Patriots & Tyrants

by Brian Cotton

  ***

  Reed began his exit from the USR facility he engaged his work in. As he walked down the sidewalk, he noticed a plain red car that he had never seen before. Definitely a USR surveillance vehicle, Reed guessed. He had been cut loose just two days ago and they were already tailing him. In his own mind he could have given them credit if they held their wad long enough to make him feel more at ease. But, the USR was all about control, so even him seeing the car could be their way of saying, “We’ve got you now.”

  He turned the corner at the first crosswalk. There was an urge to look back over his shoulder to see if the car would follow, but he fought it. He didn’t want whoever was in the car to know he was on to them. It was far better right now to play it cool. He did, however, pick up his pace a little. It was subconscious. He didn’t even realize that he was walking faster than normal. The whole time he walked, he thought about how much the USR knew about his activities late at night. What he did after hours was obviously suspicious, but he and his crew were not stupid, either. They used code words for everything they discussed, so as not to draw suspicion from the numerous bugged devices that were planted all over the city.

  Still, his going in to be questioned was expected, and they had planned on at least one member of the team to have to answer for what they did after work. Reed reasoned that he gave off some pretty good bullshit, but if there was ever a time to not be careless, it was now.

  It only took a few minutes with his brisk pace to arrive at the old warehouse where he met with his buddies. He pulled out a key from his pocket, looked from side to side to ensure nobody saw him, and then unlocked the door. Inside, the large, empty room was already lit. The others had arrived before him. Reed was ordered to work an extra two hours on his shift. In no position to say otherwise, he accepted.

  There was a sense of urgency like few times he felt before when they ordered him to do so. He hoped that the others realized the severity of discretion, which had already been instilled upon them. But, with him being gone for two hours, he didn’t know what kind of shit would come from his crew’s mouths, this being their first meeting after he was called in. Reed thought about not meeting for a few weeks, but that would only tip off the USR that they were doing something illegal. To just act natural was the best COA.

  The only object inside the vast room was a long, wooden table with five chairs around it. The sixth, and last one, at the head, was empty. Reed moved quick to the table. The others stopped whatever small talk they were engaged in as their leader moved in. Reed nodded his head towards the crew before taking off his black jacket and hanging it against the back of his chair. Out of his pants pocket, he pulled out a pack of playing cards.

  Everyone in the room had their own codenames. The short, African American middle aged man to Reed’s right was Sugar. The skinny, young white male next him was Pinkie. Next to Pinkie sat Dopey, a slightly overweight Latino. On the other side at the far end was Pepper, another African-American male of about average height and build. In the middle was X, a bulky leftover and former member of a Latino street gang. X went straight just before the USR takeover. Finally, next to Reed on the left was Mr. Smith, a white male barely eighteen, whose parents died of mysterious causes when he was young, therefore leading him to the USR camps. Reed’s codename was Bossman.

  There was one other member of the team who was never spoken to by the others ever since they banded together. His codename was Statue, a hulking man who stood near six foot ten, and was almost too tall to work in the factory. They all had a strict no contact rule when it came to Statue. The only one who made contact with him was Reed. Those times were few and far between, as well.

  “You bitches ready to get your asses kicked?” Reed asked aloud once he started to shuffle the cards.

  The playing cards were X’s idea. Instead of a standard deck of fifty-two cards, it contained sixty-eight. Each card had a special coded meaning to it that only they knew. Everyone in the group was responsible, once they first started to meet, to learn the different meanings before they could proceed.

   Each night that they met, they would play a mock game of Texas Hold’em, but with each hand, they were in actuality passing out coded messages. Even if the USR had installed cameras, they would have no way of knowing what was really going on. And, even if they did, they would have no way of knowing what messages were being sent. Each man took a code of silence before acceptance as a counter measure. If they were caught, they were to not give out the code under any circumstance. Reed knew all along that when torture was administered, one of them could and likely would break, but this was their only way of communicating with one another. It was a risk worth taking.

  The whole operation got started after Reed started to talk with X. Reed was always curious as to how life was before the USR. At the height of the USR takeover, Reed was merely a boy, and he didn’t fully understand what was going on. All he knew was that there were more soldiers everywhere and that his parents were told what to do, where to work, and how much they were to be paid. They were forced out of their home and into a smaller apartment. A government official assumed control of all their assets leaving his family with nothing.

  X talked about how great it was when there were freedoms. That he had his freedom taken away once when he was arrested for gang activity. The feeling of being locked up in a cage forced him to go straight once he got out. X used his street smarts and started his own small business dealing arms, only legitimately this time. That business, and everything he acquired through it, was of course taken away. The leftover then convinced Reed that, in their line of work, they could aid those who wished to bring the USR down.

  Reed dealt out the cards. Once everyone had a five card hand, he carefully placed three cards in the middle. Bossman used a trick that X had taught him a while back. That trick allowed Reed to lay down in the center the hand that he wanted to be dealt. At the center of the table, a three card combination was flipped over.

  Any problems shipment?

   

  .08

  The ride to the next complex in the eight wheeled assault vehicle was uncomfortable, per the usual. The rebels were forced to take to the back roads, and more often didn’t even use roads at all, to get from destination to destination to avoid detection. The terrain underneath the vehicle’s massive wheels jarred the ride up and down. Kaspar, seated on a bench across from Krys, tried to get comfortable, but finally gave up. It was just the two of them in the back. Harvey was driving with Buck in the front seat. The other vehicle, which carried their tents, medical supplies, and weapons was taking the lead in front. There would be no sleep on this ride, and not just because of the bumps, either. He was worried about Krys, still. Every time he attempted sleep, he would have some nightmare where he lost her somewhere.

  As he looked at her, she kept moving her eyes from left to right, then back at Kaspar. Even though they were together, Krys still felt a sense of unease when he would stare at her. It was nothing personal, she just didn’t like it. Kaspar felt it hard to not look at her, though. She was a beautiful woman, but his glances now were not of attraction, though it was still there, but of concern.

  “Would you quit that?” Krys demanded.

  “You feeling okay?” Kaspar wondered in response.

  “I’m fine.”

  “For now.”

  Krys leaned forward, “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, those…look, your body has its limits. You could pass out in the middle of a firefight. Then what?”

  “You can be a complete ass sometimes, Ryan.”

  Krys folded her arms across her chest and leaned backwards to rest her back against the side of the vehicle. Kaspar did the same. They both moved their glances towards the back, staring at the brown earth the heavy tires dug into. It seemed that when faced with imminent death, Krys had also come down with a case of bipolar disorder. Kaspar could never understand how his trying to make sure she was feeling okay could
piss her off as bad as it did. The more he thought about it, the more he brought himself to understand. These were her final moments, not his. It was up to her on how to spend them. If she wanted to spend them lying in some cot, waiting to die, or fighting for what she believed in, it was her choice.

  “Hey,” Kaspar said, breaking the silence between the two.

  “What?”

  “It’s just, I’m sorry, okay? I’m just worried about you…these spells you go under…this whole Goddamn war. I just want to be with you. You want to run away somewhere?”

  Krys grinned. “Turning chicken shit?”

  Kaspar smiled back. “Maybe…we could go someplace nice. Use our stolen credits on a vacation.”

  “We could go to the beach, live out the rest of our lives in style. I could see the ocean again.”

  “That’s right…”

  Krys started to laugh. “You could get a tan on that white skin of yours!”

  Kaspar returned with a laugh. “We’ll have to be careful, though, this white skin will turn red real fast. It would be great, though.”

  There was another moment of silence. In the silence, Kaspar imagined what it would be like to be on some beach somewhere with her. He imagined her in a bathing suit and how beautiful she would look in one. In the vision, they sat in the same folding lounge chair, the end of the chair just in front of the surf from the beach. Kaspar was on the bottom, with Krys lying on top. He moved his hands up and down her lesion free body and the two just sat, listening to the sound of the waves coming in. He felt the warmth of the sun against his skin, he could sense the smell and taste of the salt from the ocean blue. It was all too perfect…

  “Yeah…it would.” Krys said before she leaned back and a single tear rolled down her cheek. “We just can’t.”

  Kaspar’s heart sank. “I know…we have to keep fighting.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been an insufferable bitch to you. I love you and I shouldn’t treat you like that. This whole dying thing just kind of messes with me, you know?”

  “I know,” Kaspar replied. “But, you’re not going to die. Not yet.”