by P. J. Kelley
Keisha raised her hand. “Hi, I’m Keisha, and I’m addicted to heroin. Are you really going to let us go or are you just testing us to see if we want to go?” Keisha seemed knowing beyond her years, and perhaps, if cynicism is wisdom, then she would be considered wise as well.
“We are letting you go. The situation out there has deteriorated rapidly in the last 48 hours, which would have been right around the time you all checked in. Pill G Psychos are roaming around everywhere. Civil unrest among those unafflicted is skyrocketing. It is a dangerous world out there. You would be well served to be on your guard and take this seriously.”
Dante raised his hand. Gerard nodded. The man began, “I’m Dante, what if we don’t want to go?”
Gerard stared at him. For the first time, there was a fracture in his amicable exterior. Quite slowly, he asked “Who are you?” There was a genuine note of a question underlying a question.
Dante paused briefly. “Like I said, I’m Dante, and yes, I am addicted to crack. What if we don’t want to go?”
Gerard’s amiability returned. “Then you will be unhappy leaving.”
Gerard opened his suit jacket, revealing a weapon. “Look, this is a Glock with an extended magazine. I have 31 rounds in this, and I have two more magazines in my pocket. There are some Homeland Security operatives right outside the door, and if they think they need to come in, believe me, they will. I volunteered to come in here myself and break this down for you in a reasonable manner, and they consented. Believe this or not, but I respect and care about each and every one of you. I felt I owed you this brief little session out of politeness. I mean, why make this more unpleasant than necessary?”
The reasonability of his tone seemed to resonate more with the group than browbeating them might have. This group was inured to verbal abuse, but the novelty of this appeal to their civil natures caught them off guard, and for the first time some of them seemed to start taking Gerard seriously.
“What purpose….I’m Bridget, and I’m an alcoholic,” a red haired woman in her late forties stammered. “What…what purpose will this serve?”
“As I said before, you need to learn to appreciate the gift of your lives. Another and more practical purpose of this is simple. All of you are human, and therefore weak. Many people can identify with you. As you proceed on your missions, your monitoring equipment will record your words and deeds. This will be played on the Internet and on television for the millions of people who will be living under quarantine until this crisis is resolved. In short, you will now be reality TV stars. You are all going to set an example for the entire nation. Just what kind of example you choose to set is up to you. If there are no further questions, your survival packs with your mission assignments will be distributed now. If you cooperate, you will be bused out in a relatively safe manner. If you don’t, you will be released directly outside the gate, where several hundred Pill G Psychos have congregated in the last few hours.
"Now, I am going to begin announcing your teams. Remember, each member of your team is a vital component of your overall success. If even one of you declines, this will weaken your team’s chances significantly. However, I can tell you this. If you do complete the overall tasks, you will be well rewarded, not just with enough Pill Alpha to last a hundred years and cash awards totaling one million credits in gold, but most importantly, sobriety. You will achieve mastery of your own life. You will master your own will. I can promise you this.”
The door opened, and a beautiful and exotic looking woman came in smiling. Behind her were two large men in Homeland Security uniforms dragging large suit racks with satchels suspended from them.
“Hi, I am Amiko, and I am here to assist Mr. Gerard as much as possible. Please excuse my accent. I have only recently moved here from my former home in Japan. Until the last several years, I was just like all of you. I lived only for drugs and alcohol. I sold my body for them.” Her smile was unchanging, and her eyes were filled with a mysterious joy. “After the recent events in Japan, I embarked on a program much like the one you are about to participate in. Since I survived my ordeal, which was admittedly much less structured than this one, I have been joyous, happy, and free, and have also been drug and alcohol free for two years this Monday.” She paused slightly, as if expecting something, and seemed mollified to hear scattered clapping, a confused and tepid round of applause, which she enthusiastically joined in herself.
“I am here to tell you, this program works. When I announce your names and team designation, please join up at the front. Each team will then proceed to their own mini bus. This will be the team bus. You would do well to pick a designated driver as your initial task. There will be four teams of five recovering alcoholics each. The first team to complete their mission wins. If you win, you will have a hundred years to savor the victory, at least. If you lose, you won’t have to worry anymore. Please excuse the names we have labeled the teams with. We are trying to make it more appealing to television audiences.” Amiko raised both hands in an attitude of surrender. “Marketers! What can you do?” She seemed sincerely apologetic. “To begin-The Celtic Team: Bridget, come on down!”
Very slowly, Bridget got up. “Hurry, Bridget. The faster you get going, the better your chances of success.”
Bridget stood uncertainly at the front of the room. “What beautiful red hair you have. If she gets sober she will get all of her looks back, don’t you think so Mr. Gerard?” Amiko wanted to know.
Gerard nodded agreement. “Oh, most definitely.”
Bridget did not seem certain how to respond to this.
“Al, come on down.” The heroin addict from Brooklyn moved quickly to the front. His face was unreadable. Amiko merely looked at him, a friendly light shining in her eyes.
“Keisha. You’re up, girlfriend.” Keisha shuffled up bemusedly. She too was unreadable.
“Now Gregor.” The intense glasses wearing alcoholic/addict arose.
“Now we need one more for the Celtic Team. David, please join the group.” She smiled at David. David did not smile back, but neither did he frown. He rose and joined the other four.
“Now, remember this. If you cooperate, we will try to help you all the way. We will keep on passing valuable information to you, and will assist where possible. If you don’t cooperate, you will be abandoned.” Amiko made a sad face. “This group doesn’t have very many friends left in the world, so I suggest you don’t alienate the few remaining.” Amiko paused, as if receiving some subtle signal. “There are actually 21 alcoholics here today, which means one group will get a wild card to make them six. Dante, you might as well join this group. Dante was a late arrival, and we have no substantive personal goals for him. We are adding him to The Celtics because it is easiest to incorporate him into their plans. So come on Dante.”
Dante did not move. Slowly, and with great feeling, he said, “I absolutely hate The Celtics.” Both Gerard and Amiko burst out laughing, and even some of the alcoholics/addicts smiled. “It’s just a name, Dante, go on up and join the group.” Gerard was smiling, but the Glock was suddenly in his hand. Amiko casually reached into her jacket as well, but her hand did not emerge. For a moment she looked like a Japanese Napoleon.
Dante looked around the room. Nobody returned his gaze. He frowned and got up. He proceeded to the front, and The Celtics left the room.
Chapter Three: The Celtics
Two Homeland Security agents in full body armor and carrying machine guns met The Celtics at the door. Several more waited in attendance. The group walked down some stairs and then to the corner of a large gymnasium. A garage with 4 minibuses awaited them. About twenty Homeland Security agents were inside, clustered around the entrance of the nearest bus.
“When we open the door, you will drive out to the entrance and wait at the first gate. This is like an airlock system, you will go through the first gate, drive through, and when that first gate closes behind you, you will then proceed out the second gate when it then opens. Any questions?�
� The Celtics looked confused more than anything. “Who is driving?” The Homeland Security operative was waiting, pen poised, and clipboard in hand. There was a pause, and Gregor said “I shall.”
“You shall not, Mr. Magoo. I’m not trusting my safety to a blind person. If anybody is driving, it’s going to be me,” said Dante, recovered from the unpleasantry of having Gerard pull a gun on him.
Gregor snapped, “I drive a delivery van for my uncle for years. I am expert.”
“I am expert too,” Dante said mockingly. “I’ve been driving since I was twelve, often in high speed chases. Seriously, just let me drive out of here, this is going to be rough.” The two men stared at each other, and Gregor grudgingly surrendered. The group piled into the small bus. Gregor sat in the very front. Bridget and Keisha sat behind them, and David shuffled into the back. Al was already there, next to the emergency exit. He said nothing, and David responded in kind.
The Homeland soldier stood at the entrance. “One more thing, you do know how to use GPS right?”
Bridget piped up. “Of course."
“Great, the bus is equipped with it. If you need instructions, there are some in your satchels. Move out as soon as I give the signal. Shut and bolt the door right away.”
Immediately, he backed off. Dante started the bus, and pulled the lever that shut the door. Gregor frowned, and then slid a heavy steel bolt across the door. He seemed puzzled. The garage gate rolled open, and the Homeland soldier screamed for them to drive to the first gate. As soon as the garage door closed behind them, the first gate slid back. Dante eased the bus through to the entrance of the second gate. A voice from the radio speakers suddenly sounded. It was the Homeland soldier. “Drive out fast when the second gate opens, on my command. Don’t stop, get on the road for a few miles and you should be able to get your bearings. Your goals are in your satchels. You can accomplish them in any manner you like.”
The second gate was massive, a metal structure that must have weighed several tons. The Celtic Team members gasped collectively as they noticed the area around Gate 2. Dead bodies were strewn over the ground. As it slowly rolled open, a wall of Pill G Psychos began running in. Their savage appearance was a shock to everyone on the bus. They looked like people suspended in the most intense moment of rage imaginable. The Celtics experienced a kind of group sensation of suspension of reality. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing media reports proving to be accurate and not just sensational fear mongering. If anything, the danger appeared to have been understated.
When the gate had opened enough, the radio blared the command to proceed. Dante gunned the small bus as hard as he could and popped the clutch out of the gate at the highest possible speed, enabling them to plow through the compact mob of Psychos at the Gate. The bus jounced harshly as Psychos were run down under the tires. Several Psychos had already begun climbing onto the exterior of the bus as others tried to smash the metal grills protecting the windows or wrench open the door. As Dante peeled out he swerved hard all over the road trying to knock Psychos off. As the gates closed behind them, the sound of loud automatic weapons fire was heard behind them. The guards must have been pulverizing every Psycho who had run into the area between Gate 1 and Gate 2.
For a moment, the bus had seemed as if the sheer weight of the Psychos under the tires would bog them down, but Dante’s aggressive move had saved them. Acknowledging this, Gregor said quietly, “Good job.”
After a moment, Dante responded. “Thanks.”
The entire group was subdued. After a long moment, Keisha broke the silence. “What the fuck was that?”
Gregor responded. “I have only heard some rumors, but ever since that comet passed the Earth so closely last week, the Pill G Psychos have been getting way crazy, and there are suddenly a lot more of them. I have…read some things on the Internet. I haven’t been outside in two weeks. My Uncle...He had put me in kind of house arrest until he could get me in rehab. I steal money from him, from his business, for cocaine. He said I had to go to rehab or he would send people to collect money from me.”
Keisha seemed puzzled by this, but proceeded, “Well, what did you hear?”
Al spoke up for the first time, from the darkness in the back of the bus. “The comet story is just a rumor, I heard.”
Gregor seemed startled, but answered cautiously. “Yeah, probably. I have actually heard very little. Very little. Basically what I just told you. There were some videos on YouTube about it, but they were taken down before I got a chance to see them. My cousin Yakhov emailed me about it, but I haven’t heard from him in days.” Gregor seemed more guarded and hesitating than was characteristic for him, and more uncertain as a result. “Whatever is going on, if that wasn’t staged to try to scare us, it is getting a whole lot worse and fast.”
The bus sped on as fast as it could go. Dante seemed intent on driving. Silence reigned until Bridget opened up her satchel and started looking through it. The others followed suit. The satchels contained two pounds of trail mix, water, a Swiss Army knife, one hundred Pill Alpha credits for money, and a sealed booklet of instructions, which everyone opened except for Dante.
“Read your instructions, and when you’re done take the wheel for a while so I can read mine,” Dante told Gregor, who nodded absently as he read his booklet.
David’s personal instructions seemed infuriatingly nonsensical to him at that moment, and weren’t of immediate import. The group goals were more accessible though, and they were the same for all six Celtics. The instructions were not to discuss their personal goals, and none of them did so at that time.
Bridget began to read the team goals aloud. “One- Proceed to New York City. Go to the Cloisters Museum. Return to rehab. In doing this, you will all be able to fulfill your personal goals, and so complete the exercise.”
Bridget stopped and looked around. “Do any of these goals make sense to anyone?” Her statement was greeted blankly. Nobody wanted to discuss their personal goals.
Dante swung the bus over to the side of the road. He rifled through his satchel, and pulled out his booklet, tearing it open. He read for a few minutes. “I have no personal goals.” It was true; the section of his instructions which would have contained them was blank, as he showed the group.
“They did say you were a late addition,” Keisha speculated. “Maybe they just didn’t have time to think of any?” Nobody responded, as suddenly, in the headlights of the bus, human figures emerged from the fog, running frantically towards the bus, yelling for help. Dante put on his high beams.
“Help! Help us please.” The voices could be heard distinctly through the bus’s thick glass. Nobody moved. The people pounded on the door, clearly in terror. More running figures emerged from the gloom, but these people weren’t screaming. They ran silently towards the bus, and their approach drove the figures at the door into hysterics.
“Let them in,” Gregor said quietly.
“Fuck that,” said Keisha. “How do we know they are not Psychos?”
“They aren’t.” Gregor sounded adamant as he pulled back the bolt. “Psychos never talk.” The people began to pile into the bus.
“Make this quick,” Gregor snapped, looking nervously at the advancing horde. As he began to shut the door, a Psycho materialized from nowhere and began blocking the door as Gregor tried to close it.
“He must have come right from the roadside,” Gregor said.
“Hell no, man. He was on the roof since rehab. I never shook him.” Dante took the bolt and slammed the Psycho in the head with it, and jammed the door shut in the next instant. Immediately, he was behind the wheel again, driving directly into the advancing crowd.
The three young people who had boarded the bus collapsed into their seats. Exhaustion and panic seemed to overtake them, catching them as soon as they stopped running. For several minutes, the three seemed incapable of speech. The bus sped past the RV, which had all its doors open with the light from inside spilling onto the blood stained highway as the Psyc
hos swarmed the interior. The girl and the younger male began crying, burying their faces in their hands. Apparently, this had been their family’s recreational vehicle. It was packed as if bound for The North Pole. The brief glimpse provided betrayed the fact that something ghastly had occurred there recently. The Team members tacitly said nothing for a while. The story was plain to read without elaboration.
Finally Bridget spoke, her voice sounding unnaturally strained. “Well, what’s the plan, Stan?” She seemed to address nobody in particular. “I mean, what’s next? What are you all going to do?” Nobody answered. “It looks bad out here. I admit I drink way too much, and my husband and children are just about done with me, but I signed up for rehab, not some kind of Scavenger hunt through Psychoville. I know some of you are facing jail time if you quit, but before we even left rehab I decided my personal goal was to haul ass as far away from Gerard and Amiko as possible. I know crazy, I’ve known it all my life, and believe me, those two are crazier than shithouse rats.”
Again, nobody responded. Seemingly undaunted, Bridget proceeded. “I mean, this is nothing personal, but when it’s convenient, I plan on bailing. Homeland Security was out of its mind to recruit us.”
Everyone in the bus was listening intently now, and she sensed this, and was encouraged by it. “I mean, what am I missing? True, the Psychos have definitely amped it up, maybe just locally, maybe not. What do we win anyway, Pills for a hundred years? Is running for our lives going to make me stop drinking? Maybe I could just become an adrenaline junkie.” She cracked a small smile.
“Give me your personal goals before you go. I’m playing this out.” Dante’s voice emerged from behind the wheel. Gregor nodded agreement. “My uncle, he says he’ll kill me if I don’t finish rehab. Literally kill me, Russian style too.”