Youth Patrol

by Andrew Lueders

  “What’s wrong?” I ask nervously.

  “Morning sickness,” the woman chuckles. “It’s a symptom of pregnancy.”

  “She wasn’t sick before.”

  “She had the L-Chip then,” the woman answers.

  “Is she um, is she going to be okay?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s quite normal.”

  Val looks up from the toilet; her face is deathly pale. “This is the first time I’ve ever been sick, Evan. And you know what, it feels wonderful,” she grins for a second, but it’s only for a second. She quickly sticks her head back in the toilet and stuff comes pouring out of her mouth.

  “There, there,” Merriam says, gently brushing Val’s hair back. “They call that ‘throwing up’.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I ask.

  “No, she’s fine, Evan. Why don’t you go back to sleep, it’s still so early.”

  I get a sense they don’t want me around, so I leave. Ever since last night those two have been inseparable. Val kept on snuggling up to her all evening long, and Merriam didn’t stop her. I guess it’s easy to understand why. Val misses her mom and Merriam misses her daughter.

  I go back to the sleeping area but there’s no way I’m falling back to sleep, so I turn around and head over to the living room, but calling it a room isn’t quite right either. It’s more like a large cavern. I turn up the dimmer on the wall just so I can a see a little bit better. There’s no one in here, so I walk inside. It’s not a very sophisticated room that’s for sure. Interesting yes, stylish no. I don’t think the people around here care that it looks so strange; in fact they probably like it this way. The room is decorated with old furniture picked from abandoned homes and hotels or wherever else one might find shit like this. The cave floor is covered in scraps of old carpets and throw rugs of every shape, color and size. They’re strewn all over the place, making it soft to walk on but tough to look at. I sit down on a patch-covered sofa and put my legs up on a coffee table with three legs, the fourth leg is a stack of bricks. Cheap looking paintings of oceans, forests and landscapes are bolted all over the rock walls. They’re ugly. I remember seeing them last night when we came in here to eat dinner. Merriam prayed before we ate. Everyone bowed their heads and folded their hands. I looked over at Val thinking she would find it amusing, but her eyes were closed too and her head was bowed low.

  The prayer was long and Merriam thanked God for everything you could think of. She thanked God for his love, his acceptance and his goodness (whatever that is). She prayed for every little thing known to the human race, she even prayed for Val and me. She prayed for our safety and for Val’s baby, and for other things I can’t remember. When it was all said and done, she gave a big “Amen!” And the others responded likewise. Some touched their foreheads and then their shoulders at the end of the prayer. Not sure what that was for, but I’ve seen certain RF’s do that when we arrested them. I wondered if Merriam would have prayed for me if she really knew who I was or what I did. Would she have prayed for me knowing I was a killer of religious fanatics? Would any of these people even talk to me if they knew? Probably not.

  The food was passed around; they served fish from the rivers, and deer meat from the forest. I have to admit that when I saw all the dead animals on the table, I almost lost it. Killing other living creatures just to eat them is strictly prohibited according to Policy; it’s so barbaric. But then again, what choice do these people have? They don’t have access to meal supplements like we had at Santa Verde. They have to eat meat to survive. So I ate the meat too knowing that poaching carries the death penalty. I ate it all and felt ashamed afterward, but damn, the food was good.

  When we finished eating and the plates were cleared, some guy brought in a guitar. He sat down on one of these old couches and played. The others gathered around and started singing. Well, except for Blake. He sat by himself alone over there. Who knows if he normally acts like that? Maybe he was thinking about Perry. I mean, he did just find out his son was dead. The songs were pleasant enough. They were mostly about God and about washing our sins away. When the people sang, their voices reverberated off the walls and it filled the tunnels with music. They sang as if God was actually hearing them deep inside this mountain. That’s when I realized that to these people, God is real. It wasn’t some tradition passed down to them from their parents. It wasn’t out of duty or guilt that they did all this; this was real. They were true One-Wayers in all sense of the meaning, true fanatics. They believed their way was the only way, and there was nothing that anyone could do to convince them otherwise. They raised their hands up high and closed their eyes when they sang. “How Great Thou Art” was the stanza they kept singing. How Great Thou Art, How Great Thou Art. This was when Val became one of them. She broke down and cried. They gathered around and prayed for her. Some even put their hands on her like she was going to garner some kind of super power from their touch. I don’t know if she received anything special, but she did have peace afterward, and maybe that’s not such a bad power to have after all.

  Suddenly, a painting on the wall catches my eye. I snap out of my reminiscing from last night. I do remember seeing it when everyone was singing, but I didn’t think much of it before. Maybe because paintings like that are a dime a dozen. When I was in the Patrol we found things like that all the time. But now, in this room, knowing all that I know, it seems like I should have a closer look at it. I get up and walk over to it. The painting is of Jesus on the cross. We would have burned something like this. It would have been deemed… I can’t remember what it would have been deemed. We just would have burned it to piss them off. But here it is, hanging proudly, like it’s supposed to be here. I look at it intently, more intently than I’ve ever looked at any other painting before. Jesus is dying and no one is saving him. If he was so loved, why didn’t anyone try to save him?

  CHAPTER 38

  “You’re up early.”

  I jump. I’m a bit startled. I turn around, and see Abby, the beautiful woman from the bakery, standing in the entryway.

  “Oh, hey,” I say in an upbeat tone. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “So you look at pictures of Jesus when you can’t sleep?”

  “Huh, what? Oh yeah. No, I was just looking around. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

  “No, you weren’t disturbing me, but you’re girlfriend on the other hand...”

  “You could hear that?”

  “Everyone could hear that,” she chuckles as she gracefully strolls into the living room. It’s apparent that she’s the type of woman who enjoys the finer things of life, the type of woman that doesn’t belong in a place like this. She looks absolutely stunning just like she did last night. For dinner, she wore something classy, and this morning she looks even better. She has on a beautiful white turtleneck sweater that clings to her body. Her black cotton pants are adorned with ornate stitching, and her boots (which are different from yesterday’s boots.) look expensive, very expensive. Where does she get all that? No one around here even comes close to dressing like her; everyone else wears old worn out clothes. She must have some kind of secret stash stuffed in some nook somewhere.

  “I don’t think we were properly introduced,” she says, smiling. “I’m Abigail Jones, but please call me, Abby.” She holds out her hand in a dainty kind of way.

  “I know who you are.” I reply as I take it, feeling her smooth skin.

  “You do? That’s good, because I know who you are.” she teases. “You’re Evan Sparks.”

  “Everyone knows that,” I say disappointedly.

  “Sorry about Brodie yelling at you yesterday,” she adds. “He gets a bit emotional.”

  “Yeah, well I’m sorry too.”

  “Why are you apologizing?”

  “Let me count the ways,” I say cynically. “There’s the bakery for one.”

  “Oh that. Oh well, nothing last’s forever.”

  “I wish Brodie had your attitude.”

  “So do I.�
��

  “Can I ask you a question, Abby?”

  “Sure. About what?”

  “How’d you get out of Santa Verde? Brodie told us the bread trucks were the only way out.”

  “They are, or were. But after being stuck in a sewer for three days, you begin to get desperate.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I convinced a gentlemen who was visiting Santa Verde on government business to help us out.”

  “How’d he help?”

  She smiles and winks. The look on her face tells me, she either killed the man or had sex with him, but I dare not ask which one she applied.

  “So what do you do for the Resistance, Abby?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “I do the things that no one else wants to do,” she smirks. Again, her look tells me way too much or not enough.

  “So, how long have you been working for Brodie?” I continue.

  “What makes you think that I work for him, maybe he works for me?”

  “Does he?”

  She laughs.

  “Is he your boyfriend?”

  She laughs again. “Oh, how I wish. But it’s complicated, I don’t want to bore you with all the little details.” She looks around for a place to sit. She picks a sofa, brushes off the cushion and sits down. Her beautiful clothes against the torn up furniture makes for a striking contrast. She crosses her legs and stretches her arms across the backrest. “So what do you think of Blake’s cave?” she adds.

  “Is that what this place is called?”

  “I call it that. Isn’t it delightful?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” I say tentatively.

  “What would you say?”

  “I’d say… it’s weird.”

  “Weird? Please explain.”

  “Well, for one thing, the people are weird,” I say.

  “The people?”

  “Yeah, they all wanted to kill me when I first got here, they couldn’t stand me, but then at dinnertime, they were all so nice. They couldn’t stop waiting on me hand and foot; it was like they became different people. Well, except for that fat ugly woman, she still wanted to kill me.”

  “Oh her,” Abby laughs. “There’s always one in every group. Try not to let it bother you.”

  “She doesn’t bother me,” I say. “It’s the others that do.”

  “How so?”

  “I know how that woman feels about me. She’s genuine, the others are fake; they’re just better at hiding their emotions.”

  “Oh really,” she says accusingly. “Am I hiding my emotions?”

  “You’re not really one of them.”

  “What makes you say that?” she says, sounding offended. “I could be one of them.”

  “No you couldn’t, look at you, there’s no way you could be one of them; you’re not the type.”

  “And what is the type?”

  “You know.”

  “No I don’t,” she answers.

  “Yes you do. Their type is the religious fanatic type. They’re judgmental, full of hate, intolerant. That’s the type, that’s who they are!”

  She starts to laugh at me.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You,” she says. “For people who are so full of hate, they fed you, gave you clothes; even gave you a place to sleep.”

  “I know, but it’s not because they wanted to, it’s because they have to. I’m still their enemy, and they still want revenge. Their religion suppresses their true feelings!”

  “Why can’t you just accept the fact that maybe they do care about you.”

  “Because they can’t!” I yell as my voice echoes throughout the chamber. “It’s impossible for them to care! It goes against everything they believe!”

  “And you know what they believe?”

  “Well yeah. They believe anyone who is different goes to Hell. They’re homophobes, sexists, racists, they hate diversity, should I go on?”

  “Your girlfriend is one of them now. Is she like any of those things?”

  “She doesn’t know any better, she just wants a change in her life.”

  “Where is this coming from, Evan? I saw you last night when we were singing, you were moved by what you heard and saw. Face it, I think you want to become one of them.”

  “No way!” I scoff. “I believe in science, not superstition. I believe in logic, not fairytales. And I don’t believe God is going to save us! If God did nothing to save his own son, what makes you think he’s going save these people?”

  “Don’t ask me, Evan, ask them.” She motions for me to turn around. I do, and standing there are the people of the cave, staring back at me. Brodie isn’t there, but Blake is.

  “Shit,” I mutter shamefully. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER 39

  I sit alone in the living room, sulking in the corner. I think I’ve been sitting here for an hour. No one’s talking to me, and I don’t blame them. I totally insulted their belief system; I blew it. No one’s going to help us now.

  An aroma drifts in from one of the tunnels and fills the cavern. It smells good. I think someone from last night said they were going to serve leftover venison for breakfast. Venison. I ate meat out of necessity last night, at least that’s what I’m telling myself. I was hungry; I had no choice. But now, even if I had options, I’d pick venison over a supplement bar any day. I’m literally drooling just thinking about sinking my teeth into the meat. I feel like a hypocrite. Have I abandoned all my principles? Eating meat is wrong, I know that, but oh… it smells so good.

  Val comes in and sees me sitting on the couch. She’s dressed like everyone else is around here now, well except for Abby. Last night Val threw away her Youth Nation clothes and happily picked something from their surplus. She picked out a pair of old faded pink denim jeans with holes in the knees and a plaid yellow blouse that might be older than her. She grabbed a pair of what were once white canvas sneakers and put them on her feet. She naturally made the old clothes look great. At dinner yesterday, I told her she looked beautiful, but I don’t think she liked me telling her that.

  “I heard about your little spectacle this morning,” she says, walking over to me. “Between my morning sickness and your tirades, the two of us are leaving quite an impression on everyone,” she giggles as she sits down next to me. “Evan, I know what you’re feeling and I kind of feel the same way too, but they’re on our side, so we’ve got to be on their side.”

  “You like them, don’t you?”

  “I do,” she replies.

  “Even that ugly lady?”

  “The one who gives us dirty looks all the time?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “I’m trying to,” Val chuckles. “I did find out what her name is. You want to know?”

  “Not really.”

  “C’mon, guess.”

  “I don’t know, Blanche?”

  “No, not even close.

  “Harriet?”

  “Nope, it’s Candy.”

  “What?” I laugh. “Candy?”

  “Yeah, swear to God. It’s Candy. You think with a name like that, she’d be, you know–”

  “Sweeter?” I say, finishing her sentence.

  “Shh–stop it,” Val says, trying to hold in her laughter. “Don’t, you’ll get everyone mad at you again.”

  I smile expecting Val to smile back, but she doesn’t.

  “What’s wrong, Val?”

  “I wish I could stay here forever,” she says reflectively. “But I can’t, Blake won’t let me because I’m pregnant. He doesn’t allow babies or young kids to stay here for very long. He told me kids attract Youth Patrollers.”

  “He’s right, they do, and besides, the longer we stay in this cave, the more we put everyone in danger.”

  “We really messed things up, didn’t we, Evan?”

  “Yeah, I guess we did.”

  “You know Candy’s daughter, Amy, that little chubby girl that recog
nized us yesterday?”

  “Yeah, the one who hates her parents? What about her?”

  “She’s that way because of me.”

  “No she isn’t. That little brat hates her mom because her mom is a bitch.”

  “It’s not funny, Evan. I’m the cause. They all listened to my music, and they all turned into little monsters.”

  “Val, we’ve been through this already, it’s not your fault. It’s Willenger’s.”

  “I wish I could believe you.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself. We didn’t know any better, we were just following orders.”

  “Remember that day you joined the Patrol?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Perry came to tell me you were leaving and that he was going with you.”

  “Okay, so.”

  “He came to tweak my L-Chip before he left. He fixed it so I wouldn’t have any morning sickness. He didn’t want me visiting any of the other medics while he was gone. He knew if I did, they’d find out about the pregnancy. So he set me up so I didn’t have to go anymore. And because of that, I stopped getting my L-Chip tweaked all together. I stopped getting my ‘pleasure’ tweaks, my ‘mellow’ tweaks, and all those other daily tweaks we used to get. At first it was no big deal; it was kind of nice, but after a week or two of not getting anything, my mind got all fucked up. I started having feelings of guilt and shame for what I did to my mom. I hated myself for what I was doing to the kids at the concerts. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go and have my L-Chip tweaked; I couldn’t smoke pot either because of the baby inside me, I had nothing to mask this anxiety. The guilt was debilitating. I put on a good face, but I was tormented inside. But then last night happened. When we were singing, something happened to me. The guilt disappeared, Evan. It was gone. God took it away and for the first time in a month I had peace. It was amazing, but then I woke up this morning and it was back. Why would God give back my anxiety? Why?”

  “I don’t know, Val.”