Dystopia (Book 3): Revelations

by Cooper, DJ

  Sleep overtook me, and I napped a while. When I awoke, the white of the tent was subdued, looking more like dusk. I arose to go to the outhouse and to my surprise, there was another man outside the tent door.

  He barred the exit to the tent, asking, “Where do you think you are going?”

  I was shocked, and said, “I need to go to the outhouse.”

  The man stood firm, saying, “Return to the tent, you will be escorted shortly.”

  Confused, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

  The man never moved and repeated, “Return to the tent ma’am.”

  I went back inside, and for the first time since my arrival, I felt uncomfortable here. I sat for what must have been fifteen minutes wondering what was going on when Rich entered the tent looking like something was wrong as well.

  I asked, “Is everything ok; they wouldn’t let me go to the outhouse.”

  Rich replied, “Everything is fine, let’s get you over there, shall we?”

  He tried to look as though nothing was out of the ordinary, but it showed in his expression that something was wrong. After going to the outhouse, we headed over to the mess tent. Breakfast was cooking; I hadn’t realized that I’d slept all night. The smell of the food was amazing and made my mouth water. I was famished. Thinking to myself for the sake of caring but not really doing so, “Now, how am I supposed to lose weight if I keep eating like this.” We sat down with some coffee and oatmeal, this time there were no berries on it, but soon to come was bacon and eggs. Rich stared at his bowl, poking in it, as if waiting for it to do a trick or something. This was making me even more concerned something was wrong.

  I asked again, “Is something wrong?”

  Rich looked up, saying, “Did the stuff I told you yesterday stir any memory?”

  Looking down I shook my head, lying to myself as much as him, “No.”

  He reached out for my hand and gently touched it assuring me that it would come in time. I felt like this gesture was the first real thing he had done all morning. I knew today would be different than the others, what made me feel uncomfortable about it was, why this bothered him so much.

  Much like the other days we walked the camp and chatted about things, but today our talks were different. He did not talk about the refugees or the events that lead to the current situation. He talked about his life before things changed.

  With almost a melancholy tone he recounted how Ebola had taken his whole family. His mother was diagnosed with it first, and the authorities came and took them all. His mother, sister, and brother had all died in one of the quarantine camps.

  Tears welled up in his eyes as he recounted, “My little brother and sister were not even sick. At least, not until they went to the quarantine camp.”

  I asked, “Why is it you were not quarantined as well?”

  He said, “I was deployed in Afghanistan when the first cases arose. My unit was recalled to begin the settlement of refugees here.”

  “So, you didn’t get to see them?”

  “No,” He replied.

  I’d had no idea he too was personally affected by the events this way. I felt sad for his family, as we stood looking at the river rushing by, I thought “How could I be so selfish.” I reached out for his hand.

  Looking down at me, two small tears lingered in the inner corners of his eyes, squeezing my hand he said, “I wished for so long that I could have been with them. I soon realized, had I been. My fate would have been the same as theirs.”

  Suddenly his expression changed and I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t know why, but I felt like there was something he wasn’t telling me, and I was about to find out. The expressions over the next minute were as if he had an internal struggle.

  At first, his face got hard as he brushed away the tears, saying, “We have to get you back to camp, you have a meeting.”

  “A meeting?” I asked

  “In the Ops tent.” He replied.

  Worried why this had him looking so harsh, I looked down and dropped my hand from his. His expression changed to a softer look as he said,

  “I’m sorry, it’ll be ok.”

  Looking up at him, I knew he was lying. Wondering why he would lie, fear was obvious in my tone as I said,

  “I trust you.”

  Sorrow overcame his face and changed back to the hard look as he said, “You shouldn’t.” looking away he continued, “You have to remember, they’re tired of waiting.”

  I replied almost shouting, “I don’t even know my damn name, how can I tell them anything?”

  Tears streamed down my face, and I collapsed on the sandy beach, sobbing. He knelt beside me and with a softer tone apologized again. Reaching out he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. I looked up at him, my tear-streaked face, wet and glistening from the sun on my face. Gently, he brushed the tears away, moving my hair behind my ear.

  His touch was gentle as he looked at me gently stroking my hair. Somehow I knew he feared for me and was not a willing participant in what was to come. That is what scared me the most.

  Helping me off the sand, his tug was forceful, and I stumbled into his arms. Trying to right myself I stumbled more, his arms held steadfast and I found myself face to face with him.

  I could feel the heat of his breath, and at that moment he leaned in and kissed me. My heart was racing while my mind was swimming with emotions. I hungrily returned his kiss feeling his arms tighten around me.

  Too soon the moment was over, and he regained his composure saying, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Thinking to myself, “What is with guys, saying they shouldn’t have kissed a woman?” Shaking my head while standing straighter, I said nothing and silently stood attempting to regain my composure.

  Noticing my discomfort, he apologized yet again for being so cliché and began rambling to himself inaudibly as he paced in a circle. Sighing loudly, I got his attention, and he looked back to me, while I tried to appear visibly annoyed.

  With my hands on my hips, I scowl at him, “Mister Davidson is it?”

  Turning fully to me he says, “Please call me Rich.”

  Still trying to look annoyed I growl at him, “Rich, what is that? Short for Richard?”

  Nodding to me as he approached saying, “Yes it is, but I prefer Rich.”

  “Well,” I said, “I just wanted to know what to call you when you piss me off… Richard.”

  A shocked look came over his face, and he began to laugh out loud saying, “Well Ma’am, remind me to never piss you off.”

  Still trying to be annoyed I continue, “You don’t kiss a woman and then tell her you shouldn’t have. Either you want to kiss her, or you don’t.”

  Shocked at my annoyance, he said, “Yes Ma’am.”

  Still scowling I replied, “And quit calling me Ma’am, it makes me feel old.”

  With a half-smile, he said, “Well what the hell else should I call you dammit?” Taking a few steps closer, he said in a quieter tone, “Miss sounded like what I would call a niece.”

  Hands still on my hips I blurted out, “Rita, my name is Rita."

  Reaching out to me he said, “Rita? You remember your name?”

  Standing there on the beach, looking down I said, “Yes, that’s my name.” I’m not sure how in that moment I knew this. Like the Pennsylvania moment, it was just something I knew; although until that moment was unaware I knew.

  With his hand under my chin, he raised my face to meet him and said, “Can you remember anything else?”

  Shaking my head no, I began to cry again.

  Rich held me tight and whispered in my ear telling me not to tell anyone else. I tried to back away, but he held me tighter. “I don’t understand men. First, he is anxious that I can’t remember; now he wants me not to?’ He told me to be quiet and listen. This scared me, but I did as he said. I liked the way it felt with his arms around me even though I was pretending to be angry with him.

  Rich whispered, “Y
ou have to see the Lieutenant today in the command tent.”

  I whispered back, “Should I be scared?”

  Rich replied, “I don’t know, but don’t tell them you remember anything. This camp is not what it seems and as long as they think you don’t know they may let things continue. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get you out of here. I need you to keep anything you remember to yourself.”

  I asked, “How long have I been here? It feels like about a week, does memory usually come back that quick?”

  Rich replied, “You have been here three weeks, they were keeping you asleep for days at a time, your coffee is drugged. That was why you would always awake feeling famished and why they have insisted the IV plug stay in.”

  Pushing him back I looked at him with what must have been shock, like someone just hit me with a cattle prod.

  I began to cry saying, “I’m scared, and I don’t know what day it is or anything.”

  He kissed my forehead and said, “It’s November 28th and winter is coming. Rita, I’m trying to figure out how to get you out of here, and I’m not alone. Try to be strong my love.”

  Looking up at him puzzled, I said, “My love?”

  He leaned down and without a word, softly kissed me. The dizzy feeling was scary and glorious all at once; my heart could not stop racing. The warm touch of his lips against mine, his light breath in my ear, confused and exhilarated I held him. “My love.” I thought.

  Backing away from him as the realization hit me, my hands in his, was this some kind of jail?

  I looked at him asking, “Am I a prisoner here?”

  He responded, “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

  With annoyance I struggled to maintain my composure as I whimpered, “I don’t understand. Why?”

  Taking my hand and leading me over to a long log that had washed ashore long ago. It lay by the water where the ripples glistened from the sunlight. We sat down as he began to explain. I was mesmerized by the glistening water and didn’t hear him as my own thoughts raced from topic to topic.

  Seeing my distraction, he asked, “Are you still with me?”

  Looking at him, acknowledging with a nod, I was back from the faraway place I’d been. Another time, another place, my mind raced. Trembling from the revelations, blankly I look at this man who has both protected me and been my captor. Wondering to myself if I can really trust him.

  Before I knew what I was saying I blurted out, “I have a son.”

  Shocked he looked at me saying, “Are you sure?”

  Nodding blankly, I said, “Yes I am, his name is Matty.”

  Looking like I’d just punched him in the gut, he asked, “My God Rita, how much do you remember?”

  Tears welling up in my eyes, I replied, “Everything, I remember it all. Sitting here watching the sun do its dance on the ripples, every flash brought a memory.”

  Wrapping his arms around me, he whispered, the panic in his tone was paralyzing. “Don’t tell them. Please, Rita, don’t tell them you remember. You have to keep up the amnesia. I promise I will get us away from here very soon, just hang in there.”

  Looking up at him, I could see the worry in his eyes and felt sure I could trust him.

  Chapter 4

  “Remembrance”

  The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.

  -Earnest Hemingway

  As we walked back to camp for my meeting with the Lieutenant, my mind raced, going over all that had happened. Recounting all of it. I worried for Matty and desperately wanted to find him. It was of some comfort to know that John and Amy would care for him. Although John was Matt’s friend, he was a good man, who loved Matt. I’ve always trusted him. But thought to myself, “Why on earth would he be friends with Matt?” This was something that always puzzled me.

  Rich admonished me to stop it, and looking at him I asked, “Stop what?”

  He said, “I know that there’s a lot to take in, but be careful, all of these things you can remember now, will betray you. I could see it on your face, recalling things. The way you looked around, grasping for tidbits within your mind. It is in your mannerisms and your look. Use a technique called eye-blocking, it is something they will recognize as a stress reaction. It is when you avoid looking at them, put your hand to your head like you have a headache and avoid eye contact, even covering your eyes. They’re trained to look for the body language and facial expressions. What you were just doing will give you away. Push it all to the back of your mind. Rita, if they figure out you can remember, it’ll get a whole hell of a lot worse, and you will never escape.” Stopping he grabbed me hard on my arms. Looking right into my eyes, “Do you understand what I am telling you? Bury it. Deep!”

  Releasing me be continued walking between the tents to the opening where the fire pits were, I could see the officers milling around the command tent. I must have hesitated because Rich placed his hand on my shoulder.

  Looking over I asked, “Do you think I could grab a cup of coffee first? I need to settle myself.”

  Rich nodded and ushered me to the nearest table to wait while he grabbed the coffees. Returning with two steaming hot cups, he sat next to me and nodded at the cup for me to take it. I looked at him as if asking if it was drugged, to which he nodded it was ok. Struggling to rein in the feelings that were overwhelming me I nervously sipped the hot liquid waiting to be called to the tent for my meeting. Working to settle my emotions, I settled my mind into the calm state it takes when you are zoned into an object. We sat silently not speaking as I stared into the cup like it held the answers to the universe. Holding my focus there in the cup, it was then that I found the answer. I had god awful orange hair that I had rather unsuccessfully tried to dye blonde. I recalled Dez, when she would tell others why her hair long ago was blonde. She would say, “It lowered people’s expectations.” Laughing a little to myself, I realized there was wisdom in this. By seeming stupid or oblivious it would be possible to maybe just exasperate them into giving up on me, at least for today.

  The next five minutes were excruciating as I waited for the call to the command tent. Rich looked a little sad as I gave him the side-eye glare. The one where you won’t look at the person full on but glare at them in your peripheral. I know it wasn’t his fault, but I was still pissed. He would surely pay later for deceiving me. There was something sinister about this encampment, and while I didn’t know what it was, I was now determined to not only escape but to figure it out. I remember hearing Ray say something about the goings on in that camp back in Massachusetts. I’d forgotten also that he and Roger were part of the security for one of these. If only I could remember what it was, Roger told me.

  The guard at the command tent waved us over, and my heart sank. “Don’t screw up Rita, Don’t screw up.” I kept telling myself this, although I don’t think it will really help. Breaking out my best ‘Ditzy Blonde’ face, I walked into the tent like I thought I’d just won the lottery. The lieutenant waved his hand for me to sit in the chair in front of his table. I noted that this would likely be what he would refer to as his desk, but I was in blonde mode and needed to be pretty much oblivious.

  Introducing himself, he said, “Good afternoon, miss?”

  To which I replied, “Good afternoon to you as well, mister.”

  He cleared his throat saying, “I’m Lieutenant Collins.”

  Smiling, eyes darting about like a child in a new place, I replied, “Good afternoon Lieutenant Collins.”

  Looking already frustrated he continued, “And, your name is?”

  Pausing my gazing around the tent to look directly at him, with a pained look. Recalling what I was to do, I did as Rich instructed, I put my hand to my forehead covering my eyes like I had a headache and replied, “I don’t exactly know that Mr. Lieutenant.”

  Clearing his throat again he said, “It’s just Lieutenant Collins.”

  Standing, I walked over to a shelving unit. It had boxes with files, some framed
photos and a strange looking case that had a small lock on it. Not quite a briefcase, yet not a bag, it looked like it might hold some kind of files in it. “This case will do nicely,” I thought to myself as I reached for it.

  The Lieutenant jumped from his seat snapping at me, “Please… sit down, Miss…”

  Looking shocked, I quickly retreated to my seat and sat silently staring at my feet. Wringing my hands and nervously shifting my weight on the chair, I tried to project an air of anxiety over his behavior. As though I were somehow injured by it. I could tell I was beginning to frustrate him and continued to appear oblivious.

  The Lieutenant sat straighter and began, “Ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  I remained silent and simply nodded in agreement. Exhibiting a submissive behavior of a young child who’d just been admonished for misbehaving.

  He continued, “What do you remember before coming here?”

  I began speaking, using a childlike tone, as I looked around the room. “I wondered that myself.”

  He sat silently as I continued, “I mean, I know how to speak, and so I must remember something, right?”

  Without waiting for a response. Looking to the roof of the tent like it held some insight into the cosmic nature of the universe. I continued, “I keep trying to figure who I am and how is it I know how to talk but can’t remember how I learned to talk. It is like a huge vacuum in my head.”

  Watching as he shifted his weight on his seat, keenly aware of his stare. Rich was right he was watching my mannerisms, where and how I was looking around.

  Laughing to myself, I continue, “I know, I know, you’re probably thinking, ‘This chick is an airhead.’ But see? I wonder this? How can I know people think this of me but don’t really know me? You wanna know what I really think?”

  He said, “Please, enlighten me.”

  Turning my head quickly to face him dead on, with that sure as shit look on my face, I said, “Personally? I think it was aliens.” How I did not burst out laughing or somehow giggle at my own idiocy was beyond me, but I could see, he was not amused.