by Hannah Ross
The area they were about to enter was grim and ravaged. It was as if a clear, though invisible, border divided the two regions. To the north were green waving grasses, lush trees and soaring birds; to the south, the land was bare and desolate, covered with an uneven wiry growth of anemic weeds. Bomb craters, rusty skeletons of tanks, and dilapidated abandoned military structures completed the dreary scene. There was no living creature within sight. It was a land of death and silence.
But the signpost pointing to the south, and the tire tracks leading in the same direction, were unmistakably new.
"They couldn't have sent people there," Darren said, wide-eyed with horror, shaking his head. "Nobody in their right mind goes near Zone C. Dad hammered this into us since we were little. Once I crept almost to the border of Zone C for a dare, and Dad went ballistic. Boy, what a hiding he gave me back then."
"I'm afraid someone has gone there recently," Thunder Cloud said in a somber manner, "and I'm very much mistaken if they did it of their own free will."
"Will we get sick if we go there?" Darren asked Ben with sudden trepidation.
"Not in the short term, I hope. Just remember, don't eat or drink anything you find in Zone C. And let's investigate and get out of there as soon as possible."
The camp, an ominous-looking place surrounded by a tall wire fence, came in view less than an hour later. There was no pretense of government benevolence here. This camp looked more like a prison than anything else. Not far from it, there was an excavation or mining site that was currently empty of people.
Darren almost choked with indignation. "So it's true. They make people work here. The bastards!"
"So what do we do now?" Ben turned to Thunder Cloud. "We can't storm this place. Even if there are only a few armed guards, they'll take us all down before we even get near."
"Yes, you're right," Thunder Cloud said. "We just stay here quietly and wait until the men go out to work. Some of them are bound to come out soon. Then we'll see what we can do. Keep your weapons ready, everyone."
It was early afternoon, and the prisoners were probably taken back to the camp for a lunch break - or maybe there were two shifts, a morning and an afternoon one. Either way, before long a string of men in grey robes made their way out of the prison gates, flanked by two armed guards in full protective gear.
Ben swore quietly. "They are keeping their own men safe," he hissed in indignation. Thunder Cloud placed a warning hand on his shoulder, and Ben fell silent.
From their vantage point above and beyond a large outcropping of rock, Ben saw the prisoners led to the mining site. Before long, work was resumed. Spades scrunched as they dug into the ground, wheelbarrows full of earth and gravel moved to and fro, hammers rang, and the voices of men, hollow and dejected, sounded as they exchanged a phrase here and there. It was too far to make out what they were saying. The two guards lounged idly around, not bothering to keep too close a hold on their rifles. The weak, dispirited men they were watching clearly didn't pose too much of a threat.
"We could swoop down at once and rescue these men," suggested Ben. "It'll be easier than trying to break into the building."
Thunder Cloud nodded. "We have to be quiet, though. If the other guards hear a commotion, they might join in, and we don't know how many there are. Morning Sky, you stay here with the horses. The rest, follow me as quietly as possible around those rocks."
Soundlessly, the warriors edged around the rocks, until they were near the work site. The monotonous sounds of the hammers and wheelbarrows went on, and from the look on Thunder Cloud's face Ben guessed that his friend is wondering whether, no matter how much they all were itching to strike, a direct attack was the best tactic in this case. The guards might prove more alert than they seemed, and if reinforcements were to follow, they would soon find themselves in big trouble.
A man pushing a wheelbarrow full of dirt stumbled and fell down to his knees, panting heavily and clutching his chest. "I'm sorry," he said in a wheezing voice. "I just can't go on - I must rest…"
One of the guards got up, strolled over to the sickly-looking man, and kicked him in the ribs, making him groan. "Get up, you lazy bum!" he drawled. "You Illegals all keep making excuses to slack off. Go back to work, or you'll have a taste of my fist!"
This was too much to bear. Ben couldn't take it anymore and, apparently, neither could Thunder Cloud. He gave the silent call to action, and the next moment, the two guards had no less than a dozen rifles pointing straight at them.
"You speak, you die," Thunder Cloud said with utmost calm. "Friends, we have come to get you out of here. Please, let's all keep quiet, and help us get these two piles of horseshit tied up."
Once the two terrified guards were securely bound with rope, Thunder Cloud approached them and thrust a gun under the chin of one. "I will now ask you some questions and you will answer them quickly, quietly, and truthfully. You lie, you try to lead us astray, we'll remove your protective suit, tie you up, and leave you here to rot. Got it?"
The man, sweating profusely and blinking his left eye in an involuntary tic, gulped and nodded.
"Good. How many guards are at the camp?"
"We can tell you this," one of the prisoners said. "There are six more guards inside now. They do shifts. Sometimes they patrol the place, sometimes they get together in their mess hall and play dice or darts. I'd say they aren't very concerned about us running away anymore. They know we're too weak and hopeless."
Ben looked at the sickly man now held up by two of his comrades. "What happened to him?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
"Same as happens to anyone who spends enough time in Zone C," another man spat bitterly. "As they tore our families apart, they didn't bother to tell our women where they are taking us. They knew we would never come back. They would use us up and throw us away when we were no good no more."
"You know the shifts," Thunder Cloud said, still holding both trembling guards at gunpoint. "What are the rest of the guards doing now?"
There was a great deal of gulping and twitching before one of the men found his voice. "Two are off duty, they are most likely asleep. The others might be hanging out in the common room or patrolling the corridors, I don't know - honest. Please don't kill me!"
Thunder Cloud turned away from the guard with disdain. "How many men are held here?" he asked the prisoners.
"About twice as many as we are here," a ready voice said. "We must free them."
"Speak for yourself, Clark," someone objected in a surly drawl. "It's a noble notion and all, but as for me, I'm for saving my own skin first. I might have no other opportunity to escape. I suggest we all run for it," he went on, looking at Thunder Cloud. "If we start now, we stand a fair chance. But if the guards in the fortress happen to be paying more attention than usual, they might take us all down."
Thunder Cloud didn't respond at once, but Ben could sense his silent contempt. "We save everyone," he said after a pause, "or no one."
"But—"
"You're welcome to try and go north on your own," Ben said, scowling at the ragged, desperate man. "Nobody's going to stop you." The man gulped, opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it again, and looked away.
There was no arguing after that, and it was obvious there was no time to lose. The element of surprise was their best chance, and they had to avail themselves of it. In an utterly silent column, the resistance fighters, prisoners and tied up guards made their way to the structure of concrete, metal bars and barbed wire.
There was a security system with a code, and Ben prodded one of the guards with the point of his gun. "Come on," he said in a low voice.
The man raised a shaking hand and punched a code in. The metal gate opened with a great creak. Ben grinned. I guess the place doesn't have a top security policy.
The large silent group went inside, past a great black iron door and down an echoing corridor, dimly lit by anemic little fluorescent lamps.
"Where do the guards sleep?" Thunder Cl
oud demanded in a whisper. One of their captives, not venturing to utter a word, pointed him to a chamber down the corridor. As they cautiously approached, they could hear the unmistakable sounds of snoring. Thunder Cloud nodded. "Is the door locked?" he asked. The captive shook his head. "And the mess hall?" he asked, turning to the second man this time. He nervously licked his lips. "Th-there," he croaked, pointing down another corridor on the right.
Thunder Cloud nodded again, satisfied. "We split," he said, so quietly Ben understood him more by the movements of his lips than by the sound of his voice. "Morning Sky, you take five men and tackle those who are asleep. Do it as quietly as possible, but don't kill anyone if you don't have to. The rest, come with me. You can help as well," he told the recently freed prisoners. "But be careful. You are unarmed, and we are dealing with men who have no heart or conscience."
Moving as quietly as a ghost, Ben followed Thunder Cloud down the narrower corridor. Within a few moments, he could hear the sounds of rolling dice, coarse laughter, and the indistinct crackle of a small field radio. There was a thin sliver of light between the door and its frame - the door was unlocked. Thunder Cloud turned his head toward the men and whispered, "On the count of three."
He raised one finger, a second, a third and the door opened in with a mighty crash as the party of warriors burst into the room.
It happened very fast. There was a second when the shell-shocked guards froze in front of the guns and rifles pointing straight at them. Then one of the quickest ducked down, pulled his own gun and fired. The bullet grazed Thunder Cloud's hair. Before Thunder Cloud had a chance to react, Ben fired, hitting the offender straight through his palm. The guard dropped his gun and fell down upon the floor, moaning with pain and clutching his bleeding hand.
"Next time we shoot to kill," Thunder Cloud declared, sweeping the point of his rifle over the room. "Anyone else care to check if we mean business?" There was utter silence. Nobody moved. "I thought not. Hand over your weapons and your keys."
One by one, the guards, who lost any spirit for fighting, meekly handed over their guns and keys. One of them, whose name tag said "Dr. Warren", humbly asked for permission to take out his first aid kit and give the necessary urgent treatment to his comrade who was shot. The permission was given, and after having his hand bandaged, and loading up on painkillers, the injured man didn't look to be in any immediate danger.
All of the jailers, as well as the doctor, Ben noticed, wore protective suits, though the hoods and masks were pulled down. The common room probably had some pollution filters to begin with.
They were soon joined by the rest of their comrades, with the freed men now carrying weapons they had taken from their jailers. "All clear," Morning Sky said with satisfaction. "We have those two blundering idiots disarmed and tied up, with two men watching over them. We can free the rest of the men now, can't we, Thunder Cloud?"
The quarters of the laborers were dark and dismal, even surpassing Ben's apprehensions. There was not even a superficial attempt to make the place seem like anything else but a prison. There were bare crowded cells with barred doors and windows, weak lights and narrow bunk beds with thin greying mattresses. The dejected people occupying these miserable quarters crowded at the heavy metal doors as they heard the sound of gunshots, and erupted in a wave of loud cheering when they were told they were free; all but those who were too weak to get up from their beds. Ben and Thunder Cloud quickly examined them and exchanged a worried glance.
"They'll get better once we get them out of Zone C, won't they?" Ben said, looking at a man who appeared almost skeletal, and was so listless he was barely able to whisper his own name to them.
Thunder Cloud frowned. "I don't know," he admitted in a low voice. "It depends on how much time they spent here. There are dangerous toxins which... well, standing here talking is no use. We can't afford to lose time. Let's send the men to raid this fort for supplies, weapons - anything that could be useful."
An hour later, they all crowded in the common room – the sick people supported by their fellows, the eight panicking guards held at gunpoint.
"You," Thunder Cloud spat at Dr. Warren. "You call yourself a doctor? How could you agree to go along with keeping people in such conditions? Didn't you see they were getting sick and dying?"
"I… It was absolutely out of my power... new government regulations... Zone C reclamation project..."
"Spare us!" Thunder Cloud's voice was like a whip. "We're leaving now. We're taking your radio away and leaving you just enough supplies to enable you to make your way out of the Zone. Oh, and you are going to take off your protective suits. They will go to the people who have suffered most cruelly from the sickness brought on by the greedy government you serve."
There was a flurry of desperate groans. "We can't hike through Zone C with no protective gear on!" one guard implored. "Please, have mercy on us!"
"Yet you held people in Zone C and made them work, without protective gear, for weeks… or was it months? Did you have mercy for those you abused? Think about it, and be thankful we don't shoot you like dogs."
As the entire party made it out of the prison gates, the sickest ones now wearing protective gear, a deafening cheer rose towards the sky.
"We have a reason to celebrate today," Thunder Cloud conceded. "But don't be too sanguine, my friends. It won't always go so easily. Next time they will be expecting us, and they will be prepared.
* * *
When the tired, dejected, and ill people finally crossed the edge of Pollution Zone C and stared ahead to the warmth and sunshine and lush greenery of beyond, and heard the birdsongs and saw butterflies hovering above the waving grasses, it was as if the shadow of death left their faces all at once. A tall, broad-shouldered but emaciated guy named Steve turned toward Thunder Cloud, Ben, and the others with a look of the deepest gratitude.
"You've saved us. Without you, we would have died there, like some of the other fellows did. I don't think it bothered them guards at all. We were an experimental batch, I think. I guess they were trying to gauge how much work they could get out of us before we got all burned out by overwork and sickness."
"What were they mining there?" Ben asked, more to distract himself than for any other reason. He was feeling sick.
"Silver ore. It was one hell of a job, setting up and working those mines, but why should they care? We were dispensable, and there were plenty more men where we came from."
The rescued men were taken to the Resistance camp where Ben was surprised to find Kate and Tony, who had set out as soon as word reached them about the gathering. Ben saw his feeling of physical sickness mirrored on his sister's face.
Kate looked at the weak and worn-out men with an expression of disbelief and horror. "We had no idea! We thought this was just a strategy meeting. I mean… This is too macabre, even for the White Tower."
"They have crossed all lines between good and evil, right and wrong," said Thunder Cloud, who was standing close by. "I confess that even I didn't expect such brazen cruelty. Forcing men to live and work in Zone C without any protection, and just watching them fall sick and die one by one... It's inhuman."
"Yes," Kate said, pulling herself together. "Yes it is, and the public must know about it. The White Tower might be a dictatorship in fact if not in name, but they still rely on people's votes to keep them in power." She glanced at her brother. "Ten years ago Priscilla wreaked havoc with the elections. Dahl thought nobody could snatch his victory away, but he was wrong. He lost, because the people realized he deserved to lose. He was not above the law, flawed as it is."
Ben looked at her with undisguised skepticism. "It didn't change much in the long run. Ted Connor was alright, but he was only one man. He didn't have enough power to overthrow the whole structure honed for so many years by the Dahls and the Van Wullens. Openly or secretly, they stayed in charge."
"But this is different. People living within the Boundary must know what their chosen government is doing. They ne
ed to see these men with their broken bodies, broken souls, and ruined lives. And these victims of the White Tower's unmitigated greed must receive proper medical care."
"Right. But that's easier said than done, though, don't you think?"
"Well, the first step, of course, would be getting those poor people into the Boundary," Kate said in a matter-of-fact manner. "That way, both treating them and exposing their story is going to be a lot easier."
Ben looked at her as if she was mad. "And how on earth do you plan to do that?"
Kate rewarded him with a mysterious smile. "Ways and means," she said. "Ways and means."
Ben decided to let it go for the time being. He knew his sister, and knew she would spill the beans soon enough.
12
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The first part of Kate's plan was to separate the group of Zone C survivors into small parties. This way, escorted by people of the Resistance and their sympathizers, they would make their way to Resurrection Town. What would happen there, Kate was unwilling to tell. She only ventured to say they ought not to underestimate her intelligence - something no one presumed to do.
Even Tony, who probably had a hunch as to what his wife was planning, fell utterly silent whenever someone mentioned the important subject.
Kate and Tony said goodbye to Ben and the other warriors of the Resistance on the outskirts of Resurrection Town. Though this was not officially government land, White Tower patrols regularly passed through town, and anyone without citizenship was not safe. Kate took great precautions to hide the split party of ex-prisoners in the homes of brave souls who gave their sympathy to the Resistance. Two days later, she gathered them all on the side of an empty highway outside the town.