of science subject Claire couldn’t recall, but she remembered the lesson. It was about big companies cutting down the rain forests and the animals that died because of it. Claire had used the lesson she was taught and asked why the animals died—why didn’t they just run away? Mr. Ali’s answer was that the animals died not by equipment or men but by losing their space and being pushed into smaller and smaller lands that eventually killed them. This reminded Claire of what Tim had said. Maybe they packed everyone into the cities to kill them. She asked herself, Why would someone want to kill off lots of people? She didn’t know—maybe, she thought, to save money. But she decided there had to be easier ways to kill people than making them move and waiting for them to die. An easier way would be to create a disease and kill them like that. A disease like gerivirus. Claire was suddenly back in the truck again with her dead husband and started to cry again. “No!” she cried, slamming her eyes shut. She had to focus on something else, but the thought wouldn’t leave.