The Cause

  “I don’t even know if he’s still alive.”

  “He’s alive. I saw him.”

  Fields face contorted. He tried not to disbelieve Air. Give him the benefit of the doubt. “You saw him?”

  “Yes. He’s been in and out of the cleaning center meeting with Dex. I saw a picture of them both together. I also saw the founding documents in the picture.”

  Fields stopped to process the story.

  “If we can find the Founder, the documents should be close.” Air closed his eyes to recall the image. “Everything written out in black and white, there has to be to a way to change things or leave besides death.”

  “So all this is about leaving? Leaving isn’t going to fix anything,” Fields warned.

  “It’s about finding my wife and leaving!” Air’s voice shook and he turned away in anger.

  “Wait!” Fields reached out for Air. “What do you remember?”

  Air didn’t answer. He kept on walking out the hall and down the stairs. There was no sense in trying to convince anyone else. He knew what he needed to do.

  “The Founder lives in the center of the city.” Fields called out to him from the doorway.

  “Where?” Air shrugged. This was Fields’ last chance.

  “I don’t know exactly… There is a little building in the very center of the city. Workmen sealed it off from the public years ago. If the Founder is still around, I could bet that’s where he’d be. The center of everything.”

  “I’ll find out.” Air nodded and continued down the steps.

  “I’ll come with you.” Fields hurried down the stairs. “There is no need to do this alone.”

  Air couldn’t think of any good reasons to turn Fields down. He could use some help. Fields scrambled to dress into celebration clothing.

  ---

  They walked across the city and tried not to be noticed by anyone. They didn’t want to take any chances by riding a transport. It seemed like a bad idea to scan their cards anywhere near the Founder. An uncharacteristic excitement possessed the city. The rebirth was coming and it seemed celebrations thrived off of the anticipation. Large white flags were draped from most windows. The white sheets were decorations for the celebration but it reminded Air of something else. White flags symbolizing surrender and entire cities giving-up the fight against the rise of the city.

  Forty-five minutes passed and they entered the center of the city. The buildings began to look very different. They were made from the same materials, but they were shaped different. The streets came together like a pinwheel and the buildings were wedged-shaped to fit between. The streets all came together in one large round-a-bout with a grassy park in the center. A small and very old building stood in the center of the park.

  “It seems fitting for the Founder to be at the center of a large cog doesn’t it?” Fields seemed bothered by it. “He sees himself as the axel that holds everything together.”

  Musicians played up-tempo music on the grass for hundreds of celebrators. A pounding rhythm rang in the air. People danced and clapped. Air and Fields walked to the center. They stood at the front of the little building and looked up. It stood two stories tall. Shallow alcoves marked the places where windows once stood. They had since been boarded up and painted black.

  “We need to get inside,” Air said.

  “You seem to do well with explosives,” Fields smiled but he couldn’t hide his anxiety.

  Air looked around at the droves of people and shook his head. He walked the perimeter of the building, studying the walls for possible entry points. He climbed onto the edge of a lower window ledge and stretched to reach the second floor window. He pushed on the board. It was solid, nailed in place.

  “Maybe we can knock out the wood.” Air dropped to the ground, brushed the dirt from his hands and looked back at the musicians.

  Air took a moment to remind himself that he needed the documents, then he lifted his toga over his hip and pulled the gun from his belt. He pointed the gun up at the boarded window and tapped his foot along with the drum beat. He fired four shots into the wood in sync with the drum. The roar of the shots echoed off the buildings. Some celebrators looked to the sky. They might have been anticipating fireworks, but when none came, the band had their full attention again.

  The smell of black powder had a nauseating effect on Air. He had to stand still for several minutes before he could continue. Then he climbed back up the worn window alcove and knocked away the tattered wood with the handle of his gun. The window was clear except for a few jagged splinters and several nasty looking nails. Air dropped to the ground again. “I’ll boost you up first,” he had to shout over the music.

  Fields grunted and strained to pull himself into the window without injuring himself. Air climbed in after with much more ease. A square pillar of light poured in from the opening. Dust particles, kicked up from the rotting floor, floated through the light. The stench of mold did its best to overpower them. Air pieced the broken wood back into the window. Traces of light filtered in through the bullet holes. Air groped the wall for a light switch. The music was muffled but it seemed to shake the frame of the building. He stepped lightly, partly because he didn’t want to trip, but mostly because he questioned the structural integrity of the floor. His palm caught a switch and light flickered from a florescent fixture mounted to the ceiling. He surveyed the room. Stacks of boxes lined the walls. Shelves housed an assortment of random items. Each catalogued with a small tag attached with a string like forgotten evidence of the past. Several crates of scotch sat resting in the corner. Fields opened a box. It was a massive list of names. Each box contained thousands of pages and each page packed with names and job titles.

  “Do you think everyone in the city is on this list?” said Air.

  “No doubt.” Fields coughed. The dust and the mold scraped at his throat.

  “This isn’t the document we need.” Air scanned the room. “The Founder has a general blueprint, doesn’t he?”

  “These pages are specific work assignments for individual citizens.” Fields leafed through a stack with his thumb, turning more dust into the air. “I imagine the blueprint will be with the articles, maybe somewhere else.”

  “What are the articles exactly?”

  “It’s a contract, essentially. Before joining the city, everyone agreed to the conditions on the articles.”

  Air took his mask off and dropped it on the floor. A stairway sat in the shadows, grimly, across the room. He walked over the creaking floorboards and peered down. A door stood at the foot of the stairs. He walked down and tried the door knob. The door creaked open. It hadn’t been used in years. He flipped a light switch on the wall next. The room was furnished with a modest desk and chair. It could have been a private office at one time. The dust was so thick it looked more like a crypt.

  “Look at this.” Fields peered in from the stairway. “This is where he recorded his propaganda at the beginning of it all.”

  “I don’t remember this,” said Air.

  “I forgot too. It’s coming back to me now. You might not have lived in the city when this was all going on. The city was just being built. I don’t think the propaganda was necessary once things were in motion.” Fields walked to the desk and clapped his hands together sharply. “There it is!” He grinned with excitement.

  A set of documents hung on the wall behind the desk. Each hand-written and labeled at the top in elaborate calligraphy ‘The Articles’. Fields reached out and touched the glass. He wiped away a streak of dusty film. “We found…”

  A sound startled them. Muffled voices from below.

  “Someone is trying to get in,” Air whispered.

  “You’re right… Let’s go.” For the first time, Fields seemed afraid.

  Fields lifted both the frames from the wall. When the documents were tucked under his arms, Air turned off the light and they dashed up the stairs. Every step seemed to creak and moan louder on the way up. They stood at the top, frozen
and tried to listen through the rumbling bass tones. The moaning of binding wood confirmed the worst.

  “They’re prying open the door.” Panic washed over Fields like cold chills.

  Air shot to the window and peeked out a bullet hole. A group of celebrators clamored around the base of the building. One unmasked face stood out among the crowd. Dex shouted commands for the onlookers to move back. He waved his arms in large exaggerated sweeps to prompt the gathering crowd to leave.

  “There’s no way out.” Fields’ face went blank of emotion.

  Air paced back then looked back out though the hole. He drew his gun and weighed it in his hand. He could shoot Dex if he wanted to. Before he could give any more serious thought to the idea, an image of Thomas grasping his throat flashed in his mind. Death was certainly frightening for those avoiding it. He lowered the gun and turned to Fields.

  “It’s over,” Air said.

  The splitting of wood sounded form the basement and voices scrambled beneath them. Air sighed with frustration, found his mask and put it back on his face. He stood squarely, prepared for a fight.

  “Look.” Fields pointed to a square attic entrance on the ceiling. Anything was a better option at the moment.

  Air stuffed the gun back into his belt and calculated the height of the ceiling. He boosted Fields, by his heel, to the opening. Fields pushed in the sheetrock panel and used all his strength to pull his frail body into the attic. Air handed the framed documents up to Fields. Air needed a boost himself. He soon found a chair.

  “Hurry,” Fields said.

  Air set the chair under the attic opening, careful to be quiet. He stepped up onto the chair and started climbing into the attic.

  “The light! You forgot the light!” Fields trembled.

  Air reached back with his foot for the chair. More voices. Air scuffled across the room and swatted at the light switch. The door to the stairway creaked and someone started up the stairs.

  “Hurry!” Fields waved from the attic.

  Air hurried back in the darkness. He ran his shin into the chair with a hollow thud. Air stepped up on the chair and jumped up into the darkened ceiling. He took hold of the attic framing and pulled himself up one last time.

  A grumbling monotone voice startled them. Helix stood at the top of the stairs. Air lowered the sheetrock panel back over the attic opening, only hoping he hadn’t been seen dangling.

  “Someone was here,” Helix groaned with irritation.

  A second voice called from the basement. “Something’s missing.”

  “What?” Helix must have tucked back down the stairs because his booming voice lost volume in a gradual decent.

  Air rested his ear against the attic floor, his face itching from sweat, dust and insulation. He held his breath and listened hard.

  “Something looks out of place doesn’t it? Something’s missing.”

  A long pause.

  “I can’t tell. I haven’t been here in years,” Helix said.

  Air’s heart pounded. He could only imagine how Fields felt. Helix argued with someone in the basement for twenty minutes, often changing subjects, until they went silent. Air and Fields waited for ten more minutes to make sure they had actually avoided being caught. Everything felt a little safer. Air lowered himself from the attic. This time his arms aching from fatigue.

  “Come on down, Fields,” Air whispered.

  Fields handed the documents down first, then he grunted as he came down. His legs kicked awkwardly as he hung from the ceiling. Air secured one of Fields legs and he helped him down.

  “How are we going to get out?” Fields panted, took off his mask and wiped the sweat from his face.

  Air walked back to the window and peered out. Dex was gone. Masked celebrators danced out on the lawn. “That was weird wasn’t it?” Air looked though another hole to get a better view. “They’re all gone.”

  “Do you think it’s a trap?”

  “I don’t know.” Air stopped to weigh their options. “We can’t stay here. If we’re fast, we can leave the same way we came.”

  Fields’ breathing picked up along with his anxiety. He pushed a palm against his chest and struggled to catch his breath.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Air put a hand on Fields shoulder.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Air didn’t believe Fields, but what else could they do? “I’ll climb down first then I’ll help you down. But we need to be quick. As soon as you hit the ground, we’ll take off, north, directly through the party.”

  “What if they’re waiting for us?”

  “We’ll just have to out run them.”

  “Alright,” Fields agreed.

  Air took the documents and rested them against the wall, under the window. He pulled the splintered board from the window and dropped the documents to the ground. One fell flat and the glass shattered. The other frame gouged into the soft grass and stayed propped up. Air climbed out the window, hung from the edge and dropped to the ground in a quick leap. He gathered the documents and set them aside.

  Fields swung his legs out the window and slid down the side of the building. He lost control and hit the ground hard. He moaned with pain, but managed to force his battered body up.

  “Let’s go!” Air ran to the center of the party.

  Limping, Fields followed as fast as he could. They swerved through and around residents. Music blared in their ears. They made it back to the wedged buildings. Air slowed his sprint and transitioned to a casual pace down a street heading north. He turned back to find Fields panting but keeping up. Air turned down an alley next to an apartment building where people weren’t celebrating.

  “Follow me.” Air stopped just beneath a fire-escape and looked back. Fields struggled to catch his breath and a coughing fit took over. Air jumped to catch the last rung on the ladder. He caught hold of the ladder and it came down rattling.

  “Come on.” Air smiled and climbed up the fire-escape all the way to the top of the building.

  When Fields arrived at the top, his face was flushed and his energy spent. “I pulled the ladder back up,” he said, “I think we really did it.”

  They sat at the edge of the building and looked down. Music resonated from the streets and lost its presence as it scaled the buildings. Their togas were dirty and torn in several places. They were safe at the moment but it didn’t seem right. Why would the cleaners give up on them? Air pulled the phone from his pocket and searched the display.

  “Why didn’t Dex call me?” he said.

  “Pardon?” Fields leaned back against the ledge. He seemed more interested in the documents.

  “If Dex suspected something happening at the center of the city, he would have contacted all the purgers. I got a call last night, when we broke into the cleaning center. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Fields shook his head. Tears ran down his cheeks and he slumped down.

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “No, it’s the blueprint.” Fields wept. It was uncomfortable to watch him crying like a broken man.

  “I don’t understand…” Air didn’t know how to approach the situation.

  “It’s all been for nothing.” Fields pointed to the documents and pushed them across the graveled roof. “Look.”

  Air took the blueprint and studied it. A diagram, inked by hand, illustrated the city as a web. Each position was written in bold wording. Brief descriptions penned under each title. All organized by neat circles and connected by the web. Air read the top circle out loud.

  “Purging,” he read, “for maintaining the illusion of a guilt-free society and to enforce a general fear of radicalism.

  “Read the center bubble!” Fields stomped.

  “The Cause.” Air stopped. “This can’t be your cause, can it? He couldn’t possibly…”

  “It is and he can… Read on.”

  “The Cause: To direct rebellion in a productive direction whether it is to death or abandonment of the city.” A
ir stopped. It was enough. “The Founder planned The Cause, the council, everything. We’re doing exactly what he wants us to do!”

  Chapter 18

  Air and Fields walked back to the library that night. They didn’t talk about the founding documents or plans of escape. Everything they had been working toward seemed pointless. Would taking action really change anything? The city went on living, working, celebrating and forgetting. The city was a self-sustaining machine and it would go one with or without Air and the council.

  Anna-Desi and Fenton were waiting in the lobby. They were still mourning over the death of Ben and Dharmesh. Air and Fields stood quiet, watching them by the front door. There was no good way to tell them about the documents. They didn’t want to make the current tragedy more painful.

  Anna-Desi broke the silence first. “Wasn’t there something you could have done, Air? Couldn’t you have done something to get them out?”

  Air asked himself the same questions over and over again. He had no answer.

  Anna-Desi folded her arms. It wasn’t a rhetorical question and she wanted a response. “You were their jailer. You could have done something!” She started to cry. She pretended to be angry at Air, but that wasn’t really the case. She was angry with the city and the terrible situation she was living through, but she had no one to direct her anger at. So she chose Air because he was convenient and she knew he could handle it.

  Air stood in silence. He stared at the ground. Fields trudged across the lobby to embrace Anna-Desi. He wanted to comfort her before he broke her heart. “All is well with Ben and Dharmesh now,” he whispered.

  Fenton laughed his disapproval. “We were going to get them out tonight. I had the C4 ready.”

  Air shook his head. “Things have changed,” he said.

  Fenton seemed surprised. Air didn’t try to defend himself or explain the suicides. “What are you talking about?”

  Air made eye contact with Fields. It was time to tell the truth.

  Fields guided Anna-Desi to the large round table. “There’s something we need to show the both of you.” He placed the founding documents on the table and tapped at the center of the hand-drawn web. “We are puppets.”