Within fifteen seconds, an auto-pod pulled up to the curb where he stood.
“Welcome, Kyle,” an overly optimistic uni-sex voice chimed as the door opened to allow him in. “What is your destination?” The tone was sympathetic, like it really cared for where he was headed.
“Peachtree and Fifth,” Kyle cheerfully replied.
“That’ll be 13 credits, please.”
Kyle held his palm up to the scanner above the door.
“Thank you. Your estimated arrival time is four minutes,” his virtual driver answered as the pod silently began to accelerate away from the curb.
7
Kyle arrived at Katelyn’s building, passed through front door security and took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. Rounding the corner of her hall, he ran into two giggling women, Scion and Patrice, coming out of Katelyn’s apartment.
“Hey!” Scion said as she recognized him. “You missed the party. We’re the last ones to leave.”
Katelyn stuck her head out of the doorway. “Kyle!” she exclaimed cheerfully. “I didn’t think you were coming.”
Kyle stood awkwardly bathing in knowledge of the false assumption he’d made.
“Are you okay?” Scion asked. “You don’t look so good. Come to think of it, you didn’t look very well the last time I saw you.”
Now everyone was giving him their undivided attention. “Oh, I’m fine,” he managed, waving a hand and grinning.”
“We’re heading’ to the Fuzz. You two should come with us,” Patrice offered.
“I’m going to try to get some rest tonight,” Katelyn replied, excusing herself.
Kyle mumbled something about having some things to do at home later.
Scion and Patrice laughed good-naturedly as they started off toward the elevator.
Watching them leave, Katelyn observed, “They were just approved to adopt a CR.”
“Oh yeah?” Kyle asked in surprise. “How they’d swing that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know partners who’ve been on the list for years. It seems like it’s getting more and more difficult.”
“Hmm,” Katelyn said, thinking about that. “That’s true. And Scion and Patrice haven’t been together that long.” She shrugged her shoulders. “They must know someone. Come in,” she laughed. “Look at me, making you stand out here in the hall.”
He followed her into her apartment, the door sliding shut behind them. There were empty drink glasses and plates with food remnants scattered about the living room. “Sorry I missed the party,” Kyle apologized.
“No biggie,” she told him. “I’m just glad you made it. She paused and then added, “Are you okay? You do look kinda’ off.”
“Yeah. I’m fine. I just witnessed something that was really disturbing,” he admitted honestly.
“Really?” Here,” she motioned toward the sofa. “Sit down and tell me what’s up while I get these dishes out of the way.”
He commenced relating the events of the evening. Katelyn came to a halt in the middle of the room with a pile of plates in her hands when he reached the point in his story where he had stopped helping the victim. She looked disappointed, an expression that pained him terribly. But, recovering her cheery composure, she attempted to reassure him. “It was probably for the best.”
Yet, when he finished the whole tale, she once again looked exactly like he’d felt when standing idly by waiting for the paramedics. He sat quietly as he heard her finish loading the dishwasher in the kitchen and glanced around at her place. Her position at ATS allowed her the option of a bigger apartment than was normally allotted to the A’s. It must be about 500 square-feet, he surmised, taking in the dimensions and calculating for the remaining bedroom and bathroom space.
He could’ve done the same thing, but opted to save his credits instead. Katelyn liked to entertain and needed the space. He worked late so often that he really only used his apartment for sleeping and he rarely had visitors. The standard 300 square-feet unit suited him just fine. She also had the newest model SIM wall screen, he observed.
“Shoot!” Katelyn shouted from the kitchen.
Kyle sprang up. “What’s wrong?” he called, already heading in her direction.
She was leaning over, peering at the dishwasher’s display pad, holding her hair back with one hand. Straightening up when he entered, she wrinkled up her nose. “I’m out of credit for the wash. I didn’t realize I’d used so much water this month.”
Kyle laughed, relieved that that was the extent of the problem. “Here, take some of mine,” he said as he held up his palm.
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” she said. “It’s my fault for not being more environmentally conscious.”
“I insist.” He spotted the life pad on the wall behind her and proceeded over to it, peering into the recognition scanner before she could refuse.
“Identified as Mr. Kyle Bennett,” a pleasing voice quipped. “Do you wish to add credit to this device?”
“Yes, I do,” Kyle confirmed.
“This unit has gone over its monthly water allowance. There will be a penalty charged for excess water use. Do you wish to proceed?”
“No problem,” Kyle said, smiling at Katelyn. She was shaking her head, wearing a mock frown and waving her finger mischievously at him.
“Please state the amount.”
He deferred to her with raised eyebrows. “Two loads oughtta’ do it,” she said.
“Please make your payment.”
Kyle held his palm in front of the scanner.
“Two loads. Thank you.” The washing machine immediately hummed to life.
His ACAD pinged. He glanced at the screen and did a double-take. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone over his water allowance. He didn’t realize the penalty was that stiff.
“I’m leaving Monday,” she reminded him. “Thanks. You’re a sweetie.”
Feeling like he might be blushing, he turned quickly and made his way back to the sofa before she noticed.
A few minutes later she brought in the coffee bearing the tantalizing aroma he’d been smelling. When she placed it on the end-table beside him, the uniquely pleasing odor triggered memories of foster homes he stayed in as a child. Coffee was more available in those days—the real stuff, imported Arabica. Now, it was mainly instant, of the cheap Robusta variety. Yet, the classy blends could still occasionally be had—for a price.
“No wonder you couldn’t pay your washing bill,” he joked.
She sat her mug on the coffee table and plopped down beside him. “I had a little get-together. If I can’t splurge for that, when can I?”
“I’m certainly not complaining,” he said, flashing a grin, bringing the steaming mug to his lips and blowing lightly across the top. “I haven’t smelled coffee like this since I was a kid.”
“Hey, you were a child of the republic, weren’t you?” she asked suddenly.
“Yeah. Cam, my brother, and I were some of the early CR’s.”
She sighed. “You know, it’s kind of sad.”
“What’s that?”
“Adoption is the only option these days.”
Kyle had never thought about that fact from an emotional standpoint. Maybe it was because she was a girl that it bothered her. “Pregnancy was a burden to women,” he offered. “Such an unnecessary inconvenience.”
She nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
“Besides,” he added, “who wouldn’t want a designer kid? You don’t have to worry about it catching some disease because of a bad gene.”
“Yeah, I know,” she conceded. “Still, I’d like to think it’s worth taking the risk and letting nature take its course sometimes.”
This unorthodox statement startled Kyle. It also instantly gave him an idea.
“Here, let me fill that up for you,” she said in the lull, motioning toward his mug.
“I’m good. Thanks though. Katelyn…” he began and then paused. Getting up, he walked o
ver to where he’d laid his coat. Her eyes grew wide as he pulled the journal out of its folds.
“Wow,” she breathed as he brought it over to the sofa and handed it to her. “Where’d you get this?” she asked as she carefully fingered the cover.
“It’s probably better just to say it fell into my hands.”
She was already reading the first page. “Do you know how old it is?”
“Actually, I haven’t even had a chance to read it yet.”
She glanced up at him. “Well, shall we dive right in?” she asked with a sly grin. Closing her eyes, she randomly stuck her finger in a page near the back of the journal and opened it there. She read aloud what her eyes alighted upon.
June 7
As I look back over the past few months, it is so very clear that a plan and a purpose much greater than me and all of my circumstances have been at work at each point along this dark path. There is no way that I would have ever chosen for things to turn out as they have—no one would. It seems like the very worst of what life has to offer has been hurled in my direction. But through it all, the blessings are there. They’ve always been. I just never noticed until all that I built my life and identity upon was cruelly snatched away.
I’m going to get a bit philosophical here. Bear with me. What are we taught to pursue from the cradle? What does our society place so much value upon? The answer: position and possessions. The whole race, from the start to the finish, is a mad dash for the best degree or job or title. Then, we begin the never-ending quest to get more stuff. The funny thing is that nobody can even give a good reason as to why.
If we say it’s for the sake of happiness, then why do the people with the most stuff seem the most unhappy? If we say it’s for future security, then why do those same people seem the most insecure? I believe it’s because we obsess over accumulating assets and then have the added burden of trying to protect them. I’ve been down that road. This is the voice of experience.
But now, for me and so many others, there is nothing left. Nobody cares who you were in your previous life. The janitor has taken up arms beside the former executive. Both are destined to fall together—to lie in the same shallow grave, if they even get that much. We have nothing left to cling to but one another. My past is meaningless and all my possessions have been looted or confiscated.
But even then, what happens when, God-forbid, there is no one left around you? When there is no earthly arm upon which to lean? These are the days of spiritual testing. These are the times that separate the wheat from the chaff. The love of many grows so, so cold…
Katelyn looked up when she finished reading. “This is heavy stuff, Kyle.”
He nodded, trying to comprehend what he’d heard. “It’s from the war period.”
“Do you think you should have it?” Katelyn asked him, her tone suddenly turning grave.
“I don’t know…,” Kyle admitted. “I’m not sure what to think about it.”
He paused and was about to add something else when Katelyn’s SIM screen burst into a fury of light and sound, instantly flooding the apartment with a visual and audio onslaught. They both started, Katelyn letting out a scream and throwing a hand over her chest as Kyle jumped to his feet. It was a either a public service announcement or an emergency broadcast.
An RNN reporter filled the screen. Her blond hair and angelic features contrasted starkly with the grim words spilling from her mouth.
“We are receiving reports that there has just been a bombing in the central downtown area. A crew is en route to the scene. Stand by for this breaking news.”
As he stood and stared at the screen, Kyle knew what had happened; not because he had any foreknowledge if it, but because he’d worked too long in data processing not to immediately realize the event for what it was. He only had to wait a few seconds before terrible images filled the screen. Bloody victims staggered away from a scene of smoldering masses of twisted metal and piles of shattered cement. He didn’t want to believe it. There would have been so many people still inside, partying until the dawn.
The reporter confirmed the incident. The Fuzz Factory had been bombed, leaving a smoking and broken half shell where the structure had stood. Listening to the reporter drone on with gory details, he glanced down at Katelyn and saw that she was weeping, one hand on her forehead, staring at her lap.
Already the insurgency was being fingered. Already there were promises of justice being served to those responsible. The worst possible scenario and everyone’s greatest fear had played out in real time. This was no drill. Its security breached, the Free Zone was infiltrated.
Knowing it would be a long day, no, a long week ahead, Kyle excused himself. The conversation he was having with Katelyn now seemed so irrelevant, even irreverent considering the solemnity of the present circumstances.
8
The city was in lock down. Though it was near midnight, the bombing had awoken the Free Zone from its slumber. Kyle made his way home on foot. Check points materialized on every block like dormant seed imbibing the precise mix of moisture and heat, bursting forth from invisible recesses into public visibility. Security drones filled the skies above his head, busy with surveillance, with processing, with fingering possible suspects. Pedestrians wandered out of their apartments and onto the sidewalk, dazed and frightened. One emergency pod after another sped by, came back, and returned again. It was mayhem.
Kyle made it to his apartment without incident. His residence was dark and cold. It didn’t seem to make much difference when the lights automatically came on as he walked through the door and the climate-control sensor adjusted to compensate for his comfort. He took a shower, ignoring the three minute limit, not caring that the penalty was deducted from his credits. He muted his wall screen that still broadcasted the media’s speculations. He wasn’t hungry, nor was he sleepy. He needed something to focus on, to draw his mind away from the implications of the event and the busy week ahead.
Catching sight of the journal lying on the sofa where he’d thrown it when he came in, he realized with relief the distraction it would offer. Sitting down, he studied its cover, carefully running his fingertips across the fragile yellow pages. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled the musky odor mingled with the subtle scent of mildew. It was a book, its words ancient and enduring. It was brimming with ideas and feelings, dripping with history, representing a real life lived in real time. He missed books. He missed how they felt. Though most of his studies had been done with a state-sanctioned digital reader, he’d still managed to get his hands on a few of the real things over the years.
He slid over closer to the light, surprised to find he was nervous. He glanced around the empty room guiltily, half expecting to catch sight of someone observing his act. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the first page. He read the date: April 13. Written in cursive were the first words, “I’ve never kept a journal…” The book suddenly overwhelmed him with a nostalgia that could only be a figment of his imagination.
Reading, he turned page after page, fascinated, lost in the experiences of a man he never knew until tonight. Stuart was representative of that unique social classification once called the middle-class. Kyle knew it was rare in history that such a class ever existed and when it did, it usually only consisted of a small minority. But before the war, this country had been the historical exception.
Kyle read about Kim, Stuart’s wife. She grew sicker as the journal progressed. Kyle couldn’t help but think about Katelyn. He cared for her deeply and there wasn’t even anything certain between them. Stuart had to witness daily his beloved step by painful step lose her health in tragically ironic parallel to the demise of the nation.
Kyle didn’t stop reading until, with sudden realization, he saw he had come to the end. Standing and stretching, he began to pace. His thoughts whirled, seeking a place to land. He felt a bond with Stuart. He grieved for what he had gone through. Stuart’s pain had seeped through the ink and pierced his own heart. But it wasn’t just
a narrative. Something significant had happened to this man. He had begun to write about a personal religious experience in the latter pages. Kyle couldn’t make sense of it.
The country had deteriorated around Stuart. The turmoil consumed and contorted everything he ever loved. But then, incredibly, he chose to attach himself to an idea that bred extremism, to a religion that fed the flames of intolerance and hatred. Did he not realize it was this very type of narrow-mindedness bigotry and individualistic thinking that had torn the nation apart? How could he have succumbed to such unintelligible conclusions? Yet he had.
*****
The dawn broke just as Kyle exited his building. He hailed an auto-pod and gave Katelyn’s address for the second time in twenty-four hours. Finding himself in the elevator quickly rising toward her apartment, he knew what he had to do. But he couldn’t put words as to the reason why. It just seemed like it needed to happen, like so much might be irrevocably lost if not.
“Kyle!” Katelyn exclaimed as her door slid open. “What are you doing here?”
She had obviously just gotten up. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She rubbed her eyes and squinted at the bright hall light that flooded in behind him.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure…” she said, stepping aside as Kyle crossed the threshold.
“Sorry—I know this is unexpected,” he told her. “Can we sit?”
“Yeah, alright,” she returned hesitantly, following his lead and reluctantly lowering herself into an armchair.
“Katelyn…”
Her face grew serious and thoughtful at his tone.
“We’ve been friends for a long time.”
She nodded in agreement, a smile slightly perceptible at the corners of her lips.
“I know you’re about to leave,” he continued. “And I know that means we might not see each for...well, for who knows how long. But, I want to keep in touch.”
“Of course,” she replied, still nodding but perplexed.
Backland: Insecurity (Book #2) Page 6