We Are Them

by L. K. Samuels

  “I am trying my best,” I said. “At least I am trying.”

  Rant released a flippant grunt and stormed away. “Well, try harder.”

  I gravitated over to the kitchen and searched for an old can of beer. Tommy had drunk the last six-pack a few days ago and the stores were fresh out of any liquid substance to dull the senses. Tommy might have missed one, I mumbled to myself. Unlikely, but the hope for beer suds springs eternal. While I searched and practiced the blame game on myself, Big Al turned impatient. He stepped in front of me and wrung his hands, expecting help. Like a lowbrow caveman, he glared at me with an arrogant twitch of his right eyebrow. He demanded answers. “What about me?”

  “Haven’t you already made your own bed?” I said.

  Big Al stared at me with a perplexed look on his face. “My maid makes my bed. Who else would?”

  I do not know what I might have done to Big Al if Sarah had not intervened. She wedged herself between us and faced me. “Play nice. We must help those who can’t help themselves.”

  “Why should we help you?” I looked straight at my wretched former boss and wondered if I should forgive and forget. I knew I would, but I wanted to let him squirm for a while.

  “Because at least I tried to stop this insanity,” Big Al said.

  “By shooting a city councilmember?”

  “You have a better plan?”

  Big Al was simply trying to free his 81-year-old mother. But he had done more than I had. I vaguely thought about shooting Joe Maffini myself, but Big Al had beaten me to the draw. That was something.

  “Fine. We’ll take everyone,” I finally said, trying to avoid thinking about where to store Big Al’s massive ballast. “I suppose we can accomplish more if we all stick together.”

  “I can come?” Big Al seemed surprised.

  “Yeah. I’m sure you will help out somehow.”

  Although the phone lines were only working sporadically, we finally got hold of Tommy and Lenny and, in cryptic double-speak, told them that tomorrow night would be our last one in Hemet.

  Chapter 19

  It was Saturday morning and our little extended family had settled down to discuss Operation Goodby Hemet. I disliked planning intricate events when there was more than one person involved. It was a question of complex mathematics. As more people sign on to a project, the more the “stupidity effect” reared its brainless head. With so many people involved in our group, I knew that nothing would turn out correctly. There were simply too many fingers stirring too many sticky pots. That was how I felt about my hastily- drawn proposal to escape. There were too many possible bad outcomes and not enough good ones to make it work. We had a better chance of landing on Mars blindfolded.

  “The only way to escape is to fly out,” I declared with a false ring of confidence. I found it difficult to sound truthful when lying. Only a professional silver-tongued politician could do that like no other. I was not a superstar in that extraordinary league of institutional liars, but my lack of double-dealing skills was not going to prevent me from trying.

  “We have a plane?” Tommy straightened his shoulders and gave a dazed look of bewilderment. He rubbed his face, soon entranced in a thoughtful look of disbelief and wonderment. That reflective guise was short lived. He soon chuckled, “Yeah, that’s rich.”

  I knew that Tommy had figured it out. He was first to puncture a gaping hole in my brilliant plan. Great for him. If only he can manage to kept it to himself.

  “Hey, man,” Tommy huffed, “don’t you know? The airport is under lockdown. Nobody’s going to trip anywhere.”

  I smiled. “Well, Nick Gillis has generously offered us a ride.” Of course, I failed to reveal that not only had Gillis rescinded his offer, but that I was unsure which hangar housed his aircraft. Years ago, he had mentioned Hangar 12 near the outskirts of the airport. Or was it Hangar 13?

  Only Sarah understood the full extent of my deception. She let me know of her disapproval and cast a dark, foreboding stare. I wanted to return the favor, but I was sure the others might suspect something wrong.

  Everyone else gathered around me as if I were going to recite a beloved fairy tale. I told them we could hitch a ride in Nick’s empty plane the next time he flew out for supplies. I did not mention was that if Nick were unwilling to comply, I would have to resort to cruder measures. I slipped my hand into my pocket and fingered my arsenal of last resort. Yes, I was desperate enough to shoot big wads of hard cash at Nick’s face. I was willing to take him down with bribery. I could play a slick, fast-talking gangster with a fetish to use money-clip knuckles.

  My major worry was that greed would get the better of Nick; he might want more. That would be a big problem. The local banks were running low on cash reserves since our economy had nose-dived into a deep recession. Our banks had little cash on hand, and nobody could make withdrawals over $200 per week. Most of my DED employees complained so bitterly that the city decided to establish its own city bank. That was a monumental, piss-poor decision. When my workers tried to cash their government checks, the city-owned bank was unable to perform. They had no upfront cash, just book ledgers of recorded liens on bankrupted real estate that nobody wanted. Without cash, the city wrote IOUs that were worthless. Some workers turned the IOUs into wallpaper or origami paper flowers. The upshot was that the local church mice probably had more cash reserves than our city bank.

  I decided I had to take desperate action. I was resolved to borrow the plane before Nick had a chance to give me explicit approval. I was sure he would understand. I could present him the rental money afterwards by mailing him a hefty cashier’s check. Then again, Nick might be detained. He might be sitting inside of a re-education camp with little need for cash, and if that was the case, he would surely want me to get away.

  As I was trying to justify my dishonest actions, Tommy suddenly revealed a big problem with my plan. “You know that we cannot use Hemet’s Airport. It’s closed to the public.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I rode past it the other day. I mean the dickheads even electrified the chain-link fence—all the way around it. We’re locked out, man.”

  “That’s nothing,” Lenny said as he pulled out a candy bar and unwrapped it. “I heard airport was barbed wired and mined. Many machine guns nests. Nobody leaves paradise.”

  “We’re going to be stowaways?” Sarah could not hold her tongue.

  I shook my head disapprovingly.

  “Sorry.” Sarah looked away.

  “What?” Rant stood up and fumed. “We’re not going to steal anything or I’m out!”

  “No! We’re renting the airplane.” I whipped out the wad of hundred-dollar bills. “I think this will get Nick’s undivided attention. Money has this funny habit of getting instant respect, no matter who you are.”

  “Hey. What if airplane’s not there?” Lenny folded his arms. “Short trip to nowhere, hah?”

  “That’s the risk. We will have to remain there until it makes another run,” I said.

  “You won’t get inside the hangar,” Big Al glared with a smug smirk. “I know what the city leaders are up to.”

  I turned to Big Al in undiluted amazement. I had completely forgotten that he might have inside information. “Okay, what are they up to?”

  “Security and more security. They seem to fear everyone and everybody.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “That’s all.”

  I could see why even Jack Fish Eyes had so little respect for Big Al. He spent most of his time out to lunch.

  “But how we get in airport?” Lenny scratched his head. “Cannot stay there too longer.” He held up the half-eaten candy bar and frowned. “Almost out.”

  Getting inside was the crux of the problem. Everything hinged on successfully sneaking past the armed guard without alarming anyone, especially the men in the airport tower.

  “How about counterfeiting a pass?” Big Al suggested. “Why, that would solve all of our problems
.”

  “But we have no idea what a pass looks like,” I snapped back.

  “I know,” Big Al’s face brightened. “How about taking a few of the city councilmen hostage. Boy, that would scare the crap out of them.”

  Now he was talking in the fluent language of “loonese.” I was not going to hold a gun to someone’s head and force him to the airport. Not my style. “We’re not going to kidnap people. It’s against the law.”

  “Why not? They would do it to us,” Lenny interrupted.

  “We’re not like THEM.” Rant squinted her disapproving eyes at Big Al. “I don’t care about their silly laws or what they do, but we are not thieves or thugs of the night.”

  “Against the law, huh!” Lenny became more agitated. “What does it matter? Everything against law. Wait until tomorrow. Breathing will be death penalty.”

  Lenny had a point. The city council and mayor had voted to make almost everything illegal just to improve driving habits. It seemed ironic, but the mass production of new laws seemed to have inflated and cheapened all laws. Apparently, kidnapping, murder, rape, and burglary were now considered minor offenses.

  “Make no mistake, some laws will be broken.” I stared at Rant. “We don’t have the luxury to sit around and argue legalities. We’re on our own.”

  “A rat will fight back if cornered,” Rant challenged me. “But that’s a wild animal’s response. I think we are a little higher on the evolutionary scale.”

  “The laws are bogus,” Tommy came to my defense. “Besides, they break their own laws all the time. How come if we break them, we’re the criminals, when they break them, they get promoted?”

  “Fine!” Rant threw up her hands. “Break some laws! But let’s not injure anyone for any reason, except in strict self-defense.”

  I recoiled with a gasp. Was something wrong with me or with the universe? I stuck my finger into my ear deep and twisted hard. I was not hearing that straight. Rant actually agreed with me on something. That was impossible. It was like dogs and cats getting along together in perfect harmony. Never going to happen. Maybe I had just entered another dimension of the Twilight Zone. Then again, there was the first time for everything, I suppose.

  “How about drugging the guard?” Tommy suggested. “Gag him with ether.”

  Tommy’s pre-med courses finally found some practical use after all. I suggested someone get behind the guard and immobilize him with a rag drenched in ether. The guard would pass out, and we would be on our way. It was perfect. No permanent damage would befall the sentry.

  “I want to do gig,” Lenny said enthusiastically.

  “You mean gag,” I corrected him.

  “Would be like old times,” Lenny laughed quietly.

  “You must hold the rag until the subject passes out,” Tommy spoke like a doctor. “It should take just a few seconds. Tightly hold the rag against the nose, until he stops struggling, but not enough to stop him from breathing. We do not want to kill him, man. Just incapacitate him.”

  “I’ve done it before,” Lenny freely confessed. “Really enjoyed it.”

  There was a long moment of awkward silence.

  Lenny stared back, confused. “What?”

  “You’ve done this before?” Sarah asked as she slowly backed away towards another room.

  “Sure. No big deal.”

  “Kill anybody?” Rant asked in an interrogating tone.

  Lenny leaned back and stroked his chin, noticing the stunned faces.

  “Well?!” Rant demanded.

  “No!” Lenny said. “Was just military exercise. Nobody hurt. Honest.”

  Before more questions could be hurled at Lenny, Sarah rushed back into the room and began talking quickly about something she just heard on her bedroom television. “Come! Come see for yourself.” Sarah ran to her bedroom.

  Everybody followed her and soon we were crammed inside her small room. She pointed to the television set, but the TV screen was blank, flashing a snowy screen and hearing static noise. That was not usual. Only one local TV station had received city approval to broadcast during evening hours, and even that was rather sporadic. Unfortunately, there was no competition. The signals from other stations in bordering cities had been jammed.

  “I saw it!” Sarah almost shouted.

  “Saw what?” I asked as I banged the TV set with my clenched fist.

  Immediately, television came back to life. A TV announcer holding a piece of paper stated to speak calmly, announcing that a special investigation team had arrested Mayor Quinn. An hour after the trial convened, the court found the mayor guilty as charged. He received the death penalty and was sentenced to death. Within one hour of the guilty verdict, the mayor was sent before a firing squad and shot. The accusations levied against him were far too numerous to count, but mainly entailed treason, corruption, and bribery. Next, the TV station displayed dozens of faces of so-called traitorous scum, mug shots of executed citizens. One was Nick Gillis.

  “Poor Nick!” I began to hyperventilate. I leaned back against the bedroom wall and closed my eyes. I found one of my hands starting to quiver and wondered if Sarah and I would ever make it out alive. They had truly gone bat-crazy mad. I opened my eyes and saw everyone staring at each other in dead silence. There was now a greater urgency to move ahead with our escape plan and abandon the gloom and doom of Hemet. We were running out of time. One slip-up, and we would find ourselves on reality TV for the viewing pleasure of slavish TV ghouls.

  It was time to put foot to pavement. I sent Tommy to find a bottle of ether. He was positive that he had one or two bottles in storage. That was a comforting thought until he started to question himself as to its exact location, which storage unit and which banana box. Luckily, Tommy had a good memory.

  Lenny’s duty was to locate some extra fuel for the aircraft, just in case the aircraft was empty, and parachutes—at Sarah’s insistence. The others were to lay low and wait for the evening hours.

  * * * * *

  I had one more duty to perform before saying “sayonara” to Hemet forever. I was low on money. I could not forgo my last big paycheck. The city treasurer promised that my payroll check would be gigantic. Although my gas tank was near empty and most service stations closed, I decided to jaunt down to my office and pick up my last paycheck. That was risky. I was not sure the check would be any good. Rumors were flying that the city was bankrupt and had to issue IOUs. Still, a number of businesses and banks had offered to redeem all the city IOU checks. That tidbit of news was reassuring.

  For some strange reason, the distribution of our paychecks had been postponed until Saturday, forcing everyone to stop by during the weekend. Most workers grumbled, except for the smaller weekend crew that operated the system on Saturday and Sunday. About half way to the office, I began to worry again. I began to see fire-damaged buildings, closed streets and armed military units patrolling most streets. I was expecting much more damage from the previous night’s escapades. What I was not expecting was unattended fires raging out of control. I stood and gawked in silence as three commercial buildings across from the DED were burning uncontrollably. There were no crews of dedicated firefighters risking life and limb to extinguish the engulfing flames. No fire trucks, no emergency equipment, not even a firedog. It seemed like someone was allowing the structures to burn to the ground, providing only minimal security to keep away onlookers. What was going on?

  “Keep moving!” a soldier shoved me forward.

  I glared at the blue-eyed soldier with a helmet strapped snugly under his chin. He treated me like dirt, but I was still Director of DED, at least until I could get my paycheck.

  As before, I had to go through several security checks and bouts of frisking before I could enter the heavily fortified DED building. We were informed that all paychecks were to be delivered by noon. I was late, and the line was long. Hordes of impatient employees were already waiting in line, looking worried or bad tempered.

  “This is bull!” Brian came up f
rom behind with several of his staff members in tow, still wearing a snappy black shirt. “Why couldn’t we get our checks on Friday?”

  I shrugged. “They’re inefficient. Just like everything else in this city.”

  “They will hear from me Monday morning,” Brian said with a threatening tone. “We work hard here.”

  The thought of Monday morning was both liberating and exhilarating. While everybody would be slaving away, I should be sound asleep in some comfortable bed with Sarah in a city free of neurotic busybodies and firing squads. Heaven.

  All of a sudden, I heard someone shouting angrily at the front of the line. They had just started the process of handing out the paycheck envelopes. I could see people shoving other people ahead as more obscenities rattled the air. The ruckus grew stronger as I approached the pay window. The man ahead of me flashed his middle finger at the girl passing out the envelopes. He puffed up and rewarded her with a barrage of spitballs, mostly hitting her face. Something about the paychecks was agitating all of my co-workers. I finally came to the pay window, showed identification for Tommy and myself, and picked up two envelopes. I was almost afraid to peek inside the envelope.

  I pulled out my paycheck. Now I understood the reason for the ruckus. The city treasurer had slashed my salary by deducting money for a new tax of epic proportions, gutting it so severely I had barely enough to buy a bag of French fries and a half-eaten Big Mac. This would not do.

  “They cannot do this to me!” Brian snarled. “It’s unprofessional. We’ll make them pay!”

  Others mirrored his outrage and shouted more vulgarities. One person jumped on top of a desk and started to kick off the monitors and computers.