Humankind_Saga 1

by Mic Shannon

  The rest of the speech was, as Natalie had suggested, bureaucratic bullshit. There had been a lot of reassurance, but no real answers. The only thing the President said that made any sense to Cynthia was that they were facing a real threat outside of the gates, something that threatened all of humanity, and until they figured it out they needed to stay put and stay safe. But not like this. Not in these conditions.

  Truthfully, all President Oliver could think of in the back of her mind was how disgusted she was at the general conditions and, quite frankly, the handling of those conditions by Christie McDonald. McDonald was only out for self, and she had observed this through her entire rise to the Senate. Oliver was an Independent, with a touch of Democratic views on issues of tax reform. But McDonald, she was everything Oliver hated about dealing with the G.O.P. Still, if she was biased against Republicans, that was not the case with McDonald. If there was an opportunity to make money or gain power, McDonald didn’t care who got hurt in the process, and that wasn’t an opinion.

  At the end of the speech, the President had allowed time for a question and answer session, which had been nothing but a chance for everyone to vent. The President rambled on after each question, giving the usual avoidance and circling back to what she planned to do and how excited everyone should be. It didn’t matter, the consensus was the same; they didn’t like it here and she was responsible.

  Cynthia paid attention to each person asking questions. Most were centered on comforts such as individual showers, better clothing, better food, more living space, and more Comm Centers. There was a strong desire for normality. For everything to end and just go back to what they were used to. Cynthia shared in that sentiment, pondering some good questions of her own.

  She began to raise her hand, but it was yanked down by Nat. Cynthia looked over at her, still staring forward, her hand on her arm.

  “You should stay lowkey,” said Nat without looking, patting her forearm and putting her hand back onto her lap. She had a quiet way about her, but Cynthia trusted her.

  The questions continued, and Cynthia took notice of the type of questions they were asking. The man with the mole on his nose again caught her attention, as he asked questions of morality and politics, trying to understand how such a thing could have happened to find themselves in these terrible conditions, and who was responsible for fixing it going forward. But there was something else that she sensed…genuine concern. The questions he asked were meticulous and thought-out, and Natalie seemed to smile every time he spat out a good one that stumped the President or made her fumble in her words.

  Suddenly, Cynthia felt sick. She gagged, then put her hand up as vomit shot into her mouth, her lips tightly closed. She got up and pushed her way past everyone, fighting her way down the row. When she got to the end, she ran around to the side of the SWA huts behind them, placing her hands on her knees as she threw up the morning’s breakfast. One of the National Guardsmen followed her around the corner, first with curiosity, then once he saw what she was doing, he put his hand on her back and comforted her. Natalie, inconspicuously, turned around with everyone else to see what was going on. It made her think. Not about what happened, she was fairly sure she had figured that part out. But she had another concern…could she still be useful?

  --- 12:39 pm ---

  President Oliver was not interested in the pleasantries, turning down her favorite drink when McDonald offered it to her in her fancy office at the Headquarters building. She was near-fuming, but she did her best to hide it. McDonald had allowed her to be made a mockery by betraying the trust of the people.

  “So what kind of show are you running here?” asked Oliver, staring directly at McDonald as she poured herself a glass of chardonnay then placed the bottle back into her mini-fridge. She didn’t like her, and so she chose not to waste her time with the subtleties of roundabout questions.

  “Look around,” replied McDonald, taking a seat and smiling deviously, “this is what you ordered.”

  The President smiled and looked down as she contemplated smacking the shit out of her. She stood to her feet, then began to pace. She wanted to make sure that before she made her next few statements, she was talking down to the young Senator.

  “Listen, Nykira,” began McDonald in her belittling tone.

  “President Oliver,” she interrupted, taking a tone of resentment.

  McDonald smiled, obviously holding back her insults, “Okay. Mizz President,” she held the ‘Ms.’ extra-long to mock her, “I’m doing the best I can here.”

  “I doubt that,” scoffed Oliver.

  “Well, if you think you can do better why don’t you come down here yourself!” snapped McDonald in her arrogant Brooklyn accent.

  The President decided against pointing out the obvious as she stood in her office, literally doing exactly what Christie had just said. The comment itself made her fume, but as always, as she had trained herself to do in all diplomatic situations, she just smiled.

  “Listen, Chris,” began the President, throwing a double jab by calling her by the name that everyone on Capitol Hill knew she hated most, while simultaneously doing exactly what her subordinate had been scolded for a moment ago, showing her that she was allowed, not the other way around, “you’re gonna get your shit together, or I’m going to have you thrown in prison for treason. And I don’t think there’s any way to be clearer.”

  Christie smiled to cover her anger, then blinked several times. As much as they hated each other, she knew the President was serious. She had been defiant before, usually to great advantage to her party. But the stakes were high, and this wasn’t your normal political game. There was no more media to cover her imprisonment, so there was a good chance Oliver could get away with making her disappear.

  “I want schools,” demanded Oliver, pounding her fist into her hand, “I want hospitals, and libraries, and recreational centers. I want to expand the borders and create another facility next door. We have several affluent families that need some better space. I’m placing you in charge of that.”

  Christie smiled, cursing out the President in her head and wondering how this bitch had ever made it to leader of the free world without understanding logistics, “You got it, ma’am.”

  “And Chris,” she said again, making McDonald smile even harder to mask the obscenities floating around her head, “don’t fuck this up, or I’ll be sure to make good on my promise.”

  The President turned around and stormed out of the office, leaving Christie to herself. Christie took a sip of her premium champagne, then sat back in her comfortable desk chair, contemplating the visit. She was mostly angry at the President calling her Chris and ordering her to do something that was almost impossible. Still, one aspect of her plan had worked well…the cube. The people seemed to react negatively to it, and the President had eaten up the idea after hearing about the riots. Christie chuckled to herself at how stupid Nykira was for falling into her trap. She needed the people to know that this was her facility, not the President’s, and as soon as they saw the distrust, separation, and lack of compassion that the cube represented, they had no doubt in their mind about who was truly in charge here.

  --- 5:39 pm ---

  That evening outside the SWA huts Natalie was more chatty than usual. They talked about a lot of things, and it made Cynthia a little concerned that Nat had suddenly wanted to know everything about her. She answered as honestly as possible, and Nat did her best not to pry too deep. Instead, she listened for things she could relate to and left her comments there. She didn’t want to alarm Cynthia with her inquiries, but she had several that were rolling around in her mind.

  “So, you got a boyfriend?” Nat asked as they sat outside of the huts on two large rocks near the square.

  Cynthia smiled, then cut her eyes to a frown, “Yeah. He’s in Georgia about to, like, finish at boot camp training. I miss him so much.”

  It immediately confirmed her theory, but on a deeper level, Nat felt empathy. She had loved
her husband for more than thirty years faithfully. It was a terrible but necessary thing to have war, and if anyone was familiar, it was her. For close to ten years her husband had made a career of it, eventually leaving to start his own business, and then after close to eight years his business closed and he became an online digital currency miner, joining the Army Reserves for the extra cash, rushing back to familiarity.

  “I understand,” said Nat, looking down and pulling a pack of slim cigarettes from her pocket, then lighting one and taking a long drag, “So what did you think of the President’s speech?”

  Cynthia scrunched her brow and looked away, “You know, I guess I always thought that…well, I knew we didn’t…but somewhere inside I always thought that this country cared about its people. It’s just…I don’t understand how we got here…or even why. I wish I could do something to change it…”

  Natalie cracked a smile. That’s what she had been waiting to hear.

  She took another long drag of her cigarette and exhaled, “Have you ever heard of the principles of Truth, Honor, and Virtue?”

  SUN, JUN 25th, 2034

  Fort Benning, GA, USA

  6:11 pm

  W ith only days until graduation, Michael couldn’t have been any more nervous and uncertain. He was still waiting for a return letter from Cynthia, his curiosity amplifying itself near insecurity, but there was no mail call tonight. He pictured her, somewhere across the country, packed into FEMA facilities with people from all over the country. He knew she loved him dearly, but the inevitable time delay of mail always made his mind wander to depressing thoughts of her forgetting about him and meeting someone else. It was absolute torture.

  He wanted to just press a button on his wristphone, but Uncle Sam had took it and given him a basic wristwatch. He wondered if she was talking to anyone on hers. The Drill Sergeants had said that you can’t make phone calls anymore in the world, but that seemed silly. How else would anyone talk? They were just trying to scare them.

  Lying back onto his bunk, he placed his forearm on his forehead and relaxed. Today they had marched five miles in full gear, this time without robotic back and joint supports. The Drill Sergeants taunted them the entire time, asking them how it felt to not have on their training wheels and calling them all types of demeaning names. It was brutal, and tiresome. He had done well enough, drenched in sweat and exerting all his energy just to keep up. Tee, on the other hand, had lead the pack, as expected, taking the squad leader responsibility with zeal. He yelled enthusiastically for his squad members to keep up, falling behind to meet them and encourage them if necessary. The Drill Sergeants loved him.

  Michael reached underneath his mattress and pulled out his mother’s diary. He flipped back the cover and retrieved one of Cynthia’s letters, unfolding it and reading the message again, smiling at her words. He reality-checked himself, wondering what he could have ever been thinking. She loved him.

  “What did she say?” said Tee, walking up to his bed and sitting down next to him.

  “Nah, this is an old letter, but, she said she misses me a lot,” he replied, folding the paper back up, “Manny’s okay. He finally saw Cream Puff. He said they’re moving the rich people into a nicer facility close by.”

  “Cream Puff,” Tee said, squinting his eyes, “oh, you mean Lil’ Crazy Slime’s girlfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how did that go?”

  “He tried to hit on her and she ignored him.”

  “Aww man, that sucks.”

  “Yeah, I know. He was upset.”

  Tee looked at Michael, then cut his eyes to the floor.

  “Ya know,” he said, looking back up at Michael, “I can’t lie, I’m a little worried. Like, people are dying from some unknown cloud and here we are, less than a week away from being sent to war. I mean, what we’re doing is good right?”

  Michael thought about it for a moment, “Yeah…I mean, I think so. We have family back home that we have to protect. What if we lose them?”

  “I know!” he responded quickly, “But…I still sit and think about it, like, what’s gonna happen to us?”

  Michael paused for a moment.

  “Honestly Tee, we won’t know until we get there. I know you’ll be fine though.”

  “Yeah, I know, I’m ready!” he said, motioning rifle fire with his hands, “I was made for this shit!”

  Michael cracked a smile. He was right. He had the highest physical fitness score, the best rifle score, and he was the squad leader. In a way, he was glad that they were friends. If something happened out there, he wanted to know that the best guy in the platoon had his back. Tee stood up and walked back down the squad bay, stopping to talk to some more of the recruits. Almost everyone liked his high energy and his drive. If they didn’t, they respected it.

  Michael laid on his back, staring at the diary. He hadn’t opened it in weeks, except to slide in another letter. Figuring there was nothing else to do until bedtime, he opened it to the page with the folded corner.

  Amidst all that is happening

  Fear grips me unlike ever before

  Fear of the unknown

  Fear of what is known

  People who live for a purpose

  Have no fear of death

  For I cannot die

  I can only give up

  Someone once said,

  To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom

  Well, indeed

  We will conquer our fears

  We are no longer slaves to them

  And victory shall be ours

  For Truth, Honor, and Virtue

  Michael flipped the page.

  In learning all that I’ve come to understand

  I learn that there is more glory

  In humbleness and humility

  Not to be superior to others

  But instead, to your old self

  Love is the law

  And there is a distinct line

  Between Love and Hate

  Which side will you be on

  When life decides to test your will?

  Michael closed the book, contemplating. It was like she was speaking to him in a way that only she could. A way that made him far more receptive than he had been as a young preteen. It was his gospel. His book of cheer. She was still his source of strength.

  Having to use the restroom, he put the journal back underneath his mattress and headed toward the front of the squad bay. He thought about the words in the book. She was right, there was a distinct line. And for a long time now, he had let his anger get the best of him. It had brought him nothing but trouble, from school, to his personal life, to the military, and for the first time, he knew that if his mother had the strength to overcome, then so could he.

  “Still a crimmigrant’s son,” said Bucky as he passed by, still in a deep thought about the journal.

  Michael immediately tensed, his fist clenched and his heart pounding in his ears. He thought about all the ways he could break his neck, or bash his face in, but instead, he stopped to look around at the squad bay, everyone staring at the two of them in anticipation.

  “Come on,” said Bucky’s bunkmate, ripe with the desire for retaliation, “Crimmigrant!”

  Michael cut his eyes and thought back to the words in the book. He had the strength in him to change. He had done it before, after he had become bitter at his mother’s passing. In fact, it had been at that exact moment of his change in behavior that he had met Cynthia. Life, it seemed, had a powerful way of rewarding him.

  He unclenched his fists, still looking around at the room. In front of him, Bucky smiled deviously, his bunkmate standing with his fists up at the ready.

  Michael paused for a moment and cracked a smile, then turned and walked away toward the bathroom, the tension in his body slowly releasing as a wave of gentleness came over him. Immediately he thought of his mother, and the gentleness he felt with her. He wondered if life was rewarding him with that old familiar feeling. He wasn�
�t sure. But one thing was for sure, it felt good.

  TUES, JULY 4th, 2034

  700 mi Northeast of Alexandria

  7:12 am

  C ynthia lie in her bed awake, thinking about the past week. She hadn’t been sleeping lately, progressing from anticipating the morning lights in the SWA hut to slight insomnia. The mornings were always the worst for her, her mind racing a mile a minute, thinking and analyzing everything, in a constant state of paranoia.

  Things had been getting worse by the day. Her latest thought was of yesterday, when the body of a young woman was found near the outside gate a couple hundred feet behind the SWA huts. The State Police detectives lead the investigation, and had covered the half-naked body with a blanket and left it there until they could gather the right tools to collect proper evidence. Nat had called it a crime, as the body had laid there for over six hours, unattended, rotting in the heat. She had called it despicable, and Cynthia agreed. She just kept thinking, what if that was her?

  She saw a sliver of light shine through a crack in the door as it opened slightly, and then closed. The dark figure approached Natalie’s bed, then undressed and laid down on the mattress. Fifteen minutes later, the lights snapped on, and the women began sitting up and putting on their old, donated clothes.

  Cynthia stared at her dingy hoodie, dirty from over wear, and thought about Natalie. Where had she been going every few nights? The curfew was still in effect, and the State Police were not timid about locking someone up for violating protocol. She wondered if maybe she was visiting a man, as some of the other women did from time to time. Everyone was having sex, or fighting over a lover. She had even caught a few people in the act, outside behind a building or in one of the shower rooms. And of course, there were a few of the older women who walked around topless so often that it had to be addressed. They refused, sometimes in the presence of children, citing the fact that they didn’t find it such a terrible thing and didn’t know why others did either.