Over the next few days, James found himself split between two work groups, farm duties and working in the library. The library was a disappointment. The books were either worthless, trashy paperbacks or technical manuals. Time with the tablet had to be approved by Gainsborough. James had a request in, but the wait was torture.
The farm was well organized. Originally it had been an annex of the prison compound, but Gainsborough and his men had extended it, clearing an adjacent park.
The walls surrounding the farm were made from scrap metal, bound together with wire. They provided an effective barrier against the monsters, keeping them at bay. The overturned, rusting hulk of buses, cars and trucks piled on top of each other held up sheets of metal and corrugated roofing iron over twenty feet in height.
In places, brick walls had been built, but James didn’t like the approach. He preferred the spike pits and wooden fences they used in the south.
In theory, the metal fencing and brick walls were more effective, but they also limited visibility. With the open fencing used around his farm in the south, James was able to see the approach of a monster long before it became dangerous. When the fences around the prison farm failed, no one had any idea what would come through because they hadn’t seen whether there were mountain lions on the prowl or bears foraging.
In the first month James was there, they lost four men to animal attacks after a loose car frame had been nudged aside by a nosy bear.
James got his tablet time, two hours a week. He had to contain himself, reading quickly but not so quick as to miss the heart and intent of the writers he’d chosen to read.
His father had once told him about the works of Carl Sagan and Richard Dawkins but had never read them to him. Both authors had numerous books in the tablet’s electronic library, so James picked the titles that most interested him at first glance: Demon-Haunted World and Devil’s Chaplain. Why those titles, he wondered as he pondered what he’d read over the long days between tablet time.
What did his choices say about his attitude? The books themselves were scientific in nature, he’d known that when he’d chosen the authors, and yet it was their defiance that appealed to him. They refused to accept the superstitions and reasoning others took as the norm. Deep down, James wanted to have the same kind of penetrating, critical thinking.
For James, the week between his electronic reading privileges was unbearably long. The rationale behind the delay was that it took eight hours to charge the tablet for just a couple of hours reading, hooking it up to a transformer connected to the boiler. And there were others with higher priority access, those studying engineering and medicine. James was told he should be thankful Gainsborough had allotted him any time at all, and he was, but he wanted more.
He didn’t see the general much as the old man kept a close circle of confidants around him.
McIntyre was professionally detached, treating James as just another soldier, which he guessed he was.
Lisa softened in her attitude toward him, but she was still withdrawn, and he only saw her every second day or so, normally at a distance.
James wanted more of everything it seemed, and that frustrated him. He was a grunt, at the bottom of a pecking order he’d never consciously sought out.
McIntyre gave James and another young man an assignment to prepare and paint a harvest bin, a large metal trailer used for collecting corn and wheat. James had never painted anything in his life, let alone a steel structure some fifteen feet high.
Anders was a particularly robust farm hand and was happy to take the assignment. With more experience, he took charge of the task. After two days of scrubbing the flaking paint off the metal frame, they finally got to the point where they could start painting. The frame and axle had been originally painted in a deep green, while the vast empty bin was a dull red.
McIntyre came up behind them as they slaved away under the hot sun.
“Make sure you don’t leave any traces of rust on this thing,” he said, without so much as an introduction. James had his back to him, scrubbing a support strut with a wire brush and so was taken by surprise by his gruff voice. He turned to say something to McIntyre, but one of the captain’s aides was talking to him, pointing something out in the distance. McIntyre had a clipboard and was making notes as the other man spoke.
James wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
Anders was already putting a coat of red paint on the inside of the bin with a roller. He was high on a ladder, leaning into the trailer.
“What color do you want us to paint this?” James asked, gesturing toward the odd assembly of the vast red bin seated on the green chassis and frame.
McIntyre seemed distracted. He grunted, “Paint it the same.”
Anders went to say something, but McIntyre was already marching off toward one of the barns.
James and Anders were determined to impress the captain. With six hours of daylight left, they figured they could put their backs into the work and finish by supper. Working from the top down, they ignored the heat, liberally applying a thick coat of red paint to the entire trailer.
The two men finished as the sun sat low on the horizon. There was just enough time to clean the brushes and get back to the compound for dinner.
As they were packing up, McIntyre came storming over. The two young men stood shoulder to shoulder, proud of their work, proud to have finished painting in a single day.
“What in the blazes have you done?” McIntyre cried, his arm out, pointing at the trailer.
James looked at Anders, baffled.
Sheepishly, Anders said, “We did what you asked of us.”
“Bloody hell,” McIntyre cried. “Do I have to do everything myself? Is it too much to ask for you young bucks to follow some simple goddamn directions?”
“I don’t—” Anders began.
James cringed. Suddenly, it was clear what McIntyre had meant, and he felt like kicking himself for being such a fool.
“Why the hell did you do that?” McIntyre yelled. “Are you two idiots trying to make a fool out of me?”
“No, sir,” James replied.
“I told you to paint it the same.”
“We did,” Anders pleaded.
“No you haven’t. You’ve painted it all red.”
James felt stupid.
“But you said—” continued Anders.
“I told you idiots to paint it the same as it was,” McIntyre cried. “Red on top. Green on the bottom. Get the hell out of here. Go get cleaned up. I’ll deal with you two clowns tomorrow.”
Anders took the remonstration worse than James. From his sullen look, James could see he was disappointed in himself. James thought it was funny, although he didn’t dare say so while McIntyre was standing there.
That night, a cool wind blew in from the north, cutting through the humidity of the past few days. James was walking back from dinner when Lisa called out from somewhere above him.
“Hey, James.”
He turned and looked up. Lisa was sitting on a balcony, enjoying the cool of the evening.
“Please tell me that was deliberate,” she said, leaning forward, trying not to laugh.
Lisa didn’t have to say what she was talking about. James knew. He looked around, not wanting to call out loud in front of the wrong person and say something he might regret.
“So you’re talking to me now?” he asked, trying to shift the topic.
Lisa smiled. “Looks that way.”
“Can I join you?”
“Sure.”
Her leg was no longer in a full cast. Her new cast extended from just below her knee to her ankle, allowing her to hobble around without a crutch.
James climbed up next to her, standing on the rim of a wooden box and pulling himself up on the railing.
“There are stairs, you know.”
“Ah, that’s not anywhere near as impressive,” he replied.
“Or as stupid.”
She was still smiling,
which James felt was heartening. He sat down next to her on a bench seat and stared out across the fields as a thin crescent moon sat high above the fading glow of the sunset.
“So were you deliberately trying to piss McIntyre off? If so, that was pure genius.”
“Oh, no,” James replied honestly. “That was pure stupidity.”
Lisa laughed. “I don’t know. Seems like an easy mistake to make. I mean, from the way it was told to me, and it seems pretty harmless.”
“You’d think so, but the captain’s taken offense. He thinks we were trying to make a fool out of him.”
“Oh, please. He does a good enough job of that himself.”
James laughed.
“He’s assigned us to the honey wagon tomorrow.”
“You know what that is, right?” Lisa asked.
“Oh, I’ve a fair idea. It’s sewage disposal, from what the guys tell me.”
“I hope you have a strong stomach.”
“What’s his problem?” James asked.
“You don’t know?” Lisa asked, an air of surprise in her voice. “McIntyre fancies himself as my father’s successor. Dad sends him out to find me, to rescue his wayward daughter, only I’ve already been rescued by some lone hunter. How do you think that makes him feel?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t start you on the honey wagon.”
James laughed. “Hey, how is your leg?”
Lisa’s tone of voice changed slightly, increasing in pitch. “It’s fine.” And James found himself wondering quite how he should interpret that. Something bothered her beyond just the inconvenience of the cast.
Her voice lowered a little, softening as she added, “They say the bone is malformed, that it twisted slightly as it mended, so I’ll be stuck with a limp.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” she said, cutting him off. “You don’t need to be. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have my leg, or my life.”
James was silent. For a few seconds, he felt awkward, then the moment felt strangely natural as time moved on. Sitting there, the stars were brilliant. With no clouds in the sky, the heavens shone with a radiance James normally only saw high in the mountains. No words needed to be spoken.
Lisa sighed.
“I’m sorry,” she began. “I’ve been a real bitch.”
James tried not to burst out laughing. He hadn’t expected her to be quite so forthcoming, but she had always been blunt.
“No. It’s OK,” she continued. “You can laugh. I know it’s true.”
Turning toward her, he could see she was smiling.
“Have you figured it out yet?” she asked.
“Figured what out?”
“What all this is about.”
“No,” he replied.
“Loyalty.”
“Loyalty?”
“Sure,” Lisa said. “They mean to break you. Break down your sense of individuality and mold you into another loyal soldier. That’s the reason for the command structure. That’s the reason for sending you to work on the honey wagon. It’s not punitive, not really. Who gives a damn what color you painted that stupid trailer? No, it’s more than that, it’s about exercising authority over you and getting you to submit to their rule.”
“I could say I won’t do it.”
“You could. But you won’t. And that’s what they’re counting on. At each point, you sink further into the mire. At each point, it becomes harder to say no, harder to pull out, and they’ve got you, they’ve got your allegiance.”
“You really don’t like your father, do you?” James asked.
“I hate what he’s become,” Lisa replied. “I hate how he molds others in his image.”
“You think things are that bad? I mean, I look around and I see progress. Sure, it’s not perfect, but nothing any man does is ever perfect.”
“Listen to yourself,” Lisa said. Her voice was soft and dispassionate, as though she were talking to a child. James didn’t find that insulting, rather it made him more curious, more determined to understand the issues that caused her such concern.
“That cliche,” she said. “The very words you used, those are their words. Without realizing it, you’re reinforcing their logic. But think about it, think about what that phrase means, nothing man does can ever be perfect. It’s an excuse for shortcomings. Instead of a determination to change, it accepts the status quo. Sure, no one’s perfect. But we’re not talking about perfection, whatever the hell that is, we’re talking about change. We’re talking about not putting up with bullshit.”
She looked him in the eye as she spoke.
“You see progress. I see slavery. You see the pressed uniforms and brass buttons. I see the widows and orphans toiling away to sustain an illusion. You see technology being revived with the use of radios and computer tablets. I see shiny toys, luring the magpies and crows out of the sky, bringing them in close enough to catch. You see the past being revived. I see monsters lurking in the shadows.”
James swallowed the lump in his throat. Lisa rested her hand on his as she spoke. There was something eerie about her words. They held a truth he didn’t want to accept.
“You haven’t seen the real McIntyre, the real Gainsborough. You’ve seen the magician’s cloak, the rabbit springing forth from a hat. You’re enjoying the show without ever going backstage.”
“But we have to do something,” James said. “We can’t just go on running from wild animals. We have to make a stand. We have to do something to try and turn the tide.”
“Yes,” Lisa replied. “But not this. We should not climb on top of others, using them to get what we want. I have no doubt about the sincerity of my father. He sincerely thinks he’s doing what’s right, doing what’s best. He’s going about rebuilding the only way he can, but deep down, there’s something else at work. And I don’t think even he realizes that. I don’t think he understands the forces at work in his own life, the role of pride, ego, ambition, selfishness and the desire to be adored.”
The balcony door behind them opened and General Gainsborough walked out.
“I thought I heard voices out here,” he said rather jovially.
James stood, feeling like he’d done something wrong, wondering if there was some punishment worse than the honey wagon awaiting this indiscretion.
“Oh, please,” Gainsborough said. “Don’t stand on my account. It’s good to see you two kids together.”
James looked at Lisa. Her eyes were full of longing. There was so much more she wanted to say, he could see that. Looking back at the general and his warm smile, James felt a sense of conflict. He wasn’t sure what to think. He excused himself politely and walked away, struggling to resolve Lisa’s words with the harsh necessity of life around him.
Chapter 08: Promises
It had been almost three months since James arrived in Richmond, and he was getting itchy feet. He had managed to get word out to his father through traders, letting him know he was fine, but it was impossible to explain the complexity of his situation. Three words had come in reply, “Watch your back.”
The tablet was a real hook, but so was Lisa, especially now things had thawed between them.
James tried to keep himself aloof from the constant appeals by various commanders for loyalty and dedication. Lisa was right, there was a subtle undertone to so much of what they did. From praise for his work to reproof for his mistakes, there were days where it seemed everything was fake, said only to reinforce the culture of submission. If it hadn’t been for Lisa, he wouldn’t have seen the spider web, he would have been caught up in it like so many others.
Late one afternoon, word came from McIntyre for James and half a dozen others to gather in the gymnasium. They crowded around as McIntyre addressed them.
“Tonight, the general is going to make an important announcement.”
McIntyre stood over them, standing on a low stage, looking out over the heads of those gathered there.
“I need you to transform this gym into an auditorium. Clean the floors. Wipe down the chairs. Get someone to scrub the marks by the door.
“I want fifteen rows of chairs, ten on each side. Use a string along the rows to get them straight. Use a block of wood to ensure the chairs are evenly spaced. Then run the string long ways, so each chair is perfectly placed. When the General walks in, I want him to see an orderly arrangement, with nothing out of place.”
“Really?” James asked, questioning what he thought was an absurd notion. “But the chairs will move as soon as someone sits on them, so why bother?”
As the words left his lips he realized he was alone on this. The other soldiers stared at him with disdain.
“Discipline is its own reward,” McIntyre replied coldly. “Details demonstrate respect.”
James had the feeling he was going to end up on the honey wagon again.
“Anders. You’re in charge. I want this place to shine. Phillips, you’ll coordinate ushers, make sure the first two rows are reserved for the elders.”
“There won’t be enough seats for everyone,” one of the others said, but with an air of deference that wouldn’t offend.
“They can stand,” McIntyre replied.
The work crew set about cleaning and setting up for the evening meeting. With half an hour to spare they were released so they could wash up and return for the announcement. When James walked back into the hall, he could see someone had hung a banner over the stage that read “Reclaiming the Promised Land.”
The gym was packed. Lisa sat near the front, seated at the end of the second row behind the elders. James made his way over and stood near her, leaning against the wall. She looked over at him, hunching her shoulders, and he was surprised to realize she had no idea what this was about.
Outside, the sound of a generator broke through the night. Bright spotlights lit up the stage. Gainsborough walked on stage and the audience rose to its feet, clapping and cheering.
“Thank you,” Gainsborough said, looking twenty years younger as he stood there bathed in the bright light. “Thank you. Please, be seated.”
It took a few seconds for the clapping to subside.
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