by Ken Barrett
“Huh,” Rose answered. “If you’re right, maybe they’ll be more careful with us.”
“I doubt it,” Liam answered. “They’ve dehumanized us, so we’re just a commodity. If most of us survive, that’s probably good enough for them.”
“They say they’re going to move us south to Pike City,” Roxi said. “I wonder how much longer they’ll keep us here?”
“Hopefully for at least a few more days,” Keith replied. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t enough trucks to carry us all. My guess is that they’re gonna make us walk.”
“Walk?” Bob leaned forward. “It’s more than 160 kilometers to Pike City; we’ll never make it.”
“The strong will, but the weak won’t,” Keith stated. “That’s why I hope it’s gonna be a few more days. We need more time so those who are sick can get better.”
“They said they want workers,” Denise said. “The long walk will weed out those that aren’t fit for the jobs the Socialists need us to do.”
“Slaves,” Roxi muttered. “The reality is that they want slaves. Workers have value and worth. Slaves don’t, they’re not people at all, just disposable tools.”
“Well shit,” Bob replied.
“What about the children?” Denise asked as she gazed at the little ones huddled around them, but no one had an answer.
“The walk will give some of us a chance to escape,” Keith suggested. “Maybe we can sneak some of the kids out then.”
“Maybe,” Bob muttered. “We’d have better odds if the Tribes attacked.”
“I don’t think we can count on that,” Keith replied. “The Tribes have no real structure, they’re just a bunch of independent groups.” He shrugged. “You know, if they ever manage to beat the Socialists, they’ll probably start fightin’ among themselves.”
*****
“EVERYONE OUT OF YOUR TENTS!” an ear shattering amplified voice commanded. “ASSEMBLE AT THE CENTER OF THE ENCLOSURE!”
Bob crawled to the tent entrance and peeked outside. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Shaddup and get outside!” an angry voice commanded.
“I hope they ain’t taking the tents back,” Keith said as he held the entrance open for the others.
Bob pulled them together once they were outside. “Looks like they’re checking identities,” he whispered. “They’re probably trying to find those of us that worked for the Tribes at the university. We should all use fake names.”
“I just taught history,” Rose complained. “So they’re not looking for me.”
“That don’t matter,” Keith said. “Anybody that worked at the college will be suspected of being aligned with the Tribes, and that might get you killed. So, just pretend to be a useful idiot and don’t attract attention.”
“But any fake names we make up won’t be on their list,” Rose stated.
“That probably won’t matter either,” Keith responded. “They’ll figure it’s a book keeping error. I’ve been told the Socialists do a pretty shitty job of record keeping, so they’ll believe it when the same thing happens here.” He thought a moment. “If there’s a problem, tell ‘em that you just got to Flatiron City and are brand-new citizens, then say that’s why your name ain’t in the records.”
“Yeah, that should work,” Liam said. “But if Rose and I say we’re from Fort Collins that might be suspicious.”
Roxi nodded. “They probably won’t ask, but if they do, tell them that you’re from Loveland.”
They lined up with everyone else at the back of the pen. Liam saw that several desks were set up near the enclosure entrance, each manned by an efficient looking clerk using a small computer. Behind the desks and overlooking the process were armed guards. Fear pounded in Liam’s ears as they drew closer to the head of the line. He let his eyes wander through the crowd of soldiers and accountants, and was relieved to see that Ron wasn’t there to identify him.
Bob was the first to reach the head of the line, and went to a far table when he was called. There weren’t many people in Flatiron with his dark complexion, and Liam worried that his father’s friend might be associated with Clare, who had been in the militia. He watched closely, hoping for the best, but also knowing that if the worst happened that there was nothing he could do about it. After about a minute Bob was approved and allowed to return to their tent.
In the meantime, Roxi had been called up to a different desk. She probably used the name of someone already within the army’s database, because the verification of her identity appeared to go smoothly. After a few minutes of questioning, she was released.
The line was moving quickly and Rose was called to yet a different desk, where she said her name was Sarah Jones. The administrator frowned as he studied his computer screen. Liam hoped that there already was a ‘Sarah Jones’ in the city database, and he waited breathlessly to see what would happen. A second clerk was called over to help, and the two men worked the keyboard and stared at the screen for what seemed an eternity. At last the men straightened up and shook their heads. “Fuckin’ civilians got shit for records,” he heard one of the men say, and then his sister was released.
Liam was called forward next, and he walked to the same desk and waited.
“Name?” the administrator asked.
“I’m Jack Jones,” Liam replied.
The administrator typed in his fictitious name, then scanned the data on the computer screen. “Shit, no record again,” the man said after a moment. “Are you related to that girl that was just here, Sarah Jones?”
“Yeah,” Liam nodded. “She’s my sister.”
“Oh ok, you’re clear then.” The clerk waved his hand dismissively.
Liam decided to take a gamble. “Who are you looking for?” He looked around, hoping to seem like he didn’t want to be overheard, then leaned forward and whispered, “Is there a reward?”
“Yeah, there’s a reward, you’ll get to ride on a truck all the way down to Pike City. We’re lookin’ for a guy named Liam Collins, you know him?”
Liam pursed his lips and looked down. “Shit. No, I’ve never heard of him. Guess I gotta walk then.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” the clerk answered. “Now get outta here.”
He frowned as he walked back toward their tent. The Socialists were looking for him, but why? Lucy was complete and had arrived exactly where Pike City wanted, so it had to be something else. It didn’t matter though; after what their army had done to his home, family, and friends, he wanted no part of anything they might have in mind.
*****
It was a cool early morning and the air felt invigorating. A few uneventful days had passed since the security check, and as a whole those in captivity were recovering from their earlier deprivation. Liam had taken three bowls of something that resembled oatmeal at the food station for himself, his sister, and Denise, and was on his way back to their tent.
“PACK UP YOUR STUFF!” an amplified voice ordered.
Liam shook his head in resignation and mumbled, “Well, shit!” It seemed that nothing good ever lasted; but then upon reflection he realized that nothing bad ever did either.
It took only moments to take down their tent, which fortunately was made of a lightweight material that folded up into a small backpack that Keith had volunteered to carry. Afterward, they watched as the fence around their enclosure was taken down; armed guards stood around the perimeter, ready to shoot anyone attempting to escape.
At last Major Johnson climbed up onto the back of one of the enormous flatbed military trucks. “Ok! Listen up!” he shouted. “We’re starting our walk south to Pike City today. Before you even think about it, there will be no escapes; if you even look like you’re trying to get away, the guards will shoot you. I’ve sent men ahead to prepare camps along our route, so at night your enclosure will be secure; again, there will be no escapes.”
“Our march south will take five days, and each day we will cover about 30 kilometers. There will be no brea
ks or stops to rest, and those of you that can’t keep up will be shot. You may carry each other if you wish, but again, if you walk too slow, you will die.
“There are about 2,500 of you starting out, and I don’t care if any of you make it all the way. Pike City needs strong workers, so consider this little stroll to be an aptitude test. If you live through it, you’ll succeed and do well in your new home; you’ll become a productive member of society and work for the good of our people. But only the worthiest among you will survive.”
The Major turned and pointed back toward Flatiron City. “Now watch what happens to those that defy Chancellor Margaret Williams.”
Missiles were simultaneously fired from the north, south, and east toward the city. With their impact a sudden blast of hot wind crashed into the crowd and the ground shuttered terribly, knocking some of the smaller children down. A nearly impenetrable cloud of dust rose from the destruction, thankfully blocking out much of their view.
“I don’t want to see this,” Denise uttered and pressed her face to Liam’s chest.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He felt lost as he watched the destruction of his adopted city. Flatiron had been more than a place of refuge, it was the home of his friends and family, and he knew that he would miss that connection more than anything else.
The city wall fell in sections like tumbling dominos, each collapsing in a rush of thunder and dust. The missile barrage continued without pause; buildings throughout the once gracious city exploded and fell. Fires grew among the ruins, and within minutes all that remained of their home was rubble.
“Ok then, that’s well done.” The Major turned back toward the crowd of prisoners. “You have nowhere to return to. Your past is gone, the only future you have is in the south with us.” The overweight dark-skinned man paused a moment, then nodded. “Ok, it’s time to go.”
Chapter 8: The Long Walk
Mother Nature provided a brutal day for their departure. By midday it was hot and humid with dark clouds gathering over the Rocky Mountains. Behind them lay the tumbled ruins of Flatiron; of all the hope that the last free city had once represented, only scattered rubble remained. Their lives there were over and their future seemed as bleak and barren as the blanched and broken tarmac they followed as they began their long walk south.
Crowded housing tracks had once stood at the edge of the road. However, during the long-ago State’s Wars they had all been burned to the ground. All that remained of those ancient neighborhoods were concrete foundations and the crumbling remains of masonry fireplaces.
At the head of the convoy, the Major sat with his officers under a pale green awning on the back deck of a massive flatbed truck. He talked and joked with those around him while enjoying cool beverages and laughing at the misery of the prisoners. It appeared they were making wagers regarding how many of the 2,500 remaining citizens would survive the long march to Pike City.
The line of shambling captives stretched for kilometers and was hemmed in by small military vehicles carrying heavily armed soldiers. Those men laughed and taunted the civilians by drinking bottles of water and harassing the women with threats of rape. The refugees didn’t talk much, for the most part all that could be heard were the whispering thump of countless footsteps across the cracked and degraded macadam.
At the rear of their group was the most frightening aspect of all; a huge armored vehicle lumbered along at a constant five kilometer-per-hour speed. Anyone that fell behind was first shot by the soldiers that rode on its hood, and then crushed beneath its wheels. Behind that transport, more military trucks followed in a long line.
The children of Flatiron had not been allowed to ride with the military, so the adults took turns carrying them. It was hard but necessary duty; to refuse the care of the innocent for the sake of themselves was to lose one’s soul. But the sick and elderly were too big and heavy to be carried and they struggled to keep up; before midday Liam saw several of them shot dead. It hurt and angered him to witness such atrocities, but there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.
All of the convoy vehicles were nearly empty, especially the massive flatbed trucks, so there was ample room for both the young and old to ride. Very soon it became apparent that the army was not engaged in transportation; instead the convoy was a mode of slow moving execution of the weak and infirm. Hatred among the refugees intensified, but the soldiers didn’t care and some actually appeared to relish it.
A thunderstorm rolled off the mountains in the mid-afternoon. Lightening whipped through the sky and arced downward striking the distant mountains and pummeling the nearby prairie hills. The deluge pounded the captives as they struggled to keep up the pace dictated by their captors. The torrent fell so fast that the drainage of the ancient road was overrun; in places Liam waded through ankle deep puddles the size of small lakes. His boots were soaked through, and his feet became a wet misery.
He trudged steadily through the storm carrying a frail blonde girl; at the height of the downpour he wrapped his duster coat around the child to shield her from the beating rain. The guards in a nearby covered vehicle all laughed. “God must hate you guys,” one of the men said.
Liam glanced at the man and smirked. “God is dead, haven’t you heard? The Crusades ended all that, no one believes in that shit anymore.”
The guard leaned back in his seat beside the driver with his rifle resting lazily in his lap. “Yeah, most folks are smart enough to not believe in the old jealous Gods these days, but I hear your friends up in the hills are praying to some new idol.”
“Really?” Liam was suddenly curious.
“Yeah, your buddies are bowing down to some new God called ‘The Stick Man’.”
Liam chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “The Stick Man? Yeah, that’s nuts.” He wondered if the guard was making the story up.
“Anyway, I thought you might know all about it since you guys were tight with the mountain savages.”
“Yeah well, I don’t have any friends in the mountains, and Flatiron was a neutral city,” Liam stated.
“Ain’t no such thing as neutral. If you ain’t for one side or the other, you’re an enemy to both.”
Ahead in the distance he saw a group of tall crumbling buildings that seemed on the verge of collapse. “What’s that?” he wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer.
“That’s all that’s left of Golden… I guess you don’t get out much huh?” The soldier snickered. “It was a city of casinos, where the ancients used to gamble.”
Liam grunted in response, then looked up thankfully as the pounding rain began to ease.
The young guard grinned. “Time never changes anything. We’re all placing bets on who will and won’t make it to Pike City. I’m gonna put a wager on you… what’s your name?”
“Jack Jones,” Liam answered, using the false name he used during the identity check.
One of the other soldiers was taking notes on a hand-held computer. “Ok Joe, I got it. Can’t give you much of a return though; this guy looks young and kinda strong.”
“Oh no, I ain’t betting that he’ll make it, my wager is that he won’t,” Joe replied.
“Ok! That’s different then.” The bookmaker smiled. “I’ll give you three to one if he don’t make it.”
The agreement was reached and Joe pressed his palm against the bookie’s computer screen and bet two days of food rations.
“I hope you don’t mind if I do my best to stay alive,” Liam said.
“Nah, I don’t mind. Do your best, that’s what makes it fun,” Joe replied.
The column was slowing ahead as military vehicles moved to the center and the prisoners were forced to walk at the edge of the road. “What’s going on up there?” Liam asked.
“The road takes us through old downtown Golden,” Joe replied. “The savages like to hide in the buildings and try to pick us off, so we make you guys walk to the outside and we take cover behind you.”
“You’re very brave,” Liam mumbled.
“Shaddup asshole, and move to the outside,” Joe said.
*****
Golden was haunted, or at least it should have been. The decrepit buildings, many of which were five or more stories high, seemed to lean over the main street through the heart of the abandoned city. Liam felt confined and glanced upward nervously, hoping that the towers would remain standing a while longer. It was nearly sundown, and shadows were quietly easing out from the dark spaces beneath the ruins to crouch at the edge of the road. Small animals moved among the rubble, disturbing pebbles and rocks here and there; the trickle of stony landslides had everyone on edge.
There was a sudden rapid rattle that sounded like an angry woodpecker working on the side of an old building; the abrupt burst ended just as quickly as it started. Their convoy ground to a halt; the railgun fire had destroyed the front of the lead truck, leaving it broken and partially blocking the way forward.
The army indiscriminately returned fire. Sounding like angry bees, their lasers vaporized parts of the structures around them. Sections of the old masonry edifices cracked and exploded under the sudden heat of the energy weapons. The ancient towers tilted drunkenly and threatened to collapse and block the street. Further ahead, the upper floor of a building crumbled and fell amid a raging cloud of dust; the world shook and the concussive sound knocked Liam and his companions to the ground.
The captives quickly took cover among the piles of boulders that lay at the edge of the road. Liam clutched the little girl he was carrying to his chest to protect her from the falling stones. A railgun roared from the opposite side of the street, killing many refugees before tearing into several of the smaller military vehicles. Again, the military fired back, and more of the ancient structures blew apart into a shower of stones. “Move, move, move!” the soldiers ordered, waving their weapons at the refugees threateningly.
“We gotta get out of here,” Keith said. He had hidden nearby and was covering the head of a young boy with his body. “If we stay here, we’ll die.”
