Humankind_Saga 1

by Mic Shannon

  Cynthia turned her head away at his cigarette breath, his face uncomfortably close to hers.

  The officer scoffed, staring at her for a moment then announcing to the other officer, “She’s clean.”

  “Mmm, real clean,” said the other officer, licking his lips.

  The first officer let Cynthia’s wrists go as she snatched her arms back and hurried inside. When she first entered the well-lit building, she was greeted by a young, well-dressed woman in glasses.

  “Hello, you’re Cynthia, correct?” she said with a smile, extending her hand.

  Cynthia extended her hand and shook, “Yes.”

  “My name is Alex,” she said, placing a hand on her back and extending her arm to lead her toward the office, “I’m Ms. McDonald’s personal secretary.”

  They walked through Headquarters, past State Police Officers, magistrate judges, and administration offices. Everyone was moving quickly. Men and women in shackles sat on benches to be processed and arraigned in the same hour, then swiftly sent to the facility prison next door.

  When they approached the office of Christie McDonald, the secretary Alex opened the door and motioned for Cynthia to step inside. Christie was not present in the office.

  “Sit down,” said Alex, motioning toward the chair in front of Christie’s desk. Cynthia took her seat, putting her hands back into her sleeves and bringing them up to her mouth.

  Alex swiftly walked behind Christie’s desk to her personal computer, then began to type a few commands on the keyboard. She pulled a small memory card from her wristphone, then placed it into the PC, hit enter, and ejected it.

  The polite secretary looked up at Cynthia, whose face was strewn with confusion. She smiled, placing the memory card back into her wristphone and coming from behind the desk.

  “See ya soon,” said Alex politely, smiling and exiting the room.

  Cynthia looked behind her as the woman exited, pondering what just happened. Within moments, Christie McDonald came through the door, rushing in with her brash attitude.

  “And you are?!” she said, thumbing through the pages of a file she held in her hands.

  “Umm, my name is Cynthia,” she said, dropping her hands onto the arms of the chair.

  Christie approached her computer and pulled out the chair, dropping the file onto the desk with a loud thud. She sat down and leaned back, rubbing her eyes.

  “You’re Manny’s sister, right?” she said, leaning forward and moving the wireless mouse on her computer.

  “Something like that,” said Cynthia.

  “Wait,” said Christie, staring at her screen, “did you…?”

  Christie immediately picked up the desk phone and pressed three buttons, then hung up. She smiled, attempting to conceal a bitter anger that struggled to be hid by fake pleasantries. Cynthia sat still, analyzing Christie’s face. Her heart began to pound once more. Something was wrong.

  Two burly officers came and stood in the doorway behind her, blocking her exit. She looked back at them, then shot a look over at Christie, now deviously grinning with satisfaction.

  “You think you’re slick, don’t you?!” asked Christie, eyes piercing her with a devilish grin. She looked up at the two officers and gave a nod.

  The two men grabbed Cynthia by each arm as she let out a loud scream. She stood up out of her chair, pushing it away with her legs and trying to break free. If she could just get through the door, she knew she would be able to outrun them, but their grip on her elbows and wrists were tight. They slammed her into the wall next to the door, then used their legs to trip her and lay her flat on her stomach. When she felt the thud of herself landing on her unborn child, she continued to scream, fighting and struggling as they sat on her legs and pulled magnetic cuffs from their hip pouches.

  “Get off me, pigs!” yelled Cynthia, surprising even herself in her anger and ferociousness toward the malevolent oppressors that she felt had let violence and unruliness run their society.

  “Take her away,” yelled Christie, waving with her arm and placing her hands on her waist.

  The officers held her arms and clicked the magnetic cuffs around her wrists, then pressed a button to activate them. The cuffs snapped together, binding her arms behind her back. As the officers lifted her up painfully by her elbows, she continued her barrage of verbal assault as tears began to stream down her face.

  “What did I do?!” she yelled through sobs as they pulled her out of the office. She slipped and fell, tears streaming down her face, the officers yanking her up by her elbows again and sliding her unwilling feet across the marble floor.

  The other men and women in handcuffs sitting on the courtroom benches hung their heads as the two officers dragged Cynthia through the lobby of the Headquarters building toward the jail. Cynthia continued to struggle every so often, yelling and sobbing as they took her away.

  “WHAT DID I DO?!” she yelled, sobbing all the way through the metal gate of the prison.

  --- 10:10 pm ---

  Christie McDonald sat at her desk, cracking her knuckles and staring in thought as her natural bitter callousness began to overcome her fake calm demeanor. Across from her sat the large tattooed man, with a bald head, work boots, and leather jacket; her most trusted confidant, Ari Jopai. Ari was a brutal man, and therein lied his talent. She had leaned on him often early in her career, sending him to do her dirty work. He had stolen for her, coerced for her, even killed opposition for her. He held all her secrets, and that’s just the way he liked it.

  “That bitch,” began Christie, slamming her hand down onto her desk, “she stole everything.”

  “Relax,” said Ari, a slight smirk on his face, “she didn’t get away.”

  “Yeah, well, you need to go get it back,” said Christie through clenched teeth, “NOW!”

  Ari, with his burly, intimidating stature, didn’t flinch. He actually enjoyed her raw anger. It came from a place of real authenticity, something that he rarely saw anymore in his line of work. Anyone else who dared talk to him like that would lose an eye or a tongue, but he had a special place in his heart for his employer. The compensation did always seem to help, though. Christie never left a trail, and he liked that. She always paid in cash.

  “Do you think she’s the one who hacked the tower?” asked Ari, ignoring her outburst, “The Angry Tophat or whatever?”

  “Maybe,” said Christie, “but you’re going to find out.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her,” he replied in his deep, raspy voice; a faint, maniacal smile ridden across his lips.

  “I believe she’s your type, too,” replied Christie, leaning forward in her desk chair with her devilish grin, “young, Hispanic…”

  “Don’t act like you know me,” he said, scoffing, “Besides, I get the job done.”

  “Look, I don’t give a shit what you do!” she said, staring into his eyes, “I don’t care about any of these fuckin’ people! This is my facility. They can starve to death for all I care. Just get my files back!”

  He paused, slowly lifting his index finger and thumb and making it into a gun, then pointing it at her and motioning a shot with his lips. Then, he dropped his ankle from his knee and stood up, leaving her office for the prison next door.

  --- 10:39 pm ---

  300 mi South of Chihuahua, Mexico

  Michael lifted his Kevlar helmet and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead. They had been driving for hours, stopping only once for a bathroom break and to fill their canteens. The Mexican Army was rolling right behind them, with their armor and assault vehicles at their sides. The 7-ton came to a stop.

  “Ok, everybody off,” yelled Sgt. Lewis, hopping out of the back with his gear.

  Everyone disembarked their 7-tons and stood around, waiting for orders. The Company Commander, Captain Yi, started walking around the area, talking to the Mexican officers and designating areas for the troops to set up the command center.

  “NCO’s and Staff NCO’s on me,�
� yelled Captain Yi, calling his leadership over to him.

  “So, I guess this is it,” said Tee to Michael, dropping his ILBE pack onto the ground and sitting on it.

  “Yeah,” he replied, “I guess so.”

  Michael unhooked his ILBE pack from his robotic back support and dropped it to the ground, sitting down on it. He unzipped the side pouch and reached for the journal. He paused for a moment, feeling around frantically and then poking his head inside.

  “Oh no,” he mumbled to himself, “where is it?!”

  He turned his ILBE pack upside down, spilling the contents of the side pouch onto the ground and looking through it. Turning the bag around, he poked his head back inside in disbelief. His heart sunk. He had lost it. “No way,” he thought, sinking his forehead into his palm.

  “Fireteam, on me,” yelled Sgt. Lewis, calling his men over to him.

  “Here we go,” said Tee, taking a deep breath and standing up as the fireteam made their way over to Sgt. Lewis.

  “So, here’s the plan,” began the Sergeant, “we’re gonna set up camp over here inside of the police station, so move your gear over there. After that, you’ll join the working party to set up the observation post and mount the machine gun positions. Tonight, at midnight, we’re going to move into the city of Torreón and probe for the enemy. Any questions?”

  “Yes, question Sergeant,” said Tee raising his hand.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “I thought we were already in Torreón.”

  “Negative,” said the Sergeant, “we’re a mile and a half outside of the city.”

  “Okay, one more question,”

  The Sergeant scratched his forehead and looked at the ground, annoyed, then looked back up, “What is it?”

  “Is there any way at all that I can get out of that working party?”

  The Sergeant rolled his eyes, scoffing and smirking, “None whatsoever.”

  --- 11:13 pm ---

  As the darkness of night enveloped the city, the troops sat relaxed on cots inside of the station. Michael was sitting on the edge of his cot, squeezing cheese spread from his MRE over a slice of bread. Tee approached and sat down next to him.

  “How ya feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” replied Michael, “I’m tired of eating this crap, though.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya. I think it’s making me constipated. Do you have any M&M’s in there?” said Tee, grabbing at his MRE bag.

  “Whoa,” said Michael snatching it back and scrunching his face, “hands off! What do you got to trade me for it?”

  “Uhh, my friendship!” he said sarcastically, “I mean, I tried to get us out of that working party, right?”

  “No, you tried to get you out of that working party,” said Michael, looking him up and down, “Besides, we still had to do it.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he replied, “Well, we move out in forty-five. Are you ready?”

  “You need to ask yourself that,” said Michael, deflecting the question, “What choice do we have anyway?”

  “Wait,” said Tee, “do you hear that?”

  “What?”

  Tee stood up and made his way to the doorway, listening, “Oh, snap! Follow me.”

  Michael followed intently, wondering what Tee could have possibly been hearing. When they exited the building and made their way outside, one of the Mexican soldiers was outside strumming his guitar to a slow jazz beat. He had a crowd of Mexican soldiers around him, the melodic waves therapeutic in contrast to the impending danger just a mile and a half away.

  “Come on,” said Tee, motioning for Michael to follow. Both men went over to the crowd.

  Tee stood by the front of the crowd, watching as the song completed, then approached the guitarist with a smile, “¿Puedo ver esa guitarra, hermano?”

  “Si,” said the Mexican soldier, excited to meet another Hispanic. He handed the guitar and pick over to Tee and slid over so that he could sit down. Michael, the only other American soldier amongst them, watched with excitement in his expression.

  Tee sat down next to the Mexican soldier and fine-tuned the strings. There was a long pause of anticipation as some other American soldiers walked past, looking at them curiously. And then, he began to strum the guitar and sing.

  Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road

  Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go

  So make the best of this test, and don't ask why

  It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

  It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right

  I hope you had the time of your life

  Before long Tee had a mixed audience, both Mexican and American, all soothed not only by the authentic sound of his Billie Joe Armstrong impersonation, but of the calming effect of the music that took them away from thoughts of their impending battle, if only for a moment.

  As he sang the last few words, the entire audience felt the passion in his performance. He had put his heart and his soul into it, the words resonating with astounding significance. The audience applauded, wowed by his talents.

  “I didn’t know you could do that!” said Michael, astonished.

  “Yeah,” said Tee, handing back the guitar with a smile and a handshake, “my uncle taught me how to play. He used to be in a hip hop band back in the day. I was bad as hell before I went to live with him, but he turned me around. Gave me inspiration.”

  “Oh yeah?” Michael asked, intrigued, “What’s your inspiration?”

  Tee thought for a moment, “To only fight for what I believe in.”

  Michael contemplated his answer, then looked away, staring. He had always fought with anger, but never with purpose. True purpose. Bringing his hand up to rub on the few strands of fuzz on his chin, the nobility of their cause made his stomach sink. If he ever had plans of seeing his woman and child, or even knowing they were saved from peril, he would have to fight for their lives, as well as his own. Nothing else mattered.

  The crowd began to disperse as everyone went back to their quarters. A few soldiers high-fived Tee as they walked in, smiling and congratulating him on a well-played song.

  “Nice showing up those Mexicans,” said one of GF-2 the soldiers, grabbing his hand and pulling him in close, “my man.”

  Tee’s smile faded as he pulled away and walk past the soldier, shaking his head. Michael, grinding his teeth, turned and continued toward his bed, trying not to let his anger consume him. He had to save his energy.

  Making his way back over to his cot, he flopped down onto his back and put his forearm on his forehead. They still had a few hours before they had to leave, and his anxiety was challenging him. He suddenly felt a tap on his ribs and looked up to see Tee standing in front of his cot.

  “Here,” Tee said, holding his mother’s journal out in front of him, “I forgot to give this to you. You dropped it when we got off the 7-tons earlier.”

  Michael sat up and snatched the book, lifting his eyebrows and holding it in front of him. He couldn’t believe it.

  “Hey Tee, man,” he said, smiling through soft eyes, “thank you bro. Thank you.”

  “No problem,” replied Tee with a smirk, “I told you I got your back.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then laid his back down onto the cloth and opened the book. He needed calm, and he knew her words would comfort him. Even though he missed her still, knowing that he could always read her words gave him that subtle comfort that quieted his anxiety. He took another deep breath, then flipped the page:

  MY GOD!

  Beware, for there are two moments in life

  BEFORE this, and AFTER this…

  What is learned, can never be forgotten

  What should be forgotten, was previously learned

  Drink from the cup of Truth

  To see what I see

  There is far more than meets the eye here

  Our lives, I fear, will soon come to a swift end

/>   BEHOLD: DEATH ITSELF

  To all who see this symbol

  Let me guide you

  Decipher and you will have the keys

  To survive death

  SKNE*@&^$&(DB&*#&(HDUㄱ--BW*)@ㄷㄷ145+er623451sv029mv43468ㄲ4vs;k2ㅉㅊtr-ko34mv03IGFOMPW46NPfrjwlj45jklnsjkadnjk5joㄹnsvjj3)ckw4@sknem4б89ㅃ3489vh83n90вkcdkdг45vc56JBDJдغيжжжз艾娜豆贝尔维кjcjkw334845лcjsd34诶诶诶м(break34179.195473T)xde456Bsvㄴ45н:JKKLMㅏRFKIE:df8943HHhh4пJDJENJFknck4508238u4(рjksacjo~)@)*!~~)*(#сjjd030cn03+тnjos)*Y&*n23ㄸфHH)*!~~)*(HhхJONSJOWjoh(&&@jo@b%jc)ц1284cjsjkr45083HUCBN)*34JUCU4чakbnd4ckmsmkfrㄸ7812ш73bc34щ...

  Michael looked at the image and symbols, scribbled into the page. And that was it. There was nothing else. He flipped through the thirty-or-so pages that followed, all riddled with the unintelligible symbols. He scratched his head, flipping back again to look for more. There was nothing. He dropped the book to his side, rubbing his forehead. None of it made sense. What was she trying to say? What did the symbols mean?

  “Let’s go!” yelled Sergeant Lewis, yelling as he came in through the opening of the doorway, “Formation, now!”

  --- 11:58 pm ---

  Michael looked at the time on his watch as he stood next to his fireteam in his military hazmat suit, overlooking the gloomy city as they waited for the orders to move out. The night air was crisp and chilly, compared to the blazing heat of the daytime. In the distance, the glow of several large fires danced around, reminding him of the homeless that would gather in the alleys in the winter back home. In his hand he held Cynthia’s corsage, a sobering reminder of the stakes at hand. Rubbing the flower petals with his covered thumb, he unzipped his suit and shoved it into his pocket.

  “Man, they really tore the city apart, huh?” asked Tee through the intercom headset, patting his machine gun nervously.

  “It looks like the whole city is burning,” Michael replied, squinting into his thousand-yard stare and scanning the horizon. Captain Yi muted all soldier’s microphones and made an announcement over the headset calling for the Ground Force to move out, echoed by all the squad leaders. Then, they began to march toward the city.