Greenhaus Part 1: A Storm Brews

by Reckelhoff, Bryan

  “Bill I can’t wait until we finish this project, think of all the extra room we will have!” exclaimed this imaginary character in an evil voice followed by a sinister laugh.

  “I know Roger, me either. The funny thing is we don’t even need more space, but it’s good to know we can take what we want and there isn’t really anything the Masked can do about it, ha ha!” All the voices sounded the same in her head, even if the names were always changing and generic. All their comments were snide in nature and their laughs dry and sinister, a way for her to dehumanize those she wished to attack.

  In addition to watching the men and women on the Inside and observing their routine, she had to keep a look out for the Rangers once the power was cut. Ella knew that Sickness or war would take most of them in death, but the Rangers would take the rest alive. It was one of the few things she feared, because those taken, were never seen or heard from again.

  The Rangers modus operandi was another of the many things that angered Ella. They never had the gall to attack the Masked fortress where the greatest strength was congregated, but instead, focused their attention on smaller camps and individuals that strayed too far from the pack. This refusal to meet the Masked on the battlefield in a full scale war, preferring instead to stay behind their fortress of glass and steel, safely protected by the electric current running through the steel coils, bothered Ella greatly, more than anything else the Oppressors did. Why can’t they just meet us on the battlefield?

  With no visible sun, it would be hard for her to tell the time of day were it not for her internal clock set by the observed routine of those she watched. The yellow disk floated somewhere in the sky, but was hard to spot on days like today when the haze and clouds were thicker than normal, and the fury of the skies told her a storm was brewing.

  The power would soon be cut and the blue glow running through the lines, into the steel towers, and covering every inch of the domed tops of Glass City would cease for roughly five hours. Crews of men then cleaned the glass and performed maintenance on the coils and power lines, while the Rangers swept the field, checking the burned out hulls of vehicles disabled by EMP blasts, another key defense mechanism. Ella frequently thought to herself, “If I ever had charge of my own camp, it would be now that I would attack.”

  Even from her prone position, lying in her small bunker just atop a hill 2,000 or so feet from the gleaming colony, she was not safe during the power down. The Rangers would surely spot her, as they had Jesslyn Cloud, the spotter who watched just a bit too long. Ella was careful, where Jesslyn had been careless, and she paid the ultimate price. Ella would not expose herself and become an easy target the way Jesslyn had.

  Her internal clock was telling her it was time to go, before the Rangers emerged like blue roaches from Glass City. She crawled from her position, grabbed her rifle and used the butt end to drive the stakes that held her camo covering flush with the ground, to conceal the entrance. Ella did not mind moving her position around the hills if necessary, but the bunker provided more cover than the camo netting she used to cover her in other places, so she mostly spied from here and wanted to keep the location hidden from her enemies.

  After securing the bunker, she high tailed it to the other side of the hill, out of sight of any who could be watching her from Glass City. She ran in a full sprint for as long as she could, vigorously pumping her arms and legs while she grasped her bullet-less rifle with a white knuckle grip. She ran until her breath was gone and she knew it was safe.

  Ella dropped the rifle, doubled over, removed her mask and placed her hands on her knees, preparing herself to vomit. Thick saliva coated her mouth and the meager morning meal of grub worms crawled back up into her throat. She gasped for air; each breath stung her lungs as she inhaled. She felt the acid burning her esophagus and expected food to soon make its exit if she didn’t act fast.

  She removed her canteen from her backpack and hastily struggled to remove the cap. Finally the top was off and slightly tinged water rushed to her lips. A few quick gulps of the metallic water and a few more deep breaths of stinging air helped to catch her breath and stave off vomiting. After donning her mask and picking up her rifle, she resumed a light jog. As she regained her breathe, she added intermittent bursts of sprints, a pattern she maintained until returning to base camp just over an hour later.

  The fortress walls, formed by buses, cars, and whatever other scrap or debris the greasers could fashion into the exterior of the complex, appeared in her vision. Guards patrolled along the top of the makeshift wall, each one with a different style of weapon and uniquely decorated gas mask. An opening between two large buses served as a gate, which in truth was nothing more than random scrap welded, nailed, or otherwise thrown together, giving those who guarded it a small tower, and a wall walk with waist high cover above the gate.

  Some of those on guard were spotters, like her, while some were snipers. The snipers possessed fully functional weapons and most had ammo, unlike Ella, who carried an empty rifle with a blade taped around the end of the barrel as her sole means of defense. The others were spotters, armed with a weapon more valuable than any gun, vision. Seeing things before they could see you was a powerful device in Ella’s world. She approached cautiously, so as not to alarm those guarding her home, which could make her the tragic victim of friendly fire. Their motto was shoot first and asked questions later, a policy Ella fully supported because it kept them all safe. Once the spotters identified her, they waved white cloths, indicating she had clearance to pass.

  The dark green canvas tent of the camp Elders towered over the walls of the fortress. The tattered flag at its pinnacle whipped in the wind. She nodded and waved to the snipers and spotters that kept her safe as she passed the gate. Distant moaning, coming from the quarantined section of the fortress, asserted the pall of the ever present Sickness. The smells of grease and grime filled her nose and her pace moved back to a sprint.

  Ella passed the pile of salvaged charcoal, grabbing a fresh hunk to replace the old piece utilized as a filter in her gas mask, her increased difficulty in breathing through the mask signified the time for a change. Out of breath once again, she reached her destination, but the closed flaps told her a meeting was underway, the next move of the camp being plotted by the Elders. She entered anyway, to report her observations from the previous couple of days.

  “Elder Ashe, Elder Stone,” the young spotter exclaimed as she removed her mask, taking draws of clean air from an old salvaged oxygen tank during pauses between breathes. “Glass City will be cutting power soon, if they haven’t already. Now is the ideal time to mobilize and strike.”

  “Yes, yes, yes my dear. Just as you reported twice last week,” replied Elder May Stone from behind her gray mask, painted to look like a rock. “And the week before that. Aaaaaand the week before that,” continued the small, impish woman, whose black hair had started to reveal streaks of white.

  “And the week before that,” added Elder Derrick Ashe, the tallest member in the allied camp. “And every week since that young spotter Jesslyn Cloud was captured and you replaced her.”

  “And every week you have gotten the same answer. And you will continue to get the same answer until the time is right,” politely explained Elder May Stone. “Attacking to simply attack is silly, and pointless. We will attack, when the time is right.”

  “But they mock us with their laughter and our numbers are forever shrinking, I heard a great deal of moaning when I returned today,” a frustrated Ella yelled as she dropped her mask, clenched her fists, and slammed them on the top of the makeshift table, the old plywood top bowing as she did so. The tears of anger began to well up in her eyes before softly falling down her cheeks. She pulled her braided black hair while shouting, “We have to do something, we have to!” The strained lines and hard look of her face betrayed her youth, making her appear older. She might qualify to become an Elder someday, but few thought she would ever make it that long. The constant lump in her throat, th
e ever present anger and unquenchable thirst for revenge was killing her slowly. Misting blood when she coughed and sneezed be damned, Ella was hell bent on becoming Elder. She cared nothing for the plans fate had made for her, she was blazing her own trail.

  Elder Ashe turned to Elder Stone and said, “I remember the rage of age nineteen, when you think the whole world is out to get you and in return you are out to get the whole world.”

  Elder Stone replied to Elder Ashe’s statement, but clearly the message was meant for Ella, “Me too, and lucky for us we learned to harness the rage, for failing to do so will only expedite the Sickness and the impending end it brings to us all.” Then she turned to Ella and finished her thought, “Speaking of the Sickness, I see that you are already exhibiting symptoms. If I were you, I would learn to corral that temper, or you won’t be long for this place. If it gets any worse, we might have to look at giving you a new job in the camp.”

  Ella thought she was doing a good job at hiding her symptoms, and seemed surprised anyone else paid enough attention to her to notice. “What’s the difference?” she snottily replied as another round of tears fell, “We all end up dead, why prolong the agony?” Switching topics quickly, but without recession of anger, Ella demanded answers, but fired the questions off so rapidly no time was given for reply. “So we sit here and do what? Nothing? How will that solve our problems? We sit and we rot, just like our world. Doing nothing… that is the best plan we can come up with?”

  Elder Stone’s green eyes narrowed and focused her stare on Ella. It was disrespectful for Ella to speak to Elder Stone like this, especially in front of another Elder. Elder Stone tolerated it because she too was once young, impetuous, and quick to anger, so she gave Ella the benefit of the doubt in trying times. It was apparent that Ella had reached the end of the slack that Elder Stone was giving, so she backed off a bit. Ella owed her life to Elder May Stone, who saved a seven year old Ella out roaming the wasteland alone. If found by the wrong person or camp, Ella would have met a quick and violent end after her mom died of the Sickness and her father, and the rest of their camp, was taken by the Rangers.

  The last thing she wanted was to be reassigned from her spotter position into gardening or gathering or even worse, placed as a spotter on the fortress wall. Elder Stone must have noticed the change in Ella’s disposition because she adjusted her speaking tone, composing her thoughts with a deep breath that made the short, barrel shaped woman temporarily fill with air like a balloon, “We have a plan Ella, you have to trust us. Elders Cloud, Skye, and Fire left camp three days ago, promising to return with an army double in size. Nobody is afraid to die, in fact, in order for the plan to be successful, most of us will perish. But for now, you must stand down and return to minicamp and get some rest. That is an order.”

  Ella stewed beneath the surface, but she knew spotters from any minicamp would gladly take her position in the hills, so she followed the orders of Elder Stone and left them to their planning. The hike to the Stone minicamp would have taken the better part of two hours even at a brisk pace, but she had no designs on making that her destination, despite the direct order from Elder Stone. Ella was tired and sorely needed the rest, but had no desire to be around other people. Due to the power down, she could not return to her bunker or spy from the hills. She had a different plan in mind. Her top priority was getting even.

  So Ella followed the order to stand down. She left the fortress as commanded. But she wasn’t headed back to the Stone minicamp as directed, she was off to explore. To find some peace and quiet, some solitude so she could plot how to go about getting that revenge she so strongly felt to be her birthright.

  CHAPTER 3 (Jacob Niles)

  After swallowing the last bit of his rations, Jacob placed his things in a pile near his workstation cubby hole. After slipping on his protective gloves, called 2nd Hands, he placed the protective face and neck guard on his head. A small filter in the back cleansed his air, while the lower portion of the mask draped down to his shoulders, creating a tight seal. He finished gearing up by tightening and then buckling his utility belt.

  The 2nd Hands were bright yellow and form fitting like Jacob’s Nu-Skin. When pulled tight, they stretched up his forearm, stopping just shy of his elbow. No matter how many times he put them on, they were always uncomfortable and constricting, requiring adjustments. He pulled them tighter, pushing his hands deep into them, wiggling his fingers. He opened and closed his fists several times until his 2nd Hands fit just right, then rolled the ends of them down almost to his wrist.

  After belting his rivet gun and torch, Jacob clipped into his harness. Jacob signaled to the foreman he was ready to go up, the rest of his equipment awaiting him on the beams. He took one last look out into the nothingness, where he thought he saw the slightest bit of movement. He focused his eyes on the distant hills, looking specifically at the ridge line for movement of some sort, but he saw nothing. Just some trash blowing you paranoid fool, the voice in his head announced.

  The beginning of his ascent jostled him out of his trance, jerking him upward toward the sky. The unfinished steel frame of the dome waited to be completed. The rest of today and many more days ahead would be spent welding and riveting the rest of the skeleton of the massive dome. As the pulley brought him to his perch nine stories above, he stared out the window at the hills, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever he saw, hoping, and praying to Mother Earth that it was nothing.

  According to official protocol, Jacob should have reported anything unusual he spotted, so the Rangers could investigate, but he was sure it was scrap metal from a far away Outsider camp blowing in the wind. With the regularly scheduled, twice weekly power down looming and the subsequent delay in production that accompanied it, he did not want to waste more time investigating scrap from an Outsider camp, and risk falling behind the production schedule set by the Sustainability Charts.

  Once in place, Jacob was forced to wait for bundles of supplies to be raised and set on the scaffolding affixed to the glass of Annex 22 with large suction cups. Standing atop the steel crossbeam ninety-some feet in the air, he looked at the project ahead of him. A single wedge, one-sixth of the steel framed dome, was finished and waiting for the glassmen, who were busy attaching the last of the massive panes to the lower six floors of Annex 23. He looked at the trio of three story arches that formed the shell of the dome. Each one of their legs started at its own point on the perimeter of the hexagonal shaped annex and intersected at the top of the unfinished dome.

  The steel framing inside the first of the six wedges created by the intersecting arches was finished, needing only the glass to be added. Jacob and his partner, Jasper Jordan, would spend the rest of this week and the better part of next week completing the steel framing inside the next wedge.

  Jacob walked himself through the long process and thought ahead to the time when it would finally give life to those he was working to save. After construction of the dome ended, electrical workers would wire in the power using dead spaces called crannies. Once power was on, the exterior defenses would be activated. After the exit tunnel and decon chamber were removed, a final seal will be placed, cutting Annex 23 off from the Outside forever, sealing out its toxins and the would be assassins. After the Feasibility Study and Best-Use Analysis determined the maximum capacity for new recruits and decided the most efficient use of the space, crews got busy at work on the guts of the annex.

  Our mission will forever continue, as one annex is finished, another will be started, until all the children of Mother Earth return to feed from her bounty. Jacob recited the saying, a passage from the Green Constitution, often in his head. It kept him motivated and focused on the importance of his work. It gave him purpose. It reminded him of the plight of the Outsiders and how fortunate he was to live in such a perfect world. When he pictured Outsiders living in this space, it warmed his heart.

  These feelings, along with his familiarity of his job, and his comfort working alongside Jasper made him,
at this very instance, make his final, final decision. I’m done, no more thinking. This is where I belong. He closed the door on the chance to try other departments, to branch out and experience something different in favor of continuing a family legacy. The weight of the world lifted off his shoulders and he breathed easily for the first time in a while. The paperwork needed just his signature, it was already filled out. Jacob couldn’t wait to put the ink on the bottom line.

  Feeling anew, Jacob turned to Jasper, who was almost twice his age and normally had to be coaxed from his shell and asked, “So J-man, how many of these do you want to do before power down?” as he held up one of the small rods, the first of their equipment drops of the afternoon.

  The question was not rhetorical, but the long pause from Jasper certainly made it seem so. “I-I-I don’t know J-boy,” he stuttered, as he tossed his hands up. “All of them?” he sarcastically answered the question with something resembling another question as he furrowed his brow, causing his forehead wrinkles to deepen and his bushy salt and pepper unibrow that resembled a large caterpillar to wiggle about as if it was attempting to crawl off his face.

  Jacob was not sure whether Jasper was being ill-tempered or if his response was an attempt at humor. Playing the odds, he just assumed the former and made another smart aleck remark in an attempt to pull him from his perpetual state of grump, “That’s an awful lot of beams for half a day, guess we need to get the cranes workin’ a little faster huh?”

  Jacob whistled loudly, the type of ear piercing shrill that could shatter glass, some glass maybe, but not the foot thick glass that surrounded him. Then he turned his hands over and over to the crane operators, motioning them to speed it up. He knew they couldn’t hear him over the background noise and that they would ignore his motions to hasten their actions, but Jacob’s intention wasn’t to instruct the crane operators, it was to entertain Jasper. He shot a smile over to Jasper, who pitifully tried to hide his own smirk and when he couldn’t, he quickly turned his head away.