Then came a warm, familiar sound. The overhead alarm began sounding off. It was the notice of the end of the work shift. After a long and uneventful day, it was now 5 pm and Jon got to go home.
He would usually linger after work, maybe continue working for a few more minutes or chat with co-workers. But today, as soon as that alarm went off, Jon was up from his station and well on his way to the exit. He didn’t stop to say good-bye. He didn’t stop to turn around to see if anybody was seeking his attention. He just went straight for that door. Once outside, he headed straight to the stop where he could take the shuttle home.
Again, he was one of the last ones to the platform and onto the hovering shuttle. He was one of the lucky few that had to spend the twists and turns of the journey home standing and holding onto that leather strap attached to the bars extending from the ceiling.
He allowed himself to be lost in the trance of the trip home. He already missed the luxury of having his own personal vehicle to get him to where he wanted to go, but he lost that luxury. He let his cares melt away as he began to dream of the possibilities outside of this life he has always known. There had to be something more to this world. There had to be something beyond the bleak, above the mundane, and outside the reality everybody was forced to know.
All the many years Jon had lived on the earth, he had never ventured beyond the city limits of Pinnacle City. The Outband highway system was the farthest he had ever ventured – or could. The city began to feel more like a sprawling prison system than a place to call home.
What was beyond those hills and mountains in the distance? What was the capital like? All there was to know is what was allowed to be shown to you. Jon’s spirit and mind cried for something more. There had to be more. There had to be.
Suddenly, Jon felt his balance shift wildly beyond his control. The shuttle had come to an abrupt halt. All of that thinking and pondering had distracted Jon, and he not anticipated the sudden stop up ahead. He felt the weight of gravity rip him from the security of the leather strap he was holding, and pull him down to the floor and right to the front of the bus.
He looked up to face the nearest passenger who didn’t seem to mind – or care – what had just transpired. In order to alleviate some of the discomfort of being hurled to the floor like a discarded toy, Jon said something to break the tension.
“Well, this is embarrassing,” he spoke allowed to anybody within the sound of his voice. He looked around to see if there was going to be a response. Nobody said a word to him. They all turned their heads and went back to what they were doing before the abrupt stop. This only made the moment even more embarrassing for Jon.
He pulled himself back up to his feet and ignored the fact that everybody was ignoring him as though he didn’t even exist, but then that is how everybody in this city acted all the time, and everywhere. Jon looked to the front window to see what had brought the vehicle to such a stop. “Road work.” They were raising one of the massive, metal barriers – right in front of Jon’s building. This was routine in the city. They would raise the barriers to create confusion and cause the residents to find new ways around the city. One day you would know the city as well as the back of your hand, the next day you were learning everything all over again.
The party claimed it was part of an ongoing civil research project. They said they were developing new and effective methods of transportation with this research. But Jon knew better. It was designed to keep people confused. It was designed to deter people from fleeing the city. After all, why run when they can literally shut down every way out of the city?
So now he was forced to make an even longer journey to and from work each day. It wasn’t something new, but it was something unwelcomed. Now instead of nearly being home, Jon had to wait on the shuttle for it to map a new course to the stop in front of his building.
He looked over his shoulder and spotted an empty seat. He took advantage and took a much-needed seat as he waited for the shuttle to find its way around the now fully risen, 20-foot wall.
After lulling himself back into the realm of thought, the shuttle had finally come to where he needed to be. Home.
Jon was irritated, tired and begging to be inside his living quarter with the door closed securely behind him. It was now after six o’clock in the evening, and it felt as though the journey home had taken more out of him than the entire work-shift. The cold height of the towers blocked out any traces of what was left of the light of the sun as it made its way to the end of the valley. Nighttime came early in the city, and tonight it felt colder than it normally should feel this time of year.
As Jon made his way down the steps of the platform and back onto the city street, he clasped his hands together and blew his warm breath into them. He buttoned up his long jacket and hiked up the collar. He didn’t have far to walk to his building but right now it felt like forever.
He reached the door to the elevator lobby. He walked up to the data receiver and scanned his arm.
“Data received. Please continue to your living quarters.”
Jon just stared at the lifeless computer in front of him for a moment. He then turned to face what he had already forgotten. The elevator, on his side of the building that took him to his floor was broken. There it was. Stuck halfway between floors.
“Great,” Jon muttered to himself. He walked back outside and headed to a door just down the alley. Jon scanned his arm on the data receiver to unlock the door. He opened the door to a flight of stairs. He let out a sigh. He now faced twenty-seven flights by foot to end his day. At least he would be getting some good exercise.
Along his long ascent up the flight of stairs, Jon quietly hummed those oldies tunes to himself as he thought about dinner. Though he was looking forward to his baked potato with just the right amount of butter, along with a can of beans, he would do just about anything for a more substantive meal. His belly craved for more nutrients and his mind begged for something tasty. He tried not to think about it too much, because he knew the finer things in life, such as a meal worthy of a long day’s work, was out of reach. It served him no purpose to want what he could not have.
After slower and more agonizing steps, Jon had made it up the never-ending depth of the stairwell and to floor twenty-seven. He stopped at the top of the stairs and clutched his knees in-order to catch his breath. He gave himself a few moments.
He walked down the hall and quietly nodded as he passed a few other men on his way to his quarters. He scanned his information into the computer and he heard the snap of his rickety door opening. It was good to be back at his living quarters.
The first thing he did was go straight to the cabinet, retrieve two potatoes and threw them into the heating unit. Normally he would ration his food and eat just one potato, but tonight he needed more, so much more. Two potatoes were not even enough. He grabbed a can of beans to go along with his feast.
He took a seat at his little table in the kitchen while he waited for the potatoes to bake. He didn’t bother turning on the helevision. As boring as it was sitting there, there was nothing worth wasting time over on the party broadcast. Jon preferred to be alone with his thoughts, or any piece of paper and pencil that he could find. In the digital age and in this city, raw material was something that was hard to come by, but Jon had managed to acquire himself some blank, white paper and a couple of sharpened pencils where he could draw, or record his thoughts – something that was banned by the party.
Jon was so eager to get his dinner baking that he forgot to even turn on the lights. He didn’t notice until the last light of the sun began to disappear from the city streets. He stood up to go turn on the lights when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He walked through the darkening room and to the window where he could see through the tint just enough to see the adjacent building. He turned down the tint so he could see clearly. A shocking sight was revealed. Across the street, the building adjacent and maybe one floor below his, right next to that hideous, m
assive banner, he saw two people.
No guests were allowed inside living quarters, save it be on party business. Yet here in this quarter were not just two people, but one man and one woman, another violation of city ordinance. Men and women were kept in separate buildings to prevent this very thing. Every once in a while there would be the brave souls that would sneak past the computer security nets.
Jon turned up the tint enough to where he felt comfortable that he wouldn’t be spotted, but he could still see out across the way. He watched with curiosity and concern. He had heard the stories. The man and woman began to embrace one another, and then they started clutching and kissing each other.
Jon didn’t know if he should turn the shade all the way up or keep watching. He did keep watching, not with anticipation, but with fright. He put his hand over his mouth. He was waiting to see something other than what was taking place.
The man and woman, still clutching each other, made their way to the bed. Jon couldn’t believe what they were doing, and that they hadn’t even thought to turn their shades on. He was ready to leap out of his window and grab the two of them and tell them to knock it off. He knew what was going to happen next, and it did.
Suddenly, the couple jumped in fear. The man quickly jumped off the woman and hurried himself to his feet. The woman remained on the bed with her hands in the air. She was screaming. Jon couldn’t hear a thing. It was perfectly quiet, but it was as though he could hear every syllable being muttered and yelled. Then came the part that he feared. A group of men, dressed in black and covered in armor came flying into the living unit. These were not ordinary enforcers like the many Jon had encountered. These were not Enforcement Personnel at all. They were high-ranking soldiers in the party guard.
Among the residents of the city they were known as the ghost soldiers. They came in the dark of night and took people away from their homes. Any stories about them were largely chalked up to myth and urban legends. Only a small group of people actually saw these soldiers in action. And most of the few that did see them, never saw home again. These soldiers were the true law enforcement personnel.
They came in at blinding speed with their firearms at the ready. One soldier took the lead with his baton and struck the man across the face, right in front of the woman. The man immediately fell to the floor. He was lifeless, dead or unconscious. The soldier then grabbed the woman by the hair and dragged her across the floor. Her hands clutched her head as she screamed and begged for mercy. She was dragged out of sight. The remaining soldiers cuffed the man, lifted him up by his shoulders and dragged his limp body not far behind the screaming woman.
What a horrifying sight. It was a story Jon had heard many times, but something he had never seen. It was something that could not be unseen. He kept watching into the now empty living quarter where the lights were still on with nobody inside. Whoever it was that lived there was now being taken back to the group housing project – if they were lucky. The woman would more than likely be taken to the adjustment facility and who knows what would happen to the man – death probably.
Knock, knock!
Jon felt his heart trying to break through his chest. Somebody had just given a loud and stern knock on his door. Nobody was allowed to visit after work hours. After what he had just saw, he was petrified as to who could be on the other side, rapping their fist on that old, rickety door.
Knock, knock!
Jon tried to hurry to the front door to open it, but it felt like it kept getting farther away as he desperately tried to find his strength to grant access to the anxious “visitor.” His knees were like balls of rubber, incapable of holding any weight. The rapping on the door went from knock, knock, to boom, boom. Then much to Jon’s dismay and embarrassment, he remembered that he didn’t have to physically open the door. He merely needed to speak, “open,” and the lock would release for whoever was on the other side.
“Open,” Jon shouted as he clutched the table for strength.
The door creaked open. The apartment was still dark. Jon could only make out the figures that were now making their way into his home. It was as he feared. It was why his knees were quivering underneath him. The men now shuffling into his living quarter were none other than the elusive ghost soldiers. There they were dressed in black. Jon couldn’t tell their guns and batons from their arms. He clenched his teeth and kept his eyes going straight through the soldiers and not making any type of eye contact with them as they encircled him in his own home.
After he was surrounded by four men in armor and fully armed, the lights suddenly came on. Jon could now see the ghost soldiers in all their detail. They were, by design, anonymous men behind masks. They were draped in black from head to toe. Their helmets were black. Their eyewear was black. Their armor was black. Their guns were black. Their gloves and boots were black. The only distinctive mark Jon could find on any of the soldiers was a small patch that they all had just below their right shoulders. It was a grey, square patch. As Jon could have guessed the insignia on the patch was none other than the party emblem, that same old familiar star with the lightning bolt. Only on these patches, the emblem was stitched in black.
Only seconds had passed by but Jon could have sworn a day had come and gone. There he stood, in his own quarter, surrounded by party soldiers, not knowing what had brought them here. Then a fifth figure made his way into the room.
“Good evening, Private Ballard.”
It was General Greenwald, with that big grin going ear-to-ear. What had brought him here? What did Jon do to cause the General himself to travel to this part of town and to trek up the twenty-seven flights of stairs? After what he had just seen, Jon prepared himself for the worst. He quickly came to terms with the fact that he was going to be taken away by these men. He would share the fate of the man and woman across the street.
“We were in the neighborhood,” proclaimed Greenwald. “I thought we’d stop by and have a little chat.”
Jon swallowed the lump in his throat.
4
WHEN THE GENERAL CALLS
It was like waking up from a bad dream from the deepest of sleep. Everything seemed so far away and surreal. Was this all just a dream? The fogginess that plagues the brain from such a sleep begins to wear off. The realization that he was never asleep, and that the fear was real began to set in. Maybe, just maybe, this moment was going to fade away with the opening of his eyelids. He could blink as much as he could muster, and he would still be sitting here. These men would still be surrounding him, their guns at the ready, that grin going from ear-to-ear. Nothing he could do could wake him up from this reality.
“Please, Private Ballard, I want you to take a deep breath and relax, will ya?” said Greenwald.
Jon took him up on his invitation. He took a deep breath but relaxing was not something he was able to do.
“How ‘bout you pour us some of that delicious orange juice sitting in the refrigerator?” asked the officer.
Jon paused for a moment. The nerve of this guy, he barges into his home and demands the only source of food he has access to for an entire week, but he didn’t let that stop him from saying, “Absolutely, sir.”
Greenwald let that big smile grace his face again as Jon stood and squeezed through the armed men standing between him and the kitchen. Jon opened the fridge, took in a loud deep breath but let out a long, very quiet sigh of disbelief. He took the only cup that he had in his possession and poured it full of his only bottle of orange juice.
This time Jon walked right through the soldiers. His patience had worn off rather quickly, quicker than it normally would have. He didn’t care if they had guns. They were invaders in his home. He walked through two of them and paid no mind to the fact that his shoulders pushed right passed theirs.
As Jon took his seat back at the little table one of the soldiers clutched his baton. Greenwald looked up from the table and very quietly nodded his head, no.
“You’ll have to excuse these fellows,” said G
reenwald. “They take up a bit more space than they mean to.”
Whatever that was supposed to mean.
Greenwald picked up the cup that had been placed in front of him. He gave the contents of the cup a bit of an awkward stare before he raised the cup and took a small sip. He gagged a bit and nearly spit the juice right out.
“Ugh, they feed you this crap?” he shouted at Jon.
Being a bit amused, Jon allowed a smirk to appear on his face.
Greenwald looked back into the glass, “I’m not entirely sure this is even juice. I’m not sure what it is, but I’m sure juice it is not.” He then raised the glass to Jon and downed the remainder of the contents. He then let out a few harsh coughs. “No, definitely not juice.”
Jon said nothing as he watched Greenwald seemingly putting on a show for him. Then the mood changed abruptly.
“Did you enter your daily reports today, private?” asked Greenwald.
Jon was stunned, and it showed. It hadn’t even crossed his mind, and in the blink of an eye he remembered the very stern conversation and warning Greenwald had issued just the night before. He was to issue a daily report. Then panic began to set in. That same cold sweat that comes from a strange dream began to come over him.
“I… I…” Jon was a stuttering fool. He tried to speak but nothing would come out. The question had rendered him speechless. Then the unexpected happened. Greenwald let out a bellowing and hearty laughter.
“Relax,” he said while trying to get his laughter under control. “I sent you off into the night without any way of knowing how to submit your reports, let alone the means with which to do it with.” He let out a few more chuckles. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t use you for my own entertainment.”
The Cowboy of Pinnacle City Page 7