by Drew Cordell
I kept up my speed, trying to limit my breathing. Even with the bandana, I was taking in large quantities of toxic air due to my physical exertion. As I continued to chase the man, I could no longer restrain myself and took large, full breaths. I’d be damned if I let him take Mary’s belongings.
I was gaining on the man now. He looked back for a split second, lost his footing, and flinched when I dove forward and tackled him to the ground. Without a second of hesitation, I reached back and punched him square in the face. The hit drove him to the ground, and I was able to reclaim Mary’s pack. He was gaunt, and the yellow tint of his skin identified him as an Exile. The man wore an expression that was a combination of shock, anger, and fear.
“Do not move, citizens!” a metallic voice commanded from behind me. I lowered the pack to the ground and raised my arms in the air. The Enforcers were here. I looked back and felt a strong blow to the side of my neck—the hooded man dared to punch me in the presence of Enforcers. Taken by surprise, I fell to the ground hard and raised my hands to protect my head.
Almost instantly an Enforcer was standing over the man and lifted him to his feet in an iron grasp. A flood of relief washed over me until I was lifted the same way, feeling an enormous force squeezing my wrist. Startled, I tried to explain the situation but was cut off by the third Enforcer. My bandana was torn from my face and my identity was confirmed.
“Citizens Jacob Ashton and Lewis Gale, you are both charged and found guilty of one count of public disturbance, one count of theft, and one count of public violence.”
“He sto …” I started to defend myself but was cut off by the unwavering Enforcer.
“As punishment for your crimes, you will each lose functionality of the hand used to strike the other citizen. The break of the wrist will be clean, and medication for pain will not be provided.”
The Enforcer holding the hooded man pulled his arm to the side and chopped down on his wrist with incredible force. There was a wretched snapping sound as the man’s wrist broke with cruel precision. The man’s hand flopped down at a terrible angle, and he cried out in pain. The Enforcer released him, and he fell to his knees, holding his arm close to his chest, tears cascading down his face. Panic was beginning to take over my body, but it was no use struggling against the hydraulic pumps which gave the Enforcers unmatchable strength.
“The break was clean,” an Enforcer reported to the one in charge after scanning the man’s wrist.
“He stole from me! I did nothing wrong!” I yelled at the calculating lead Enforcer. It was no use. There was no reasoning with them; they were ruthless robots run by millions of lines of code. The Enforcer that was holding me pulled my arm to the side, and I fought back tears. Panic had all but blanketed me into a state of disbelief. Was this really about to happen?
I felt an incredible crackling deep within my bones. Pain splintered up my arm and through my body in waves, and I looked over to see my hand flopped over backward, the skin around my broken wrist already turning a sickly purple. Still in shock, I stared at my wrist, dumbfounded. What had I done wrong? Suddenly, the grip on me released and the three Enforcers were standing over me. They scanned my injury.
“Sir, this break wasn’t clean. I’m seeing compound fractures,” the Enforcer said.
“No matter. We’re done here,” the leader said to the other.
“The consequences of your crimes are completed,” the lead Enforcer said. The flashing lights on the Enforcers turned off, and they walked away.
Mary ran up to the scene and raised her hands to her mouth when she saw my wrist. It must have looked horrible. Looking up at her, I felt the full force of the pain and vomited all over the street. After that, everything went dark.
3 FRIENDS
∆∆∆
My eyes slowly peeled open, and I was unsure where I was. It looked like my flat, but then again, so did every flat in the district. Thick goop blurred my vision, and I tried to raise my arm to wipe my eyes and was surprised to feel a sharp pain. Grimacing, I lowered my arm and rubbed my eyes with my left hand. I was in Mr. Barton’s flat, there was no doubt now. I heard the coffee pot bubbling and could smell Mr. Barton’s signature brew, the unique dark coffee with accents of orange and chocolate. I turned my head and saw Mary sitting on a chair looking at me with worried eyes. She got up and ran into the kitchen when she saw me stir.
“He’s awake!” she shouted.
Mr. Barton walked over and stood in front of me. “Jake, how are you feeling?”
“Terrible,” I said in a groggy voice.
“That I don’t doubt. Your wrist has a compound fracture,” he said as he appraised me.
“They said the break would be clean,” I croaked.
“I’m afraid it isn’t,” he said.
I grumbled under my breath and looked down at my wrist. It was wrapped in heavy medical cloth and not the cheap stuff. Mary stood to the side of him looking at me nervously, and I could see tears pooling in her eyes. Still, I didn’t understand how she had managed to get me here. I weighed at least fifty pounds more than her.
“I’m so sorry Jake,” she said, her voice wavering as the tears spilled down her cheeks.
I gave her a weak smile. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t going to let someone steal your things.”
She smiled back halfheartedly, and I could see she was suppressing more tears of guilt.
The light on the front door glowed red.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“It’s been over ten hours. I gave you something for the pain, and I imagine you’ll be needing another dose soon. I’m going to put dinner on for the three of us, then you can have more medicine,” Mr. Barton said.
“How did you get medicine? I can’t afford it,” I said, but he was already back in the kitchen. Mary was still staring at me.
“Did you get your stuff back?” I asked, turning to Mary.
“Yes. I’m so sorry. You did nothing wrong.”
I nodded and closed my eyes, drifting back into sleep despite the aching pain that was throbbing through my arm.
When I awoke again, Mr. Barton was handing me a large tray with a bowl of steaming potato soup and a large slice of bread with melted cheese. The three of us ate in silence, and I could only hope Mr. Barton didn’t disclose my undying crush for Mary when she had brought me here. I was content with the way things had been going and was so thankful for the time and memories I had with her. I was unable or unwilling to convince myself to take things further for fear of losing the person dearest to me. I knew what it was like to lose everything, and I never wanted to go through that again.
The food took away the edge of hunger. Mr. Barton brought over another ladle of potato soup and a thick slice of bread for me, which I gladly accepted. We enjoyed the meal, but it was evident that both Mary and Mr. Barton were concerned with my health.
After dinner, Mr. Barton brought over three steaming mugs of coffee and passed them out. Mary took her mug and eyed the drink with caution.
“I’ve never had coffee before,” she said, swirling the contents of the mug in slow circular motions.
Mr. Barton and I looked at her in shock, then smiled.
“It’s the best drink available, and Mr. Barton happens to be a brew master,” I said, mustering the energy for social conversation now that my stomach was comfortably full.
We drank the coffee in peace, enjoying each other’s company.
“Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Barton,” I said.
He nodded and gave me another dose of the liquid medicine, sending me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
4 DELUSIONS
∆∆∆
During the night my sleep turned feverish, and my dreams stormed with delusion. I awoke in a cold sweat only to see the light above the door still glowed red. Sweat beaded on the surface of my skin, and I suppressed a deep shiver. Shaking, I pulled on the large comforter that sat at the foot of the couch and tried to get warm. My body felt like it was covere
d in ice. I thought it best to let Edgar and Mary sleep. In my confusion, I shifted onto my side only to put my full weight on my wrist. I fainted from the pain and slipped into the coldest and longest night of my life.
When I woke up again, I had sweat through my clothes and could feel the heat of my body building up and burning. I threw the large blanket off and tried to get out of my shirt.
“Help,” I croaked. It wasn’t much at all; it was a weak and desperate attempt to wake Mary or Mr. Barton, but it was enough. Mr. Barton turned on the light and gasped when he saw me. Acting quickly, he gave me a cocktail of pills, had me sit up and stay awake, and made me strip down to my boxers and sit without a blanket. He had instructed Mary to remain in the other room; even in my delusional state, I didn’t want her to see me like this. Powerful shivering took over my body, and my teeth clattered together like bricks.
“What’s wrong with me?” I managed.
Mr. Barton walked over and unwrapped my bandage.
“Look away. I don’t want you to see this,” he instructed.
I did as he said and felt cold air rush over my wrist.
“Mother of God,” he murmured.
Unable to resist, I looked over and was horrified at the sight. My wrist was puffed out to three times its normal size and was purple in color. Besides that, thick yellow pus with streaks of blood leaked from pustules that had formed. The purple discoloration continued down my hand and up my forearm. The sight made me sick.
“Jake, your arm is infected. I’ll get you some medicine in the morning that will make you better.”
“I ca … I can’t afford anything.”
“Don’t worry about money. I can get it,” he said with grim determination.
Mr. Barton brought over a large basin of water and a washcloth. He cleaned my arm as gently as possible. After cleaning it, he re-wrapped my arm in fresh medical cloth and gave me a couple more pills with a glass of water. I drifted back into a sleep peppered with hallucinations and discomfort.
When I awoke again, Mary was approaching with a bowl of oatmeal.
“I’m not hungry,” I croaked.
“Mr. Barton says you have to eat it,” she said, her voice firm.
Not daring to fight her, I grumbled then accepted the bowl and got a few spoons of it down when Mr. Barton re-emerged with an unlabeled orange pill bottle.
“This medicine will help you, Jake,” he said as he uncapped the lid. He placed one blue pill in my bowl of oatmeal which I ate with some difficulty. Though my fever was down, I still felt weak and exhausted despite sleeping for almost twenty-four hours straight.
Things remained the same for the next three days. Throbbing pain, fever, and irrational thought plagued me. Mary and Mr. Barton took turns watching me, and the medicine Mr. Barton had acquired slowly staved back the infection in my arm, taking the swelling down and returning my arm’s coloration to something closer to normal.
Out of guilt or loyalty, Mary stayed over at Mr. Barton’s flat at night, unwilling to leave my side. Mr. Barton told me he could tell Mary really cared for me, which brought a smile to my face.
After he was satisfied that the infection was gone, Mr. Barton created a cast with thin slivers of steel and medical cloth. He coated the fabric in a thick wax-like material, and set it into a cast that was about the same as the expensive ones sold at the hospital. Though Mr. Barton wouldn’t hear of me repaying the cost of the medicine, I was sure I owed him over four units for my recovery. Without the medication, I would have lost my arm or my life. It was such a humbling experience to have people around me like Mary and Mr. Barton. They saved me in my time of need, and that wasn’t something I would forget anytime soon.
5 CATCH-22
∆∆∆
The pain was improving drastically, and the cast did wonders to keep my arm in place while the bones healed. Mr. Barton was confident my wrist would heal correctly if I left my arm in the cast for a couple of months. After a remarkable recovery, I returned to living in my flat.
The sight of the Enforcers patrolling the streets now made my stomach drop and brought back the lingering fear of another severe injury. They had snapped my wrist like a toothpick, without emotion, as if it was as simple of a task as walking.
Deciding it was best to catch up on my sleep and relax, I sat on my couch and grabbed the book I had purchased from the merchant instead of watching TV. I sealed the room to my flat behind me and put on a kettle of tea, struggling to use my fingers in the bulky cast.
I was relieved that the strain of my running had not caused the frayed spine of the book to fall apart; had that happened the pages could have been seriously damaged. The cover looked like it had sustained heavy wear in its lifetime, but the cardboard had served its purpose in protecting the manuscript. The paper didn’t look synthetic, but it was also so mottled that if it were real paper, it wouldn’t be worth much. The page with the year of print said 1991; it had to be a typo. Books that old didn’t exist.
History taught us there had been a great flood in 2039 that had wiped out New York completely. Survivors rebuilt the country into what it is today, but almost everything, including all books printed before 2039, had been destroyed or sucked into the toxic Atlantic Ocean. The book in my hands suggested one of three things: the print date was a typo and it was supposed to read 2091, the book was as old as it claimed to be and had somehow survived the Great Flood, or there was never a Great Flood of 2039. The third thought was dangerous—worse than incorrect. It was the kind of thinking that got someone sent to the Sculptors.
A wave of fear rippled through my mind as a realization dawned. The book could be potentially treasonous. I could have Edgar test it before I read it, but I had paid for the book and didn’t have anything else to do if I decided not to read it. I felt something else as well, a deep thirst for knowledge. Perhaps the book could help me improve my thought output and lead to my own Paragon Thought. Unless the book included history and dates that precluded 2039, I would assume it to just be a simple typo. Deciding to learn the book’s secrets, I turned the page and started reading:
“An Inquiry into the understanding, pleasant and useful. Since it is the understanding that sets man above the rest of sensible beings, and gives him all the advantage and dominion which he has over them; it is certainly a subject, even for its nobleness, worth our labour to inquire into. The understanding, like the eye, whilst it makes us see and perceive all other things, takes no notice of itself; and it requires art and pains to set it at a distance and make it its own object. But whatever be the difficulties that lie in the way of this inquiry; whatever it be that keeps us so much in the dark to ourselves; sure I am that all the light we can let in upon our minds, all the acquaintance we can make with our own understandings, will not only be very pleasant, but bring us great advantage, in directing our thoughts in the search of other things.”
I paused after the first paragraph. This was no ordinary book; the first paragraph alone told me more about Absolute Knowledge than anything I had ever known. While it made no mention of Absolute Knowledge itself, it was clearly a book about the project, perhaps even in its earliest stages of development.
I continued for a few pages:
“Our business here is not to know all things, but those which concern our conduct. If we can find out those measures, whereby a rational creature, put in that state in which man is in this world, may and ought to govern his opinions, and actions depending thereon, we need not to be troubled that some other things escape our knowledge.”
Something was wrong with this book. Panic shot through my body like venom and my heart pounded in my chest. My mind was telling me to stop reading before it was too late. This book was a book of treason. Still, was there truth to this? I had only read through a couple of pages, but was it too late to turn back? Was the damage already done? I knew I should stop reading, but I wanted nothing more than to see if there was any truth to the words. Pressing on, I was intent on finishing what I had started. I co
uld destroy the evidence when I was done.
Three hours later I finished the book with more questions than answers, hungry for more but full of fear. It was impossible to tell when the book was actually written based on the text, but it was peppered with incorrect words. A long length of the book talked about God in relation to man. God was referenced as a person. Mr. Barton made frequent references to God or Gods, and I simply understood it to be another incorrect word in his expansive criminal vocabulary.
When I closed the cover of the book and slid it under my couch, I noticed my hands were shaking. I knew I needed to go to Mr. Barton for help, for advice. I dreaded it knowing he wouldn’t take it well. He would know I knew better than to keep reading after spotting a single incorrect word.
Despite my fears, I stayed awake and re-read the entire book to get a better understanding. It was satisfying to get such an interesting perspective on ideas. The author’s writing was rather difficult to break down and understand at certain points because I was unfamiliar with many of the terms mentioned in the book. It was also the first time I had ever seen thoughts compared to infinity. Before reading the book, I only thought infinity to exist within the confines of mathematics. Infinity was a complex idea, and after reading the book about what it had to do with thoughts, both simple and complex, I didn’t understand anything more about it than before. If the author’s words were truth, I now knew more about the formation of ideas than ever before, and perhaps I would be able to increase my thought output.
Even if I could increase my thought output, it wouldn’t make a shred of difference if I was sent off to the Sculptors for knowing and understanding treasonous words. No matter how I looked at it, I knew I needed to consult Mr. Barton. Teaching classes for a living was out of the question, and I didn’t want to sink to the level of becoming a criminal. Until I got this sorted out, I wouldn’t be able to visit a Collection Parlor, wouldn’t have an income, and wouldn’t have any vouchers for drinking water or to purchase basic food. In other words, I was screwed. Cursing, I realized seeking Mr. Barton’s help was my only option. I wouldn't dare put the financial burden on Mary and rely on her kind nature. It felt terrible to need Mr. Barton’s help and put him in another problematic situation right after he had saved my life and incurred huge expenses I wouldn’t be able to repay any time soon.
