It Was 2052

by Richardson, J.

  The buddy laughed, “I've always told you that I'm a mole.”

  “Thought you were just referring to living in this underground town,” he said. “I did spot you in the Villages the other day. Thought it best not to speak.”

  “Good man. Anyways---” the mole continued to bring Bud up to date on the plans of the Network, the Sheriff, the super soldiers.

  “Getting more serious all the time, it seems,” said Bud.

  “It's some heavy sh-t, alright. These people are growing stronger everyday. Think it'll be all out war eventually, probably starting in Dallas.”

  Bud ordered another beer, “That certainly puts our latest ally in extreme peril. If she makes a wrong step, they'll kill her for sure.”

  “What ally? Her, who?”

  “You know, Anissa. She lives there at Luciano's.”

  “That exotic beauty that manages the prostitutes, the madam?” said the driver.

  Bud said, “Yes. She's not exactly willingly in that job, though. She has a little boy and elderly father. They live on the fourth floor. That slime Pendelton, keeps her in line with his threats to harm the boy. She wants out, she just recently offered to join our alliance. She has made contact with our friend, Jackson.”

  As they shared the last drink of the night, the buddy said, “It's a shame but you're right. She's walking a thin line. If they find out she is spying on them, they will cut her up and feed her to the pigs at the farm, her son, too.”

  He walked down the rather sterile bright hallway to his small bunk room. He knew there were busy bee workers and offices, there was the bar, the cafeteria, medical facilities and many more areas that he had never been invited into. This was a huge sprawling underground base. How well equipped and trained were the government forces? How many other bases like this one? They kept saying rather vague statements, like we are building, we are gathering more information. He had seen some aging tanks and equipment around. Were they even functional? Was there fuel for them? What kind of weapons did the armies have?

  When the woman, Anissa crossed his mind, the beer turned over unpleasantly in his stomach. Thoughts of what could happen to her darkened his mind and he had never been able to stomach when children were in harm's way. Jackson would be deeply wounded if something happened to her. There was John and Mamie. What a pathetic little alliance. He needed to believe that their loyalty and intel gathering would benefit their government's forces and that those armies were much better prepared for a battle than he had been privy to. The Network was mushrooming and it was going to take more than a brave few to defeat them.

  ***

  The vintage tennis shoes kept his steps cushioned and quite, the stairway to the bottom of Brewer's Village was pitch black, devoid of light. He always liked wearing the shoes, found them still in their box, in the back of a storeroom of the compound where he grew up. Either they were forgotten or didn't fit anyone that was interested. Just a half size too big, they were lightweight and comfortable. Jackson turned on his small flashlight every few moments and quickly back off, mostly picked his way down the stairs. He rounded a corner and his body collided with another, a figure stumbled backward down a couple of steps. Deep curses spat out. The light showed the gleam of a knife. Then a familiar face, it was a resident of the fourth floor that he recognized. The knife jabbed.

  “Wait---wait! It's me, Jackson,” he said in a loud whisper.

  His beam showed the startled eyes of Jason and huddled right behind him, Larry. His fourth floor neighbor lowered the knife, “Cheez-us, Jack. What the hell are you doing?” said Jason in an exaggerated exhale.

  Larry's arm was around his partners waist and he peered out around him, “You scared the plain crap out of us, boy.”

  He had to laugh, “You gave me quite a scare, yourselves. What are you guys doing out so late?”

  Now, perfectly willing to be chatty, Jason said, “Oh my, you know that nice new bar down at the Midtown Village---well, we just had a few too many drinks.”

  Larry broke in, “It was just so much fun, full of interesting folks and wild music. Where are you going?”

  “Um—uh, I've got to check out something in the market that they need repaired before they open tomorrow.” It was thin, all he could come up with.

  “You poor dear. The night shift.” clucked Larry.

  “You guys better get upstairs before you get in trouble. I gotta go, Good Night.”

  “Good Night-ht,” double voices as they passed him and went up the stairs. He could hear their whispered talk for a flight or two.

  Out into the night air, the moonlight was dim and the traffic, foot and vehicle was close to none. It really wasn't the wisest move to be out on the streets after midnight. He stayed on his side of the street until he drew closer to the Luciano Village. Remembering the small space that Anissa had emerged from the day he met her, he crossed the street and searched for that narrow opening. He felt that he could barely walk down the tunnel without turning sideways and when a rat skittered by, it brushed his pant leg. At the end of the walk, the back of the building, he stopped and looked around. He anticipated to perhaps see a guard at the back entrance, saw no one. In front of him was the large metal building and huddled beside it, he could make out the outline of a small structure.

  Jackson moved behind the building, which was vine covered and dark, he still saw no one. He turned on his small beam and located the door, then put it away. He turned the rusty knob, pushed and stood in the opening. Not visible from the outside, a candle flickered on an old table in the center of the room. His heart pounded and he closed the door behind him, hesitant to call her name. From the inky interior, a small hand touched his arm and slid down to grasp his hand. “Jackson,” the voice softly said. He could feel the shaking of her hand, pulled her in close to him and wrapped his arms around her, kissed the soft dark hair.

  Anissa led him over to an old upholstered chair near the table, he sat and pulled her into his lap. “I'm so glad you came,” her palm touched the side of his cheek.

  “Are you safe? Do you think you were followed?” he turned his head to kiss the palm.

  “I'm good. There are some guards after midnight. They're mostly bored, it gets pretty quite through the night. There's a small door that opens into the narrow space between the buildings. You don't really see it from the alley. It's in a closet under the stairs, on the lower floor and no one knows of it. I will need to return well before dawn. Do you have a watch?”

  He looked down at his wrist, “Yes, I do. How did you find it, the secret door?” he said.

  “Lee's father, he knew of it. I don't really know how. He took great pride in sneaking in and out of it.”

  “Good for him,” he said with a smile. More than anything he had ever wanted, he wanted to explore and get to know every inch of her. Young men are not well suited to patience and abstinence. He reached up, pulled those beautiful lips from the ad onto his, kissed her with long saved passion. With every bit of control he could manage, he said, “We have to talk about some things. Unfortunately, as long as you are so close, it's hard to think.” As much as he wanted her, he did not want this to be the end of their relationship. It was imperative that he keep her safe and that they worked together to get her permanently away from danger. He gently spun her into the shabby chair and looked for something to bring to the table for himself to sit on.

  On an old stool, he sat across from her and the candle often illuminated the fear in her big eyes as he told her the things he knew about Dr. Pendelton and about the Network. He hadn't been informed at that time about the farm. Later when he was and passed it along to her, he gave her the answer she had feared about what happened to the girls that were not profitable enough.

  Even the information that he told her on that first middle of the night rendevous had her more frightened and more determined to help the alliance all she could. Anissa knew she had to get her family away from the Network operations. “He's even more of a monster than I thought,”
she said with a shudder. “That hulking goon that I've seen lately must be one of his super soldiers.”

  They talked of so many things that night. Things of their past, things of the present and things that might be the future. He looked down at his watch, “It will be dawn in about thirty minutes. You better get back in.”

  She stood and stretched, wrapped her arms around his waist and drew close, “We won't always have so much to talk about. Maybe next time,” she looked up into his sleepy eyes.

  One more kiss, “I certainly won't be able to get that thought from my mind.”

  He accepted her last warning, “Be careful. The guard is lazy, likes to just doze in a chair by the back door. He does step out to pee occasionally.” He watched as she disappeared between the buildings and held back for a while to be sure there were no stray guards around. He eased down the tunnel, crossed the quiet street.

  A taxi crept up beside him, above the clattering engine, a gruff voice raised, “Hey, got an early appointment? Need a ride?”

  “No thanks, nearly home,” he said and noticed that more cars crawled on the street and a few people were beginning to move along the sidewalks in the first hint of light. Taking two steps at a time, he encountered old Pendelton coming out of the entrance to the second level.

  His way was blocked by the doctor, “You're up early, or is it out late?”

  “Early repair work,” he said. “Just wanted to clean up before breakfast.” He pushed past the old man and continued up the stairs. He nearly repeated the lie from the previous night but stopped himself. He wasn't sure if the old man still was absent from the market or might ask his wife if repairs were being made. Shortly, he stood in the shower, barely able to keep his eyes open. Planned to get at least two or three hours of sleep before the work day.

  ***

  Sharon looked down at the small brass plate that read Colonel Sharon Langford, got out of her chair, walked around the desk and paced. The office was sparsely furnished with her personal things. No smiling pictures of friends, husband or children. She desperately wished she had a large window to peer out of. The outdoors was a love for her. She was athletic as a young person, a fast runner and she enjoyed being outside and pursuing sports of various kinds. After the world changed, she was eventually relegated to this hole in the ground and she rarely got to venture out.

  Pre-occupied and concerned with this blossoming threat to her country, she made a decision. Her slim but strong hands smoothed down her uniform and she moved towards the door. I'm getting out of this damn hole for a while, going outside. Of course, she couldn't just wander around and not inform of her whereabouts. She leaned on the desk that sat outside her office and said into the surprised face of the woman behind the desk, “Kay, I'm going outside for a little while. Taking a walk down to the lake. Will you please locate the driver and tell him to bring the car over to the lake in about an hour and pick me up?” The driver, Bud's beer drinking friend was someone she trusted and they often discussed the events that were forming around them.

  “Yes mam,” smiled the woman.

  Exiting through security, the guard accompanied her. He opened the hidden door, saluted and pulled the bookcase back over the entrance behind her. The sensible shoes polished to a sheen beneath her tailored trousers echoed across the floor of the old cluttered barracks. When she reached the outside, the filtered sunlight glowed across her face, she inhaled deeply. Removing her jacket and deciding to fold it and leave it inside the door, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt. The heavy sidearm secured, she briskly walked across the tarmack toward the back gate. The code allowed her to exit and after just a few steps she was in thick tall grass. She breathed in again and followed a path beat down by many feet, both animal and human towards the shore of the lake.

  Her private thoughts, her own memories floated through her head. The military and even more so the catastrophic event had cost her the price of being alone. It was just the way it was and she had become accustomed. On occasion, she permitted herself to think of the young man she had been in love with before the disaster. She was a captain in the service at that time, had sacrificed a lot to get there, worked hard. Even though the military was changing, adapting to a degree, it was still not the friendliest or easiest position for a women to be in. Then, the sh-t hit the fan. Her young man did not survive the chaos that eventually followed.

  Sharon toughed it out, stayed with the military, served her government. She had no family left to go to. There had been massive emergency plans to preserve the government, to preserve some of humanity. However, the scope of the pandemonium, the long term effects of world wide disaster on the general populace had not been prepared for. In the disarray, there were no elections and now, thirty five years later, the country was being led by the Secretary of Defense, the person well down in the line of succession to become president. Society and the country's armies had fell apart. Ironically, the situation had moved Sharon up to her rank of Colonel. She thought that even though the SOD was quite old now himself, in the current threatening atmosphere he might be the very one to be leading. She felt certain that they were moving quickly toward a confrontation, a battle for America that would need a strong military front and leaders with military experience.

  The Congress, the legislators no longer represented all the States of America. The surviving members as well as their offspring, other members of the original government and some of the military struggled to preserve some semblance of the Constitution and restore the country. The Colonel had become consumed with building an army that could defeat the Network.

  The faded car slowly eased across the field toward the lake shore, it's wide tires crushed down the spindly wild grasses. Sharon had taken off her shoes, her bare toes wiggled in the cool water. She sat on the sandy bank, her perfect trousers rolled up, her bottom getting wet and dirty. She smiled as the driver exited the car and walked toward her. He stood next to her and saluted, “Mam.”

  Her hand shaded her eyes and she laughed, “You don't have to do that, you know.”

  The driver bent down and kissed her cheek, “Yes, I do.”

  She sighed, “You're a good man and a good friend. Will you sit for a while? I'll need to get back soon.” She patted the tan grainy ground.

  He stood for a moment, “How about the car? It's kinda wet here.” He grinned and looked at her clothes and bare feet.

  She reluctantly agreed and they walked to the car, left the doors swung open and sat looking out at the sparkling water that reflected the muted color of the sky. They talked as usual about the impending battle, discussed the new allies that had gathered some pretty good information about the Network. He had a cigarette, she shared a few puffs with him. Always too disciplined to allow herself to have the habit, a drag or two on occasion and a good shot of bourbon did call to her.

  “I'm hoping the woman---Anissa, is it? Hoping she will be a good source of intel for us,” she exhaled curling smoke.

  “Possibly. She's in a damn dangerous spot,” he said.

  “I've been thinking that we need to have a meeting with the allies. It would probably be far too risky to try to bring them to the bunker. Perhaps there's a place in the Villages that you and I could meet up with them. Would you explore some possibilities for me?”

  “Sure. Oughta be able to come up with something.”

  The cigarette got crushed into the sand. She turned, reached across and put her hand on his cheek. “If only I was a bit younger, mister.” Actually, she was only about five years older than the driver, most days felt a lot older. More important, he was a good friend. She didn't want to risk screwing that up in any way. She swung her legs out of the open car door, brushed off her feet and started to put her shoes back on.

  Behind her, the man quietly said, “You're not old, Sharon, just afraid to let yourself have any pleasure.”

  Her feet swung into the car, the door slammed. She didn't look at him, “You're right---I might like it too much.” The engi
ne started, “Got to get moving,” she said.

  As she walked across to her office, Kay's mouth dropped open a bit. Even though Colonel Sharon was all buttoned up and wearing her jacket again, dark curls snaked out of her normal sleek coiffure and the rear of her trousers was circled wet nearly to the knees. “Good Lord, Mam, did you fall in?”

  “Wouldn't you like to know?” she said, laughing as she closed the office door in the woman's face.

  Chapter Seven

  Secrets and Strategy

  The bus was years past it's original hulking glory, grime and faded paint left the sleek figure of the sprinting greyhound barely visible, it rolled along the familiar daily route. Miles and miles of repetition, days and days of traveling the same roads made it seem to automatically follow every section of worn and cracked pavement. The driver just whistled a tune as the ill maintained vehicle leaned precariously into sharp turns and never missed an opportunity to hit a pothole square on.

  About a dozen riders bounced along today. Jackson and Eric sat near the front, directly behind the driver. The day before, Jackson had talked to the mayor, “I heard this guy talking about a good source of corn, south of town. I think that we might purchase some of the crop for the brewery at a cheaper price than we're now paying. If you agree, I think I'll take Eric with me and we'll ride the city bus out that way, check it out.” The mayor, always mindful of his business and his bottom line, liked the idea and gave his approval. The employee would have to figure out later, how to further lie to his boss and tell him the corn was not acceptable. This excursion was not about corn.

  The spotty mirror above the driver showed the scattered riders behind. Jackson looked up and tried to see the man sitting in the very back. The man nearly hidden behind the other passengers, smoked a cigarette and had a knit cap pulled down tight on his scraggly hair. Ninety-nine percent certain, it was the street thug from the Villages. The scum that he now knew, from questioning Anissa about the ugly circular scar on her hand, had used the cigarette like a weapon on her. Was it just a coincidence that he was on the bus? He thought not. He had quit going to the park on Thursdays, as Anissa asked. He still often met John, Mamie and Bud there. Had they fell under suspicion? He would see when they reached their stop. Was his ID correct and would the rider get off with them?