Driver 8

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Yes, long live the collective,” Number One repeated pointing at the man before giving him a thumbs up.

  Whistles and screams of we love you, rang out from all around the forum.

  Number One reveled in the praise.

  Portia sat, her entire body now quivering at the anticipation of Number One looking down on her and accusing her of some unknown crime. She’d seen it before so it was possible. She searched her thoughts for what it might be, but couldn’t come up with anything she’d done that violated a law.

  “Collective, I call you here this afternoon to give you some good news, some bad news and to give you an example of how a resident should live and shouldn’t.”

  Hearing those last words amplified Portia’s fear.

  “First the good news. Today we received word from Number Two that a new trade deal with the Rocky Mountain Republic has been secured. This will bring much needed items, mainly medicines like antibiotics here in exchange for some of our crops. Now that we have a surplus in our fields to the west, we can use that to make trades. This trade deal was critical and I am so proud of Number Two for securing this for us,” he hollered. As the crowd roared their approval, he glanced down at Portia.

  Seeing he was staring, Portia shifted nervously in her chair. Why is he looking at me? She asked herself.

  “Now the bad news. Our surgeon general has reported some unusual cases of an unknown virus…”

  The crowd groaned and gasped.

  “Settle down, please. Right now we don’t have anything to worry about. It appears this virus effects young children. Sometimes it doesn’t have any symptoms. Therefore, I am instructing the principals of our schools to schedule testing for all children starting first thing tomorrow. I am sorry but we must do this. It is the best thing for The Collective.”

  A lot of cross talk erupted from the crowd.

  Portia’s self-concern pivoted to the thirty-seven children she presided over. Knowing there would be a new round of testing meant some of the beaming faces she saw six days per week would be gone, forever. Her thoughts then shifted to one student she had grown immensely attached too. Melissa was her name and she held Portia’s heartstrings more than any student ever. had.

  Raising his voice, Number One boomed, “Now I’d like to give you all an example of a good resident, a model resident, and then some that have violated the laws of The Collective and must be punished.”

  Portia’s heart was beating out of her chest. She began to question whether she should just make a run for it. Her eyes shifted from left to right looking for potential exits and escape routes.

  “I feel it is always important when we’re all gathered to recognize a resident that has gone above and beyond. This person has shown dedication to our Collective and without them, we wouldn’t thrive. They perform their duties with professionalism and has demonstrated the core virtues of our great society. Please let me call to the stage, Teacher Seven,” Number One shouted out while pointing to Portia.

  A bright beam of light shot down on Portia, who sat in shock at the unexpected announcement.

  “Teacher Seven, please, come to the stage,” Number One ordered, his tone jovial.

  Portia stood, her legs felt wobbly so she steadied herself before making her first step towards the stage.

  “Everyone, please give a rousing applause to Teacher Seven!” Number One shouted.

  The crowd rose to the feet and applauded loudly.

  Portia walked onto the stage and up to the side of the podium. She gave Number One an anxious look before bringing her gaze down.

  “Teacher Seven, please come over and talk to The Collective,” Number One urged waving her over.

  She walked over and stood behind the large black microphone.

  Number One leaned in and whispered, “Say something, like hello and tell them why you love it here.”

  Taking his cues, she did as he suggested. She lowered the microphone until it was near her mouth and said, “THE ONE FOR THE MANY…!

  The crowd replied, “THE MANY FOR THE ONE!”

  Her nervousness took over as she stood frozen behind the microphone.

  One more time, Number One gave her a suggestion, “How happy are you to live here?”

  “I am so happy to be a resident of The Collective. My life is truly blessed and I’m honored to give all I have to this great society.”

  Everyone in the audience cheered.

  “That is good, you may sit down,” Number One said motioning for her to leave.

  She didn’t argue, she rushed off stage and took her seat.

  “Residents, isn’t she wonderful?” he asked the crowd.

  They responded with a loud cheer, “YES!”

  “And did you know, she’s married to the legend, Driver Eight!” Number One said clapping.

  The people around Portia all reached out with various forms of congratulations, some patting her back, others holding their hand out for her to take while some just wanted to touch her. This moment in the lime light was so odd for her, she had seen Kyle received praise but never thought she would, it made her feel very uncomfortable.

  The Collective was built upon equality and abolishment of the individual but so often the opposite played out with people being singled out and given access to things others weren’t. It was proof that equality was a myth, if left to their own devices, human kind always reverts back to a default mode.

  Number One quieted the raucous crowd, he lowered his head and paused, when he lifted it again, his expression had changed from jovial to anger. “My fellow residents, it’s that time. The time when we call out those around you who have violated our laws. These people, these individuals…”

  Boos rang out.

  “…these individuals, believe that the world I have given you is wrong. They wish to destroy it by implementing the ways of the destructive past, but we know what happened before. If we allow that sort of thought to take hold it will utterly destroy everything we have now and thrust us back to a dark age. These people would have you live like the Generates.”

  Louder boos came from the audience followed by hisses.

  “If you don’t believe what I have to say, listen and watch for yourself,” Number One said turning around and pointing to the large projection screen.

  The screen came to life. On it were three people, two women and one man, sitting around a small dining table in what appeared to be someone’s house.

  The man spoke first, “If I must listen to those damn sirens and those mind-numbing announcements one more time, I’ll die.”

  Commotion broke out in the center of the forum. Screams and cries followed.

  Portia looked back and saw a man wrestling with security. She looked closely and noticed it was the man in the video. Out of the corner of her eye she saw motion, she turned her head to get a better look and saw a woman racing up the far side aisle. Guards cornered and tasered her before she could go anywhere. Opposite that, another woman sobbed and moaned. That drew the attention of the guards who swept down and surrounded her. The culprits in the video were now apprehended.

  Number One had the video paused and waited for them to be brought onto the stage. “Put them on their knees over there,” he said pointing to a spot a dozen feet from him. He looked back and said, “Continue.”

  “I agree, sometimes I think those Generates have it better. To live free, being able to come and go. There’s something romantic about it,” one of the women said.

  The other woman followed up, “Do you even think they exist?”

  “The Generates?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” the second woman said. “Or are they some sort of story to keep up afraid, to ensure we don’t leave the walls. Here’s something to think about, are these walls really here to protect us or keep us in?”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way,” the first woman said.

  “What’s wrong Simon?” the second woman said.

  “Can I trust you?” he asked the tw
o.

  The two women looked at each other for a moment then turned to face him. “Sure,” the first woman said. “Yes, of course,” the second chimed in.

  “I’ve been talking with The Underground, not like the entire group and it’s not like I’ve gone to any of their meetings, but I’ve had regular contact with one of their members.”

  “Why would you risk your life?” the first woman asked.

  “I can’t live like this anymore. I want to know what’s really going on. I don’t believe it’s as bad out there as they say. I think the drivers are liars. I feel more like a prisoner than a productive part of this bullshit so called collective,” he railed.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea you’re talking with those people, they’re terrorists ,” the first woman said.

  “What did this person tell you?” the second woman asked.

  “They need more people. For them to effect change they need a display, a big one, to show they’re a force to be reckoned with. Only then will One take notice. They wish to break free if he won’t,” the man said defiantly. He turned to the first woman and snapped, “And they’re not terrorists, they’re freedom fighters.”

  “Are you going to help them?” the second woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Cut, stop, turn off the video, I don’t need to see anymore traitorous talk!” Number One hollered.

  The screen went dark followed by boos and jeers from the crowd.

  Number One stepped away from the podium and approached the three kneeling people. He looked down on their grieving faces. All were upset and knew what this meant. He looked out to the audience and asked, “What should we do with them?”

  “Death!” Everyone shouted in unison.

  Number One stepped in front of the man and asked, “What was it you said? I can’t live like this anymore?”

  The man looked up and pleaded, “I didn’t mean it, I was, I was just talking, you know, bravado.”

  “Bravado? Ha.”

  “Please, Number One, I made a mistake, please show me some mercy,” he cried out.

  “Me?” Number One asked laughing as he turned around to face the crowd. “He said, show me some mercy. Even in the darkest hour, he still clings to his selfish belief systems. I bet I could offer him a deal but in order to take the deal he’d have to allow the other two to die and he’d take it.” Number One turned back and asked, “What’s your name? Your birth name, give it to me.”

  “Simon.”

  “Simon, tell me. If I said I’d spare your life but these two had to die, what would you say?”

  The woman to Simon’s right burst out, “Simon don’t make any deal with him, don’t do it. He’s a liar!”

  Number One looked at the woman and laughed, “I’m the liar?” He focused his attention back on Simon and asked, “Well, Simon.”

  Simon's lips trembled and his eyes shifted back and forth. The conflict inside him was intense but his desire to stay alive was too much. “Yes. I will tell you what you want to know. I can be rehabilitated but these two? No. Spare my life and I will forever serve The Collective.”

  Both of his accomplices cried out in anger and fear.

  Number One smiled broadly. He turned around to face the crowd who now were on their feet, cheering for Number One to kill them. “Should I take the deal?”

  “NO!” the crowd shouted.

  He walked back to the podium, grabbed the microphone and said, “We are able to function as a society because we are built upon a foundation of laws. These laws have enabled us to thrive and exist surrounded by savagery. We are the light in the dark, we are the shining city on the hill. It saddens me that these three couldn’t see that. They lost faith. They even look upon these walls as something bad now. They romanticize about the free world that exists beyond these walls. So what I will do is give it to them. I will let them go live among the free people as they call them.” He paused and walked up to the three. “I will be merciful to you, Simon. You will not go and live outside of these walls, I’ll spare you the horror.”

  “Thank you, thank you. You’re merciful,” Simon sobbed.

  “You’re welcome, Simon. The other two, I will have a driver take you east and drop you off just outside of The Wastes. There you will live, free to do what you will. However, I will offer you this. If you manage to survive a year, you can return. I want you to come back and be witness to others who may hold these limited beliefs.”

  All the women could do was whimper.

  Number One turned around and hollered. “I have enforced the laws with temperance and mercy.” He turned to stage left and called out, “Guards, take the women to the driver’s depot. You’re to not give them anything, no food, water, clothing, weapons, nothing. They wanted to be free, they can. And take Simon to the Trees of Justice.”

  Simon screamed, “No!”

  Portia had been watching in shock but when she heard Simon’s fate, she started to cry. The Tree of Justice was a place of execution. Not a quick one, but a slow and agonizing one. Those sent to it to die, were lashed to the tree’s massive trunk. Their arms and legs spread wide apart and strapped down. There they would be left for whatever creature, Generate or human to torture or kill. It was a brutal way to die and set aside for those who had betrayed The Collective. Other death sentences were simple hangings in front of Number One’s executive mansion.

  “You said were giving me mercy, you said so!” Simon wailed.

  “I said I was going to show you mercy. Believe me, dying on that tree is merciful to what your friends will experience. You are the lucky one,” Number One replied.

  A group of ten guards marched onto the stage and escorted the prisoners away.

  Taking the podium once more, Number One said, “People of The Collective. I have since day one and until now been humbled and honored to be your leader. Thank you for this and let us finish this gathering by reciting our motto, together. ““THE ONE FOR THE MANY…!

  The crowd replied, “THE MANY FOR THE ONE!”

  Number One placed the microphone down and walked off the stage.

  The overhead lights turned on across the expansive building.

  Portia sat, her stomach still in knots. She never expected or had one inking she’d be called on stage and still couldn’t understand why it happened. Around her everyone chatted, laughed and debated the events of the gathering. She overheard many saying how thrilling it was. Those words disgusted her. There was not one thing that was exciting about what she just witnessed, but it was successful in its goal and that was to strike fear into the heart of everyone there. That no matter where you were, Number One was watching.

  A guard approached her, “Teacher Seven?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m to take you to the executive mansion. Number One wishes to eat a late lunch with you.”

  Knowing she didn’t have a choice, she nodded and stood.

  “This way,” the guard said and headed towards the far exit.

  Portia followed, her heart racing. This day had gone from peculiar to downright terrifying.

  SALINA, UTAH, ROCKY MOUNTAIN REPUBLIC

  Kyle knew the world had turned uncivilized and downright savage and he knew child prostitution was real, but knowing about it and seeing it were different. He wanted to do something about it, but at what cost? He was one man and he had a responsibility not only to The Collective but to Portia. He couldn’t get lost in saving the world or going on a crusade that would jeopardize everything he’d worked so hard for.

  Unable to stay any longer, he cleaned up, packed and headed out. Upon entering the main bar area, he looked for the young girl. She was gone as were two of the men. Revolting thoughts came back which again put him back into a state of anger.

  Behind the bar, Frank called out, “How was the shower?”

  Kyle nodded but kept walking towards the exit.

  “Hey buddy, payment w
ould be nice,” Frank said.

  Kyle headed over and dug through his pack. He came out with a small pack of wipes. “Five hundred.”

  Frank picked them up, gave them a look over and said, “Looks good. These will come in handy. Need these to clean up the girls.” Frank snickered knowing his comment would get under Kyle’s skin.

  It worked, but Kyle kept his composure. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Sounds good and if you change your mind, we get a fresh batch of younglings every few weeks,” Frank laughed.

  “You know something, I just might come back to pay you a visit,” Kyle threatened.

  “You do that,” Frank said his steely eyes locked with Kyle’s.

  Kyle marched to the exit. There the young woman who had helped talk him down, stopped him and asked, “Where you off too?”

  “Work.”

  “What do you do?”

  Annoyed, he told her the truth, “I’m a driver with The Collective, now if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Ooh, a driver. Which one are you? I hear you go by numbers. What’s yours?”

  “Eight.”

  “Well, wouldn’t you know, that’s my lucky number,” she laughed.

  “Good for you, now if you’ll excuse me, I have someplace to be,” he said and attempted to step around her.

  She stopped him and said, “You come in here all high and mighty, but I’ll have you know this isn’t a choice. This is about survival. If I fight back, they kill me and my son. I don’t have anywhere to go, so this is what I do.”

  Kyle didn’t know what to say, so he simply replied, “I’m sorry.”

  “If I could get into your rig and drive off, I would, in a heartbeat, but not before cutting that bastards throat,” she said motioning towards Frank.

  “Maybe one day you’ll get that chance,” Kyle said.

  “Tell me, what’s a driver from The Collective doing here?” she asked.

  “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for two men. One a driver, tall, lean and the other…”

  “Was he a short guy with a belly?” she asked cutting him off. “You can’t miss a fat person nowadays, it’s a sign of wealth.”