The General just waited for Jon to keep talking.
“One of them introduced himself as Connor. They have Enforcement Personnel working with them. They meet in some building towards the edge of town – I think.”
“So you have the name of a dweller who won’t be found in my database. It’s obvious that they have people on the inside of my operation, and some vague description of a place that I’m assuming you have no idea where it is. In other words, you have nothing but an arm band.”
“I, I uh…” Jon was digging for any more information.
“Save it, Ballard. Clearly you have more work to do, but not before I give you one last and very final warning.”
Jon’s breathing came to a stop.
“If you break procedure, party protocol, any law, rule or regulation not even I can stop Everett from having his way with you. And believe me, Specialist, enemies to the party are his specialty.”
“What’s going to happen to Sinda?”
Shockingly, Greenwald answered the question. “She has her warning, and she will be reassigned to where this will no longer be an issue. You will remain on course and get me the information I need. Otherwise, I will have to let the dogs off the leash and they’re very, very hungry.”
11
DEJA VU
Déjà vu. This seemed all too familiar. It was almost haunting. No, it was haunting. This was a bad dream that wasn’t going to end. Most dreams end before you hit the bottom of the bottomless pit. They come to a relieving and welcomed halt before your demise is reached. This dream? This dream wasn’t going to end until the dreamer was dead and incapable of having them.
There he was in that same spot as before, the same time of night. The slamming of the giant doors behind him was eerily familiar. Worse, he didn’t even feel that this was his dream. It was somebody else’s dream, and he was just a figure in it, a pawn, a shadow in the back of somebody’s memory, a shadow that nobody would remember as soon as the sun came up. He was as useful as the pillars that held up this garage, and just as meaningless. He was a brick in a building, replaced at first sight of decay, discarded and thrown away.
Now he was just another rat in the maze, wondering around in circles looking for his block of cheese – but never getting to the end of it to earn his reward. This labyrinth, designed to conjure the illusion of freedom yet keep you in prison. These walls in this labyrinth, a monument to the corruption of the human condition. Building towards the sky to chain the people down to the ground – how poetic, in the most totalitarian sense of the word. These buildings were so tall that the sky became an afterthought, even a mystery.
Here in Pinnacle City man came to marvel at the splendor of man. Come see what man built. Wonder not at the creation of all things, but stand in awe and inspiration of these stone towers standing mighty and immovable. See not the vast lands that lay around this city and beyond, but only see the world that is this city. For only this city is the world, and there is no more world. The moon was shining bright this night, but not a ray found its way to the bottom of the bottomless pit, this grid, this monstrosity of thought. It was the road of freedom – if you stood in line and did what you were told. It could take you where you wanted to go – as long as you didn’t veer off in another direction. The future in this city was as endless as these skyscrapers – as long as you promised to chain yourself to them. If the sky was the limit then the limit was when these buildings scraped the sky. The limit was when they came crashing down on everybody standing in awe in the presence of their cold, lifeless shadows.
Wouldn’t that be ironic? A city of zombies shocked to life by their sudden end. The city they fawned over and revered would be the death of them all. These barriers on these streets would become the tombstones of a city that never saw its death coming, a death it deserved.
Look at these Enforcement Ppersonnel. They scour these streets looking for trouble, but the only trouble is with these Enforcement Personnel scouring these streets. They seek, they crave and they need the chaos. These adrenaline junkies getting their kicks off helpless citizens out past the government mandated bedtime, a bedtime for the rats that are given a rationed amount of cheese each week.
And this government? This government with its iron fist from a distant capital telling strangers what’s good for them. A bureaucrat with a brown nose gets to decide how everybody will live their lives, where they will end up and if they get to live alone or in love. Some man is in-charge of it all, some megalomaniac. The king of the bureaucrats. The emperor of the sheep. The president of the peasants. The beloved Premier of Capital City and the entire country. If his ego wasn’t printed across the tower-sized posters, it was written all over his face – in innocent blood. His plan is grand. His plan is earth shattering and unmatched. His plan is divine, for no man could know what he knows, lest they dare question his authority and end up with the blood across themselves. To him it’s just a necessity, a requirement to keep the pigs in their pens, to ensure the survival of the fit and the chosen - the self-professed mindless sheep. They would walk into the bottomless pit if the man merely suggested it. These pawns, these useless stewards of a city who wouldn’t care if it came crashing down on top of them. They live their lives with constant worry yet without question. They love to complain but not to be bothered. Their clenched fists fall limp when the iron fist tightens its grip.
The maze that is this city, designed to keep a man wondering and guessing until he ends up at the same old conclusion that he’s always known – there is no way out. There is nowhere to run. There is no one to trust.
Trust the party? Their trust ended where their rifles began. They are slow to create and quick to destroy.
The dwellers? They would use their hatred to burn the city to the ground, but in the end, it’s all they would have left – hatred. They had no direction, no ideas, just a blind disdain for something they could not overcome.
Could he do it? Just go? Just take what little he had and make his way for the mountains? Would he survive in the wild?
No.
Unlike the cowboy of the same name, he was doomed. He was a victim of his circumstance. He was trapped in a labyrinth designed to keep him stark raving mad – but under control. He did not have the luxury of fleeing from danger.
Sinda. Where was Sinda? What did they do to her? Where did they send her? Would he ever see her again? Serves him right for opening himself up to something that could not be. Serves him right for trusting his feelings and not fleeing from them, the way he had always done – the way the law required.
But why obey this law? A law that says do as I say and if you do as I do you will be shot on sight. It was a putrid, reprehensible system of thugs, tyrants and lifeless bureaucrats who would eat their own before they bit the hand that feeds.
Jon stopped walking. He didn’t even notice how far away from the jail he was and close to his living quarters he had come. It was a strange feeling to be on autopilot. Especially for as long as he had been. It wasn’t until he stopped that he noticed how cold it was outside, and how cold he was.
Something was wrong. Maybe he didn’t snap out of autopilot. Maybe he was jolted out of it. He got the distinct impression that he was not alone. He didn’t see anybody. He couldn’t hear any vehicles. It was just the whirling wind through the allies of the city – not a soul in sight. Jon tucked his hands into his pockets, started walking and made haste about it.
Clink.
Boom.
No. He was not alone. He was being pursued, but by who? A robber perhaps, some lowly dweller thinking that Jon had what he needed. The joke would be on the dweller but Jon wasn’t going to find out. He started running. He didn’t look back. Maybe there was nothing there but there was no need to stick around.
Boom.
Now Jon knew he was being pursued. The noise behind him picked up as he took off down the streets and the allies. All he knew is that this was not the government after him. They would have had him by now and with ligh
ts on, guns blazing fashion. Whoever was behind him wanted something else from him. Jon was certain they would scream, yell and try to get his attention, but they didn’t. Jon could only hear their footsteps chasing quickly behind his. Jon dodged and darted between buildings and across streets. If anything was going to kill him tonight it was going to be this labyrinth. These erected barriers to keep the people in their places were going to be Jon’s undoing.
Jon was sprinting so fast he didn’t even know where he was anymore. He avoided those barriers at all costs. He knew if he got stuck in front of one he would be cornered, and his furiously approaching friend would have him right where he wanted him. But how long could Jon keep running? His lungs were on fire. This cold air was suffocating him. His pursuer grew louder as they got closer. Jon didn’t know where he was going or where he should be going. He was just trying to escape out of sight. Right now was sounding like a good time to escape into the mountains. If Jon could get out of this mess, away from his chaser and back to his living quarters, he would leave it all behind. He was going to follow suite of who he imagined to be his fictional self.
Jon came bursting out of an alley, gasping for air when an Atlas Grade 2 cruiser came to a slamming halt in front of him.
Despite nearly being hit, Jon was relieved to see Enforcement Personnel.
“Help me!” he yelled at the officer. “I’m being chased!” Jon ran to the officer’s door as the officer quickly exited his vehicle. The officer greeted Jon with a stun gun right to his chest.
Jon fell on his back. As the officer began to restrain Jon, Jon looked up to see that his chaser had caught up with him. It was just a shadow, a silhouette in the dark. Jon didn’t know who they were. Then another figure climbed out of the back of the cruiser. It was Marcus. He came and stood over Jon.
“Marcus?” he muttered as best he could.
Marcus approached him with the same looking cloth that had grazed his face during their first encounter in the alley way. Sure enough, as Jon lay down on the ground, secured in light cuffs, and unable to move, Marcus took the rag and smothered Jon’s face in it. Whatever it was, it worked. Jon was out almost immediately.
Lost. Jon was lost. Where was he?
“Where am I?” he screamed into the darkness, but the darkness offered nothing back in return. There was no light, only shadows. It was a forest of black darkness that Jon didn’t know his way through.
“Jonny” came a soft and familiar voice.
Jon turned and let out a deep breath.
“Sinda!” he shouted back at the darkness. “Sinda, are you there?”
Jon waited and waited but nothing came back. It was just he and the darkness. There he would wait and there he would be until…
“Jonny” she came again. “Jonny, why did you leave me Jonny?”
“I didn’t leave you Sinda!” Jon’s voice was quivering. “Please, where are you? Help me find you?”
“Jonny. Come find me Jonny.”
Then it went quiet for a moment. Jon was panicked in the darkness. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to see.
“Sinda!”
Then came a distant, “Jonny.”
Jon took off running into the black night not caring where it would lead him.
“Jonny” the voice would come as Jon drew closer to her, but then the voice would fade off into the distance. It was a dance. It was a maze.
“Johnny. Here I am.”
Jon looked in to the depth of this black forest and could see a beautiful light. It was Sinda. He had found her in the depth of this place. She stood there smiling and bidding him to come to her. He drew nearer to her when something suddenly made him stop.
Behind Sinda, in the darkness, faces began to emerge. At first they were twisted. Then they took the form of men. It was the Sheriff and his posse. Everett and Greenwald were standing deep in the darkness behind them all.
“Come to me Jonny” she called with an outstretched hand.
Jon, confused and near tears, reached his hand towards hers.
A sudden interruption.
The clambering of the police communication link. The gentle hum of the vehicle hovering over the grid system. There was no Sinda. Jon was waking up in the back of a cruiser – again. This was beginning to become the same-old-same-old and quickly. Jon didn’t bother asking any questions because he knew he was not going to get any answers. Instead, he laid on the back seat and stared at the roof of the vehicle until they had reached their destination. And not long after doing just that the vehicle began to slow and make a few quick turns as they had inevitably arrived. The car finally came to a stop.
Jon let out a sigh for the officer in front to hear, “Here we go again.”
The back door opened and a set of hands grabbed him from the back seat. They were met promptly with another set of hands to drag him into that same room he was in before. It would have been horrifying if he hadn’t just been through this routine. Instead it was an annoyance, just another stepping stone between him and his bed. It was one more fire to put out before this day ended and another one began. Maybe it was just a string of bad luck and coincidences, or maybe the city was actually as the General feared – about to meltdown. Maybe this was a fire that was only going to grow. Maybe Jon couldn’t put it out by smiling and being nice. Maybe it would be waiting for him when he awoke tomorrow.
There he was, again, standing in that awful room. The paint was terrible in there, and nobody seemed to notice but him. It was like somebody threw paint at the wall and was excited when they got it to stick. The carpet was grungy and matted down. Nobody had cleaned it in who knows how long. Jon was happy to think that he was pinned down and kidnapped on the filth of the city streets and not this awful carpet. Then after a moment of being dazed, uncaring and more likely just too tired, Jon noticed the people beginning to fill the space in the room. One person in particular stuck out from the rest.
“Mike?” Jon asked.
It was Mike from the Repurposing Facility.
“Hey Jon,” Mike said with a smile.
“What are you doing here?”
Mike shrugged with a smile, “Oh you know, same as the rest of these people.”
“Right, right… It’s good to see you, man.”
“You too ma…” Mike abruptly halted speaking before he finished his three-word sentence. The fearless dweller-leader had entered the room. Connor. He was like a worm that found legs and taught itself to walk.
“You’re a tough guy,” Connor remarked as he approached Jon. “You’re tougher to keep up with than I thought you’d be,” he said with a smile.
“Flattery,” Jon replied. “You trying to gain my trust? Cause you lost that the last time you dragged me in here against my will – which was just yesterday.”
“Information,” Connor stated.
Jon’s careless attitude slowly melted away as that rage he felt during their last encounter began to creep back into his mind. This guy, Connor, was no different than Greenwald. He didn’t like the system in place, so he’d put his own system in place, a new system, a better system, a new and better system with the same body count.
“I have no information for you.”
Connor bit his lips and shook his head a bit. “We know you were taken back to their little underground dungeon. I’m sure they interrogated you, threatened you and reaffirmed what you were sent here to do. I know you have something you can tell me.”
“I gave them your name.”
Without hesitation Jon was introduced to Connor’s fist in his gut, another situation he was getting used to. His goons tied up his arms so Connor could let loose with a few more blows to the rest of Jon’s body. Before Connor threw his last punch, Jon couldn’t hold himself back.
‘This isn’t how you gain somebody’s trust,” he said right before Connor’s fist smashed Jon across the jaw. He was struggling to breathe and was only standing because of the hired muscle holding him in place. He struggled to get another sentence out. “I won’t help
you. You’re no different from the party. You just want to tear them down so you can build yourself up. You have more in common with the thug in a uniform who just gave me the same treatment. You think you can do it better. It always ends the same way.”
“Information, Mr. Ballard. Get me my information.” Then Connor left the room and the thugs dropped Jon to the ground.
Jon laid there struggling to catch his breath. His gut was left hollow and his lungs desperate for air, courtesy of the furious fists of the leader of the worms, so commonly referred to as Connor. Then he felt a gentle hand on his back, so he struggled to turn and look up. It was Marcus.
“Marcus?” Jon asked while trying to suck in air. “I was chased through the streets. Why?”
Marcus seemed a bit perplexed as to how to answer the question. “The party is certainly tracking your every move. Even with the armband, they still have tabs on you. I was told to bring you in anonymously and as quietly as I could. As you can see that didn’t quite work out. Sorry for all this trouble.”
“You could have just asked…” Jon didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “You tell me God is with me. Is this what he wants from me? Is this my punishment?”
“Being that you have just seemingly been interrogated by two separate parities that would have each other beaten, hanged or shot, and are here to tell the tale, I could definitely say that God is looking out for you, my friend.”
Jon slowly pulled himself to his feet with the help of Marcus.
“So, what do we do now? Are you going to drop me off in the street so I can get picked up by Greenwald again?” Jon asked.
“Yeah, probably,” quipped Marcus. “They’ll probably throw you into the back of a cruiser and ditch you in any neighborhood this fine city has to offer.”
Jon couldn’t help but at least crack a smile.
“If I don’t give something to Greenwald I’m as good as dead, and that means I’m useless to you and your fearless leader.”
Marcus looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, you mean Connor? Right, right, that shining star. Yeah, I’m waiting for that one to burn himself out if I may say so.”
The Cowboy of Pinnacle City Page 15