The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey

by Millerson, Brady

  By the seventeenth week, John had taken the lives of more people than all the personal contacts he had ever made during his entire life in Labor. His heart was like a rock in the snow, cold and hard. His mind was a microcosm of hatred.

  Released from his shooting-range, room-of-death, permitted into the training facility outside, it was near impossible to remove the images of the bloodied bodies that had accumulated and bunked with him over the past four months. Everything in the world had some bizarre sort of related morphology about it that was reminiscent of the eyes, the splatter and the puddles of his room.

  Escorted by Crawford and Michaels to the Red Simulator, he had finally graduated to the third tier of his training. Taking hold of his new uniform, John removed his crusty, wretched, blood stained attire, letting them crumble to the floor, gathering at his ankles and feet. He was only a few short weeks away from attaining the official status of an agent of a Sweep Team. For all it was worth, other than killing, John still had no idea what their ultimate purpose was.

  Naked for only a moment, he was commanded to remain still with his arms held straight out in front of him, his palms in the supine position. Michaels approached him with a machine held in his hand that resembled a pistol. Pointing its “barrel” at an angle to John’s open hand, it made contact with him. With a pneumatic puff of air, it injected a metallic device under his skin, not much larger than a grain of rice.

  With a motion to commence, John pulled on his newly awarded shirt and pant. As the last button was eased through its hole below the collar, he was now adorned with the tiger-stripes of deadly black with slashes of red. His mission was changing, his trainers informed him. Although he would still sleep in the room-of-death, his training was moving into the practical realm: he would now learn to survive and kill under difficult circumstances and in harsh conditions. Poisoned and polluted environments would become the norm. He would learn to bring death to those hiding in complete darkness where goggled, night-seeing devices were necessary. The art of tracking and hunting for those that were deserters of the battlefields would be his primary objective. He was becoming a member of an elite unit, a living Monster.

  The Simulator was just ahead. The sign above the palm scanner indicated that it was the place where he needed to present his ticket in order to pass through. With a quick wave of his hand into its red, glowing camera, John was now more than ready to enter its arena.

  Like tiny bubbles popping in her belly, Sofia could feel the first movements of the child she was carrying inside of her. Placing her hand upon her abdomen, she thought it strange that she was unable to sense the activity that was taking place just underneath the skin.

  “Maryanne,” she giggled, “it tickles when he moves.”

  Maryanne dropped the last of the fruit into her basket. After adjusting the cloth carrier that wrapped over one of her shoulders and under her other arm, she pulled her breast from the mouth of her infant son and briskly walked over to Sofia, who had settled for a break in the shade of one of the orchard’s trees.

  “When that child begins to kick with a passion, you’ll remember these days with more fondness than you can imagine,” she said, kneeling down and rubbing Sofia’s shoulder.

  “I’ll feel him more and more from this time on, won’t I?”

  “The more he grows within you, the sharper his kicking gets, and the stronger will your love be for him.”

  With a sweet smile, Maryanne strolled back to her basket, waiting until a nearby, roving Security vehicle was out of sight before reaching down and extracting a thin-skinned piece of fruit for Sofia.

  “Here,” she called out. “Catch.”

  The yellow-green ball sailed through the air, landing in Sofia’s cupped hands. Rubbing it clean on her shirtsleeve, she closed her eyes, biting into it and savoring its sweetness. Her hearing seemed more in tune to the world. The child cooing in Maryanne’s arms was so loud and vibrant. Then she thought about John. It had been so long since she had heard anything new.

  “Wherever he is right now,” she pleaded to the Savior above, “please, keep him safe.”

  Passing through the familiar passageway on the far side of the secretive training grounds for the second week, John stepped through the threshold with the usual motions. Performing the wave of his bloodstained hand over the scanner before proceeding further, he waited beside the computer’s terminal. The green light on the wall gave the visual affirmation that he was cleared to enter. With the opening of its security doors, he and his regular chaperones proceeded into the Simulator’s holding cell.

  The Simulator was a wide-open expanse of land, approximately three to four thousand meters square, bordered by electrical fencing and layers of razor wire. The terrain was rough and rolling, and coated with strange red sand that was obviously not indigenous to the planet.

  Those that died in the Simulator were left in the places where they fell, littering the landscape in various stages of decay, adding more sense of realism to the world, giving a closer approximation to the land in which John would actually be working. The scorched transporters and weapons of war of the dead were also left in place. Again, adding to the simulated effect. It was here that the “targets” were a true threat, as they were free to run and hide, having at their disposals the weapons of their individual choices, as well as the weapons of their fallen comrades.

  After thirty minutes of being released into the wild, the chase was on. John was finally free, let loose into the open expanse, unbound and uninhibited by his electrical collar or the voices of his tormentors screaming through the speakers. Having lost his moral point of reference long ago, death was seen as a means and not an end, and he purposed to himself that killing everyone was justified. That was, after all, the only assurance he had to fulfilling his self-promised revenge for the death of his life’s mate. Kill the so-called innocent as well as the so-called guilty. Who could tell the difference between the two, anyway? Sweep everyone up in a single wave of death. Her murderers would get their due justice. Nothing else mattered… just kill them all.

  Taking the lives of the men and women on the battlefield was much simpler than fighting it out with the moving “targets” in the claustrophobic confines of the indoor range. In the Simulator they could be eliminated at much greater distances, and better yet, they could be toyed with for hours: made to suffer, as Crawford had said Sofia suffered.

  On this particular day, the Savior was beating down hard and hot. Drizzled with sweat, his cloth, facial covering flapping in the wind, John wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and crawled across a wind swept knoll. Gathering up the ammo from the rifle of his latest victim, his eyes followed the tracks of the dead woman’s companions that disappeared over the hill and into the dried waterway that he knew existed on the other side. By the deep indentation at the toe end of the footprints, he could tell they were running. He knew for certain that they were not waiting around to ambush him.

  With the butt end of the rifle to the ground, he grasped its barrel and assisted himself to his feet. Glancing over his shoulder, back towards the corpse lying face first in the blood-soaked sand beneath it, he scanned his eyes across the horizon.

  “Sacks of fluids wrapped around sticks of calcium,” he mumbled. “Baking under the skyward star.”

  Picking up the path of his prey, back dropped by a pale blue sky slashed with hair thin contrails, John disappeared over the sand blown hill with his rifle resting on his shoulder.

  As the Savior reached its peak, three consecutive reports echoed throughout the Simulator… it was just another afternoon for the Sweeper on the open range.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rubbing her protruding belly in her reflection in the pooling water, Sofia was amazed at how much she, as well as the baby, had grown in just over six months. The pressure on her pelvis was quite humbling while she was standing. Looking around at all the women in the field that were either much larger than she, or else were in the process of nursing, the
feelings of envy of which Sofia was experiencing over their strength and heartiness was most deserving.

  By mid-afternoon the suffocating heat was mixed with terribly high moisture content that strained Sofia’s breathing, adding to the stress of her already compromised diaphragm. Exhausted and hungry, her feet and ankles pitting under the swelling, she hoped that the birth of her child would be over soon. But she knew, according to Maryanne’s experiences, that she was only two-thirds of the way there.

  The nighttime came all too slowly. Having bathed and changed into a thin, cool sleeping gown, Sofia found it difficult to obtain a position of comfort upon her bed. Although it was quite apparent that her cot was hardly designed to give respite for a woman in her condition, she concentrated on guiding her thoughts elsewhere, hoping to fall asleep before too long.

  After a lengthy span of time, Sofia’s eyes were still wide open. She gave into the fact that she would not be resting well for quite some time. Tossing and turning throughout the rest of the night, she knew very well that the morning would find her worn and fragile.

  As the afternoon of the next day presented, the Savior’s heat was falling with the ferocity unseen on any of the preceding afternoons. Moving through a busy intersection, her basket held upon her head, Sofia was able to keep up with Maryanne for the most part, only losing sight of her momentarily in the bustling droves and grasping hands.

  As they reached the drop-off point for their produce, a convoy of Security transporters began to pull into the town, causing an unsettling wave of emotion to rumble through the streets. Maryanne let her basket roll off of her head and onto the ground.

  “Drop your basket and follow me,” she said, taking Sofia by the arm. “Don’t look back at them, just walk calmly.”

  Obeying her friend, Sofia followed Maryanne’s lead. At first the masses, taken by surprise, began moving away in the same calm manner. But after a moment, the grind of the metal doors swinging open, and the extricating of the agents rushing from their vehicles, caused a sudden panic to erupt.

  As hundreds of women behind them, screaming and flailing, were taken to the ground by the ravages of the Security madness, Maryanne struggled to keep her grasp on Sofia’s arm. She began to move well beyond Sofia’s current abilities, steadily leaving her behind.

  “Sofia, don’t fall back. We need to get out of here,” she yelled.

  Out of breath and losing sight of her friend, Sofia stayed on the path that Maryanne had set.

  “Maryanne, wait for me,” she screamed as her companion veered off the street, entering into one of the garbage filled alleyways.

  “Not now, Sofia. We just need to keep moving,” Sofia heard Maryanne say as she rounded the corner and fell out of view.

  Entering into the narrow-walled pathway, Sofia found Maryanne leaning over her knees, panting and out of breath. Her child, Matthew, crying and scared, was the driving force that made her leave Sofia so far behind.

  “Sorry,” she was able to say, before inhaling deeply. “Let’s keep moving.”

  Seemingly familiar with the route she was taking, Maryanne did not hesitate to turn down any particular corner when faced with several branching paths. The distressing cries from beyond the walls of the buildings grew ever more grievous. The deeper they moved into the city, the more vigorously Maryanne seemed to push Sofia towards their goal. With the tearing of tires skidding through the dirt, Sofia could hear the Security transporters racing through the roadways, roaring around the corners, barreling into the crowds, followed by the shrieks of unforgiving terror.

  After working their way through several twists and narrow turns, they were about to exit the alleyway and enter into the calamitous crowded streets. Maryanne peaked around the corners of the building. Like wild animals whose bodies were under the automated control of their fears, the masses of women were desperately attempting to force themselves into any of the nearby structures that they could find. Stepping upon each other, pushing and shoving, fighting to avoid being captured by the gangs of black-uniformed men preying upon them, she could see that the fleeing crowds were, in their haste to escape, trampling upon several unresponsive bodies.

  Spying out a narrow clearing through the throng, Maryanne took Sofia by the hand, urging her to run with her to another alleyway on the other side. Moving perpendicular to the fast flowing river of bodies, they were thrown around in the chaos, momentarily separated.

  “Sofia,” Maryanne screamed, as she pushed against the heaviness of the panicked citizenry. “Where are you?”

  Falling to the dirt road, Sofia wrapped her arms around her abdomen, protecting her child. Tripping over her, several women crashed to the street beside her, bringing several others down with them. The dust in the air was thick and burdensome, causing the Savior’s light to appear as a hazy, glowing fog of yellowish-orange brightness. As Sofia pulled herself to her knees, she felt a hand grasping her by the shoulder of her shirt. Looking up and expecting the worst, she could see the blackened silhouette of Maryanne tugging at her.

  “Sofia,” Maryanne cried with breathless relief. “I thought you were gone.”

  Helping her to her feet, Maryanne threw Sofia’s arm around her shoulder and assisted her out of harms way. Nearly stumbling upon each other, they entered back into the maze of rotting food, soiled papers and old cans. Leading them to a dead end, Maryanne dropped to her knees and began digging through the garbage in a desperate search for something hidden beneath it.

  “What are you looking for?” Sofia asked in a tearful panic, while being overwhelmed by the insanity rising up in the village.

  Paying no attention to her question, Maryanne kept digging through the debris, feeling around for the distinct hard surface that would bring them to safety.

  “It’s somewhere around here. Where is it?” she mumbled to herself, blindly groping under the layers of waste.

  Like a tin can bouncing off a thick metal plate, Sofia heard Maryanne as she made a disturbance upon something.

  “I found it,” she said with cautionary jubilation. “But, we need to crawl into this mess, that way the door will stay covered after we go in.”

  Leading Sofia by the hand, Maryanne helped her to her knees and began manipulating the garbage around them, forming a small tunnel with a pathway leading into the darkness of the piled up refuse. Scooting upon her side at Maryanne’s request, Sofia squirmed her way feet first into the opening, inching herself towards a metal disc at the far end of the channel. Maryanne edged past her, reaching out and turning the handle that was set into the groove upon the disc’s surface. It was a somewhat familiar sight to Sofia, as it was not unlike the manhole covers that she used to see on the streets of Labor. Sliding the plate to the side, Maryanne exposed the blackness of a hidden room beneath them.

  “There’s a ladder in there somewhere,” she said, reaching out her hand for assistance. “Let me help you down first so that I can close the door behind us.”

  Feeling the first rung under her foot, Sofia slowly entered the darkness of the pit. Descending blindly under Maryanne’s trustful watch, it was quite the distance before she finally felt the solid, dirt floor beneath her.

  “I’m at the bottom, Mary,” Sofia’s voice reverberated in the hollowed enclosure. “Are there any lights down here?”

  Sliding the overhead plate shut over them with an audible closure of the lock, Sofia could hear Maryanne’s shoes clanking on the metal steps of the ladder.

  “Don’t move around. I know right where everything is. As soon as I get down there I’ll turn them on,” she said.

  Hearing her feet crunching upon the pebbles that littered the ground, Sofia listened as Maryanne made her way across the room. With the flick of a switch, the dim lights set upon the walls began to glow.

  As the room came into view, Sofia found herself standing in the middle of a relatively small, rectangular bunker. Its walls were made of old, crumbling concrete saturated with dried, rusty watermarks that had once dripped from the ceili
ng long ago. It reminded her of the interrogation room from where she had last seen John.

  Shelving units, bolted in place on two of the walls, supported five clay jars that were set neatly upon them. Each one appeared to have a placard with a word etched into it of which the flickering lights ultimately obscured.

  “Remember the Savage Days I told you about?” rhetorically asked Maryanne.

  “It’s much worse than I ever imagined,” Sofia responded looking towards the exit above her. “Much worse.”

  Walking over to one of the sets of jars at the far side of the room, Maryanne picked up one of the containers and said, “Boys, I’d like you to meet my friend, Sofia.”

  As Maryanne held it out to her, the light reflected off of its dull surface. Sofia could see the crudely engraved name of Samuel scraped into the metallic plate glued to its base.

  Placing it back upon its shelf, Maryanne walked beside each jar, continuing with her introductions, “And this is Frederick. And this is Thomas. Say, ‘Hello’, Thomas. And here’s Joel. And last, but not least, Adam. These are my children, and this is my hiding place during the Savage Days. Stephen helped me find it.”

  Sofia could see the watering of Maryanne’s eyes, and immediately understood that this was a private, and holy place for her.

  “Thank you for allowing me to be here,” she said.

  “You’re like a sister to me,” Maryanne responded. “You’re always welcome here.”

  Walking up to Sofia and wrapping her arms around her, she laid her head upon Sofia’s shoulder and began to cry. She sobbed and wept for an extended period of time.