by Lynda Engler
The 6-wheeled trucks were tan colored, military all-terrain vehicles. Luke had seen pictures in some military magazine his grandfather had. They were blast resistant, armored and highly maneuverable and could carry 8 to 10 soldiers, depending on how they were configured. Each had a weapon ring mounted on the top where a gunner could be posted, a door on each side of the cab and 4 long, narrow windows that ran the length of the vehicle, near the top of the side walls.
The soldiers searched him and his backpack before allowing him into the truck. He was patted down and a bio-contaminant detector wand was run across his body, front and back. Then he was sent into the vehicle via the rear ramp, sat down and waited. He watched as two of the soldiers dumped his backpack out unceremoniously on the filthy ground, emptied it and rummaged through his things. Evidently they didn’t find whatever they were looking for and they crammed everything back in and threw it gruffly in the truck like a sack of trash, on his lap.
Six soldiers came up the ramp and sat down in the two rows of center-facing seats. The rear entry door to the vehicle was sealed and they were on their way.
“Are we headed back to my family’s compound?” asked Luke. He could only see the top half of the soldier’s faces since they wore full-face breather-masks under the clear face plates of their suits. Their hard steel eyes were on him but no one replied, not even Captain Alcott.
As the trucks made their way through the outermost buildings of the city, they turned a corner and Luke looked through the narrow ballistic windows that ran the length of the vehicle. He caught a glimpse of a trampled path and the overgrown weeds that once was a road, most likely the trail Isabella and the tribe of mutants had taken out of Dover. This situation couldn’t get worse. Not only was he being taken somewhere almost like a prisoner by this group of soldiers, they were headed in the completely wrong direction to save his sister.
Luke wondered if he could get away with looking at his compass. He reached into his backpack and removed the compass, looked at Captain Alcott, who didn’t seem interested in Luke’s activities at all, and glanced back at the small round object.
They weren’t going south toward home at all. The convoy was headed northwest. Not sure what to do, Luke asked, more boldly this time, “Mind if I look at my map?”
He got a nod of affirmation from the Captain, so he rummaged deeper in his pack and found the map.
Luke tried to figure out where they were headed. The terrain was uneven and bumpy since the roads were no longer in good condition, but the military transport vehicle was able to go over rocks, through holes and across the rough terrain fairly quickly and quite confidently. These vehicles were fully capable of traversing the battered remnants of roads.
Military vehicles like this patrolled the main roads three or four times a year, so no trees were able to grow on it, but still the road was rough. Luke knew that patrols kept them clear of flood wash outs so that they could be used when transportation was necessary.
“We are not going home and we’re not following my sister Isabella – so where are you taking me?” asked Luke with increasing anxiety.
None of the soldiers replied.
An hour later they came to a wide road and the trucks turned left and headed directly west. Following along on his map, Luke finally guessed their destination, which was confirmed fifteen minutes later when they left the old interstate. The trucks went up a hill and past an abandoned guard house where Luke saw a large sign through the windows. It read: Picatinny Arsenal. He should have guessed – it was the only military base in the area.
The vehicles continued their climb up the ever steepening hill. Once they topped the rise and began to descend, Luke saw a valley spread out below them. The whole installation was covered by a giant, clear dome. Inside of it stood an entire town with neat buildings lining wide roads.
Descending into the valley, the two vehicles headed toward a newer looking guard house where soldiers in military green chem-rad suits met the trucks. Once their vehicle slowed to a stop, a guard spoke to the driver of Luke’s vehicle and cleared them for entrance to the base. Luke’s truck moved slowly through a large airlock that opened in the dome, followed by the second vehicle before the airlock sealed shut behind them. The silent wait while the decontamination process took place was unbearable. Ambient air temperature inside the truck rose at least 20 degrees as blue light shone through the narrow windows and chemical wash battered the vehicle. Luke’s heart pounded as strongly as the water that was hitting the truck.
Just when Luke thought he couldn’t bear it any longer, it was suddenly all over and the truck rolled through the second door, allowing the vehicles into a massive garage in the domed city. Luke wiped the sweat from his brow and twisted in his seat, trying to get a better view.
The truck clanked to a stop and the soldier’s gathered their belongings and got out in an orderly fashion.
“Get out of the truck,” commanded Captain Alcott. “We must decontaminate before we enter the base.”
Doing so, Luke watched the soldiers lay their rifles on a rack before entering a communal decontamination shower. But Captain Alcott held him back from the shower until the entire compliment of soldier’s from both transport trucks were sealed in the decontamination chamber.
The shower was a long, narrow room and the soldiers, still in their chem-rad suits, progressed through it in stages, first being bathed with the blue light that killed bacteria and viruses, then being showered with the special chemicals that removed airborne poisons and radiation. Once they reached the other end of the shower room, the soldiers exited through a door into a chamber beyond.
“Now it’s your turn.” With a firm hand on his back, Luke was pushed unceremoniously into the chamber and Alcott sealed the heavy door behind him, remaining in the garage bay with the trucks. The door made a metallic clunk sound as it sealed securely.
When the blue light came on, Luke closed his eyes. Then a voice from a speaker somewhere above him ordered him to walk forward two feet. Suddenly the chemical decontamination shower hit him, stinging his eyes and skin, and burning his lungs. Luke started to walk toward the rear door to escape, but the voice from nowhere said, “Just relax. Stay in the shower. You’ll be in here about 10 minutes.” He and his backpack continued to be soaked for ten more minutes while he struggled to breathe before he heard the voice again.
“Now take off your clothes and use the scrub brush to scour every part of your body until the water stops. And I do mean every part of your body, young man.” Something about her voice reminded him of his mother. He stripped and dropped his dirty clothes on the floor. The shower had changed to fresh, warm water and Luke was beginning to be able to breathe more comfortably.
When the shower stopped, he shook his hair, sending droplets of water everywhere. Luke grabbed his pack and headed toward the rear shower door again and this time there was no disembodied voice warning him away. Dripping wet, he entered the room where the soldiers had gone but found it empty. Luke removed a towel from a hook and dried off quickly before seeing a set of folded clothes on a chair. He didn’t know if they were for him but he wasn’t about to walk around naked, so he put them on.
The boots were a bit large but other than that, the khaki t-shirt and brown pants fit him surprisingly well. Luke stood, waiting. No one was in a hurry to come get him. The small room was white and completely unremarkable except for the wet NBC chem-rad suits hanging on wall hooks. Some were olive-drab green but some were the high-tech suits the team that brought him in had worn. Now those suits, they were interesting! Luke wanted to know how the active camouflage worked.
Lifting the arm of one of the strange chem-rad suits, he found it oddly dull. He wanted it to turn white to match the wall behind it but the suit was lifeless. Its rippled and pebbly surface looked like beige sand paper but it was surprisingly smooth and supple. It was obviously turned off, probably to conserve power.
Luke let the suit’s arm fall and turned his attention to the door at
the other end of the room. He peered through its small window at the room on the other side. Neat, gray lockers lined both walls and a metal bench ran down the middle. Was he supposed to go in there?
He tried the door, but it was locked. Guess not, he thought. He turned back and examined the white room, looking for a camera or a speaker.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” he shouted to the empty room, but there was no reply, not even the ethereal female voice. Finally, tired of standing, he sat on the lone chair where the shirt and pants had been. What would Jon Bjork do? His fictional hero would certainly find a way out. His bulky backpack, wet from the shower, sat at his feet, decontamination fluid still draining from it. No doubt they would take that from him, but for now, no one had. Luke didn’t know if he was a prisoner. Why should he be? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Sure, he thought. I left home without permission, but that isn’t a crime. Perhaps they really would take him home. And maybe there were other teams out looking for Isabella. Maybe they had already found her! She might be somewhere in the domed city right now. But if they got her home before him, he would never hear the end of it. He sighed and sat back on the chair, realizing how exhausted he was. Suddenly sitting there waiting for something to happen didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
Seventeen
After helping Violet get their freshly washed clothes onto the clothesline, Isabella and Malcolm joined the other adult members of their tribe for a walking tour of the village. Isabella appreciated the cool shade of the tall trees in the early morning hours more and more each day as the sweltering heat of summer wore on.
“Aren’t you concerned about where the children are?” Malcolm asked Violet.
“Naw, I know exactly where they are. They’ve gone off to let the sheep out of their pens and play in the fields. They’ll be fine, never you worry. Even on the rare occasion that we are raided by the military, they never take the children, or the very old.”
“Raided!” exclaimed Malcolm. “What do you mean?”
Oberon stepped in. “About once a year, soldiers come through in military vehicles and take some healthy young adults. We’ve heard rumors that they capture mutants for experimentation, but for exactly what purpose – well, we just don’t know. But, like I said, it’s rare and they came here only a month ago, so we should be safe for a long time.”
Malcolm was not completely convinced that no harm would come to his daughter or the other children. He was not used to having them very far from his watchful eye for any real length of time. So for now, he did his best to accept Oberon and Violet’s premise and willed himself to focus on his new surroundings and the activities around him. Malcolm steered the conversation from military raids to something less worrisome. The look on his face said he would discuss those raids with Oberon in great detail once they were alone.
“So, how many houses do you have here in Telemark?” Malcolm asked Oberon as he stepped over a small stone in the road.
Neat, clapboard homes stood on each side of the tree-lined road with an occasional log cabin like Oberon’s mixed in. “We have 92 families but over 100 houses, plus two larger community houses where the almost-adults with no parents live and take care of each other. Even though we are living a little longer with each generation, there are still many children who are not fully grown when their parents die. Having the community houses allows the whole village to take care of them.”
Malcolm nodded. “Caring for those unfortunate orphans is a great concern to all mutant tribes, not just the village of Telemark. Kalla and Clay both lost their parents and the Callaway tribe has been taking care of them ever since. They are good kids, both very responsible although neither is of age yet. But they still need guidance.”
Oberon continued the tour and gestured to his right, down a side street, with a small green sign that read White Birch Trail. “There are empty houses down there that aren’t being used right now. If you choose to stay, there is room for each family of your tribe to have their own house.”
“I don’t understand – you’d just give us a house?” asked Isabella. “Why?”
“We have them, so why not? Besides, you’d give us something in trade, of course,” replied Oberon. His brown eyes, flecked with various colors, held a look of expectation.
“A trade?” asked Malcolm. “We really don’t have a lot to trade; only our tents, a few tools and the personal belongings each of us carries. I hardly think we have anything equal to a house in trade.”
“But you do!” said Oberon. “You have yourselves! Each member of your tribe can be a valuable addition to Telemark. You can help us in many ways. We are a growing community. We have been expanding our fields and our orchards and we desperately need more able bodied people to contribute. The more hands, the better. We have plenty of work to go around. And with Isabella’s ability to read, she has something to give us that we never thought possible. She can read us our history from our own books. And you can all give Araddea your oral histories so she can add them to her story collection.”
“Araddea?”
“She is a Wiccan priestess who tells us fascinating stories. She came to Telemark with her tribe, her coven as she calls it, a few years ago. They had been shunned by the village where they lived and they wandered the countryside for several months before stumbling upon Telemark. You’ll meet her tonight at our nightly gathering around the fire ring on our beach. Each evening as it grows dark, a group of children build the fire within the stone ring and Araddea walks around it in circles telling tales. The children love it. It’s a nice tradition we have to end the day in the village. Of course, with over 300 people in Telemark, not everyone goes every night. But sometimes we have very large gatherings, for special occasions, and it gets very crowded on our small beach!”
Isabella smiled. Somehow, finding a witch in a mutant community didn’t surprise her at all.
As the group continued to walk around the lake, they saw that each house was neatly kept and as well maintained and as Oberon’s. Some of the houses had gardens in the front, some had them in the back and yet others just had grassy lawns. Clotheslines were strung between windows and trees and clean laundry hung from most, drying in the summer heat. A tall tree in one yard even had a tire swing hanging from a lower branch. Power lines stretched along the street, with wires extending to each house. That explained the electricity.
“How do you generate power?” asked Malcolm, glancing up at the electrical network. His eyes traced the power lines from pole to pole.
“We have a combination of solar cells and charged fuel cell batteries we scavenged from a plant that manufactured them. It’s a two-day walk from Telemark. Most of the factory is still there, but the buildings are starting to decay now, so it’s a lucky thing my ancestor and his people found the materials they needed almost 50 years ago. There are transformers and power lines and other equipment that all work together to distribute power throughout the village. The equipment and wiring are old of course, so we work diligently to maintain them,” replied Oberon.
Isabella was beginning to understand some of the ‘things’ that Violet had told her the community leader had to check on during his day. The amount of responsibility and oversight of the village was daunting, to say the least. She asked, “But how do you know how to operate all that equipment? What happens when it breaks? Who fixes it?”
Oberon answered, “Telemark was devastated during the Final War, like everywhere else, but the people who survived here included two very smart and talented engineers who had worked at the solar cell manufacturing factory. They handed their knowledge down to the next generation and the next and they kept the power going and made repairs when needed. Telemark wouldn’t be here today without those two men.”
“I’m impressed,” said Malcolm, still looking up at the wires.
“It takes hard work to keep this community running,” replied Oberon. “Each family has their own home and when our youngsters grow up and choose a mate, they spend time fixing up a va
cant house,” Oberon explained.
“Yet you have houses to spare?” asked Malcolm.
The other members of Malcolm’s tribe followed silently, but Isabella could see that both couples, Macy and Garith and Guy and Milora, were very interested in the houses. She could tell that they wanted to stay here. Kaedo was whispering comments to Guy, but Isabella heard enough of their hushed conversation to realize that he too was fascinated by the village.
“Our senior-most Elder is 23. When he passes on to be with the Great Spirit, like I will too one day, his home will become available.”
“Great Spirit?” asked Isabella.
“That’s what Violet and I call it. Or God, Heaven or Paradise if you prefer. I’ve heard newcomers use many terms for it,” replied Oberon.
“Those are just myths,” said Isabella, shaking her head. “Tall tales used to entertain or to explain things we don’t have answers for.”
“I prefer ‘beliefs’ to ‘myths.’ Some people have very strong faith in God and an afterlife. Otherwise, where would you go when you die?” asked Oberon, eyeing her incredulously.
“I’ve never known anyone who died. I suppose my grandparents will die someday, but I never thought they would go anywhere else. They will just be dead.” Isabella twirled a long lock of her hair contemplatively as she walked between Malcolm and Oberon.
“Grandparents?” Now it was Oberon’s turn to be surprised.
* * *
“Lucas Bellardini, go through the door behind you and wait for further instructions,” barked a small gray speaker that hung from the ceiling in the corner of the room.
Finally, he thought and turned the door knob. This time it opened easily.