by Luna, David
Wade takes a step back from the gang, their outfits pieced together with scraps of leather, camouflage, and various other military fatigues.
“It’s transport you’re after, I presume?” Leon asks.
Wade remains silent, unsure how they knew that. He simply glares at them.
“It’s okay to talk to us. You already betrayed your people,” Leon says.
“I didn’t betray anyone.”
“You broke your oath. To them you’re a traitor and will treat you as such.”
Wade bites his lip. He knows how he’s viewed back at Headquarters now that the news of not submitting a volunteer has spread.
“First a rookie, now a traitor. A rookie traitor. Neil must be so proud,” Leon taunts. He does his best to ruffle Wade’s feathers and get under his skin. It’s working as Wade tightens his fists. “Even though your rank was insignificant,” Leon continues, “the secrets you learned are not.”
“So that’s what this visit is about?”
“It’s just information,” Leon says. “Harmless.”
Wade sees through the lies. He knows sharing this information will undoubtedly lead to the death of some of his former comrades. He clinches his jaw and holds his ground.
“Where is it you’re trying to go?” Leon asks. Glancing around, his eyes spot the deteriorated boat. “You think that can get you out of here? Even on its best day it couldn’t get you more than twenty kilometers.”
“Ten is all I need,” Wade fires back. “It’d get me to the reactor.”
“And hide out on a tiny island? Ha!”
Wade remains silent until Leon suddenly realizes his true intent.
“Wait, you don’t really think…? You think they left something behind?” He pauses in disbelief before continuing. “You really are a rookie. That thing doesn’t exist. Trust us, if it did, we’d find it.” Leon looks to his crew to back up his claim. “Where’d you hear that? Quado?”
Wade’s silence gives away the answer. Of course he learned it from Quado and the overabundance of posts.
“Can’t believe everything you read,” Leon states.
“Yet I’m supposed to believe a terrorist?” Wade responds. Leon’s smile fades, upset at such a vulgar name. “I’ll use it to fly over the Wall,” Wade reveals.
Leon steps closer to Wade and stares eye to eye. “We could stand here and spitball theories all night. Whether a rusted old helicopter exists or not doesn’t matter because there’s something you don’t know.” Leon smirks as he pauses before dropping the hammer. “You’re already out of time. They’re onto you. And your love bird.”
Wade’s eyes go wide, taken aback. He considers all the possibilities how the Agency could’ve linked him and Paiton together.
“Apparently you weren’t as careful as you thought,” Leon says, reading Wade’s mind based on his ghostly expression. “They already tracked down seven others that share the same name. She’s last on their list.” As Wade turns to bolt, Leon quickly grabs him. “You leave without us, you’re dead,” he offers.
“And if I join you, I’m dead,” Wade counters. “At least this way I still have my honor.”
Leon scoffs as Wade yanks his shoulder away, then rushes off, leaving Leon and the other three Brigade leaders alone by the shore.
“We gonna follow him?” Brock asks as he steps forward ready to move.
“No,” Leon responds. He justifies his decision, “It won’t be easy for them to take one of their own. This will rattle them from the inside more than we could hope to do.” Leon glances at the half-submerged boat in the polluted bay. Escaping to the reactor to retrieve a rumored helicopter, a vestige of the past when flight was part of everyday life. For a rookie, it wasn’t a bad plan.
A hand uses a knife to cut the stems from fresh figs. It’s Paiton, the pink hue in her cheeks matching her lips.
Wade steps in through the side door and spots her by the counter. He glances around the quaint bungalow for any signs of forced entry; any signs of the Collectors. He knows their tactics. They could be hiding, ordering Paiton to act normal against her will while ready to pounce at any moment. But everything checks out. The windows are sealed. The door frame is intact. There are no extra water glasses; no flipped open magazines; no abnormal scents of sweat and death in the air. Even an unauthorized record player remains untouched on a wooden stand, something any Collector would surely destroy as instructed by the penal codes.
Satisfied that they’re alone, Wade moves to the player to put on a disc. The antique device looks like something from Inna’s shop, repaired and refurbished multiple times over the years. Wade blows the dust off, not having been used in quite some time, then places the needle on the spinning disc.
The light crackle gives way to a romantic classical piece – piano, strings, a choir – the type of ballad that makes one want to grab a loved one and hold them close. It’s hauntingly beautiful, juxtaposed with the looming danger Wade knows is inevitably on its way.
Wade hovers behind Paiton, brushing her hair aside to kiss her neck. Paiton’s eyes shut, ecstasy across her face. He breathes a sigh of relief knowing he beat the Collectors here to allow this last moment, though the thought of their arrival weighs heavily on his mind since he is about to be torn away from the woman he loves. If only things could’ve been different. If only the Agency didn’t enforce all those penal codes and instead allowed people to love freely. He could see himself living here with Paiton, raising a family, and growing old together. But now that won’t happen. Now that can’t happen. He squeezes her tight at the thought of a future they will never share.
Wade’s lips travel further down her neck. Paiton almost moans from his touch, getting goose bumps, then turns and hand feeds him half a fig. As she drapes her arms over his shoulders, Wade pulls her close and attempts to lead her in a slow waltz. It’s clunky. He hides his embarrassment with a laugh.
“I’ve never done this before,” he reveals.
Paiton doesn’t care. Their bodies sway in unison to the slow rhythm of the music.
At that same moment, elsewhere near the outskirts of Sector A where the road splits the sector in two, Slayter’s utility truck rolls into view. It’s just as Leon warned. The iron vehicle passes Nineteenth Century brick buildings on each side as the processing facility looms behind on the horizon. Neil reads directions from his PDA. “Turn left. Should be around the corner.”
Soon Slayter parks the truck. He nods, “For breaking his oath, enemy to the Agency.”
Neil nods back, taking a deep breath.
With that, they file out.
The music comes to a stop inside the bungalow’s kitchen, leaving only the crackle of the needle pressing against the vinyl disc. Paiton can feel the stiffness in Wade’s body, the tightness of his arms. He’s never held her like this before, and given the circumstances, she realizes this is their last embrace. “We’re not going anywhere, are we?” She looks him in the eye, already knowing the answer. “We got caught up in the moment,” she admits, then painfully asks, “When?”
Wade’s face betrays his silence to give away the answer – any minute. He holds her by the shoulders and pulls her close to comfort her.
“This must be how it feels to be a volunteer,” she says.
She rests her head on Wade’s chest as tears form in her eyes. They rock back and forth, lost in each other’s embrace, continuing to hold each other in complete silence, until BLAM! The front door bursts open, Neil and Slayter shattering the moment. Neil steps forward, betrayed.
“I’m sorry. It just happened,” Wade says.
Suddenly Slayter bashes Wade with his baton. Without hesitation he strikes again. WHAM!
“Stop it! Get off him!” Paiton shouts.
Neil fails to restrain Paiton as she tries to pull Slayter away, but Slayter whips her into the counter. She falls and winces in pain.
“Pick him up,” Slayter orders Neil.
“
Let’s just take him and go.”
“I said pick him up,” Slayter demands again.
Neil follows the command. He lifts Wade while Slayter taunts him with the tip of the shock baton, bolts of electricity sparking node to node. Grinning, Slayter shocks him. Wade’s body spasms.
“Nobody’s above the Agency,” Slayter seethes through his teeth.
Neil keeps Wade upright as Slayter wields the baton, about to shock him again when Paiton lunges forward and stabs Slayter in the back with the knife used to cut the figs. The sharp blade hardly penetrates Slayter’s combat uniform, only mere inches, before a layer of armor stops the knife. Slayter turns around, smirking, as Paiton drops the weapon.
“You wanna play, huh?”
She trembles, her eyes wide. Slayter backhands her with the baton.
“Leave her alone!” Wade shouts. He rushes towards Slayter, but Neil cracks him in the leg with his own baton and wrestles him down.
Slayter grabs a handful of figs from the counter, his teeth piercing into them and the red juice dripping down his chin. Every aspect about this man is raw. Animalistic. Primal.
Paiton crawls towards the living room, her cheek bruised and bloodied, with Slayter looming above and stalking his prey. He toys with her, shoving her with his boot.
“This is who you broke your oath for?” Slayter taunts as he shoves Paiton again. “The Agency girls weren’t good enough?”
Slayter rears back and kicks her in the stomach, then kicks her again before kneeling and grabbing her face. He wipes the blood trickling from her mouth, “She must be better than them,” then smashes her head into the floorboards. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Wade tries again to break free from Neil, but continues to fail. “She’s got nothing to do with this,” Wade pleads to his former partner.
Neil agrees. “Slayter, she’s not the mission,” he shouts.
Slayter pops open the buttons from Paiton’s shirt one by one, humiliating her. “She needs to learn her place.”
“We’re assigned to Wade,” Neil reminds him.
“You don’t give the orders,” Slayter snaps back.
Just then Paiton calls out, “Wade, help!”
Slayter growls as he smacks her again, pinning her arms down and easily overpowering her. She squirms as he exposes her bra.
“Let me go,” Wade begs to Neil. “Nobody has to know.”
“You’re already in the system.”
“Exactly,” Wade pleads.
Neil refuses to turn a blind eye.
Slayter leans in close and violates Paiton’s body with his hands, until suddenly Paiton bites him in the neck. She latches on, drawing blood followed by a loud shriek from the beast. Slayter loses a chunk of skin as he yanks his body upright. It gives Paiton a brief moment to scramble to her feet and bolt towards the side door, spitting out Slayter’s flesh. He goes after her.
“He’s going to kill her,” Wade exclaims. He makes one final attempt to break free, but Neil doesn’t budge.
Paiton sprints outside down the road, limping, her clothes ripped and torn. She glances back to see Slayter appear from the doorstep of her bungalow. He draws his gun and takes aim at his wounded prey.
Paiton gasps for air, gaining distance, nearly rounding a corner to escape when suddenly…
BANG! The gunshot reverberates throughout the thin walls inside the bungalow. Wade’s heart sinks. He loses it, breaking down in tears as Neil places his hand on his former rookie’s shoulder.
“Let’s get you to the truck.”
“Kill me. Just shoot me.”
“That’s against protocol,” Neil reminds him.
“What about him? How’s that for your protocol?” Wade begins to shout in hysteria. “Shoot me. Shoot me goddammit or give me the gun and I’ll do it myself.”
Neil lifts Wade to his feet just as Slayter returns with Paiton’s limp body. Slayter tosses her to the floor, bleeding from the chest, barely alive.
“Murderer!” Wade screams. He finally pushes past Neil and falls to her side. “Paiton. Paiton, wait for me. I’ll be there soon, wait for me.”
Paiton smiles at him, fading, no longer in pain. “I love you,” she whispers. Her eyes close. Wade hunches over.
Neil pulls Slayter aside. “Was that necessary?”
“Penal code 15.70.b. Wade is not her issued partner,” Slayter recites the penal code coldly and without remorse. “We’re done here.” He wipes the crusted fig juice from his chin and lumbers away.
The red camcorder light blinks as Neil slouches in the chair opposite the psychologist.
“Now I’m going to ask you a series of questions and I want you to answer honestly and openly,” the psychologist instructs using exactly the same words as before.
Neil forces himself to nod.
“Do you ever have thoughts too terrible to tell another person?”
“No.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the necessity of the Collections Agency?”
“Ten.”
“Do you prefer flowers or clouds?”
“Flowers.” The psychologist cocks her head at Neil’s selection this time. He promptly corrects himself, “Neither.”
“Do you hear voices in your head?”
Mazer watches closely through the one-sided observation window, mouthing along with Neil’s response. “Just my own,” Neil replies. Neil’s eyes break from the window, seemingly avoiding Mazer’s. The psychologist hesitates before checking PASS on the bottom of the evaluation form.
Later that night in the Agency bullpen, Neil removes Wade’s photo from the bulletin board. The four Brigade leaders remain.
Behind him, Mazer supervises through the observation window while Slayter interrogates Wade in the evaluation room. Wade’s been beaten so bad he can barely remain upright. Neil watches only long enough to see Wade shake his head and mouth the words, “I don’t know,” before he slinks away out the back stairwell unnoticed. Except Mazer notices. Mazer looks to his old pocket watch, stopped again, but with a few taps it ticks forward.
Neil stands under the dripping showerhead back in his apartment bathroom, his mind racing. He holds the water release button as the DAILY RATIONS digital counter reaches 0L, buzzing once it runs dry and waking him from his daze.
Wrapped in a towel, Neil opens the door to reveal Leslie, young in her early twenties, her sultry red lingerie barely visible beneath her overcoat. “You must be Neil,” she says as she lets herself in.
Neil pounds Leslie from behind in the bedroom, still dressed in her lingerie. Beads of sweat form across his brow as he grips her thighs, his nails digging into her skin. It’s her job to enjoy it.
******
Art or Graffiti
There’s a new painting on the side of a collapsed bread bakery in Sector A. Someone used the mugshot of Leon, one of the Brigade Leaders seen all over the billboards, and merged half his face with the face of Bill Mazer, head of the Collections Agency. A question is written along the bottom – “Who really breached their contract with the city?”
Hmmmm, makes you think, right? No matter which side you’re on, I think it’s pretty cool!
-Quado
9
Neil overlooks the city from a cliff. He enjoys it up here where it’s quiet. No matter how hard the Agency tries to distract them – the Collectors, the SEOs, the citizens – there are only a few ways inside the claustrophobic Wall where one can mentally get away. Many escape by way of alcohol or drugs, but for Neil the view of the horseshoe city, his city, the one surrounding the bay, does the trick.
The cool morning breeze swirls in from the body of water and nibbles at his skin, seemingly carrying soft whispers with it. The whispers direct Neil’s eyes down towards the landfill where sure enough he spots the tiny image of a woman – who he now knows is Inna – again sifting through the towers of junk. Neil smiles to himself as almost simultaneously the wind picks
up, and Inna’s melody more clearly mixes with it.
Neil takes it in, better than the view, the melody soothing his soul. It is as if the dreary sky brightened, the parched land turned fertile, or the black water became clear – a juxtaposition of memories from the past returning.
Suddenly a voice startles Neil out of his thoughts. “I’m glad they sent you,” the voice says.
Neil turns around to see Zack, the young off-duty Enforcement Officer from the SectorLink. This time his shirt is tucked in, prim and proper.
“C’mon, he’s over here,” Zack says.
Neil looks back to the landfill just as the breeze dies down, bringing silence. Once again Inna is gone.
Neil and Zack hike towards the towering Wall enclosing the city, even more ominous and intimidating up close. Its massive height, damaged exterior, and rusted spikes mounted across the top give only a brief glimpse into the many tales of violence the Wall surely had to withstand during the Water Wars, let alone the rest of its fifty-year reign.
Zack leads Neil near Gate #2, one of only five gates leading in and out of the city where two SEOS patrol the upper ledge of the Wall, barely visible behind the spikes, while two more guard the gate’s passageway at its base, on alert near a kiosk check-in station.
They reach a haggard middle-aged man in a dirt-stained suit sitting against the Wall, his hands bound.
“Brigade?” Neil asks.
“No, I’ve never seen this before,” Zack responds.
“What? In your three months of duty?” Neil quips.
“Six.”
Neil smiles. He kind of likes this kid. He wonders maybe that’s why he tends to get paired with the younger rookie Collectors since he seems to more easily get along with them. He nods for Zack to proceed.
“It says he’s thirteen days past due. And he was carrying these,” Zack says. He hands over a travel visa and ID listing the man’s name as “Sergio Escobar”.
“He look like a Sergio to you?” Neil asks Zack to test him. The haggard man’s skin is pale and his hair with a hint of red. Not many people with his looks are named Sergio.