by Dan McNeill
Chapter 6
Raymond didn't question it further. He just flew. After three years of fighting through days filled up with carefully planned moments, he just flew. Flew into the unknowable unknowing of it all.
Flew into the loud helicopter whumps coming from somewhere high above. The whumps masked other sounds. Growling dogs. Alarms. Screams. Cries. Raymond tried to shut them all out as he rolled to his feet and followed Salome through the surrounding forest. She seemed to know where she was going.
The train they had jumped from was pulling into a station about 100 feet past what looked to be an old two-story gathering hall. Smoke still drifted from the locomotive's engines. Tall street lamps lit up the parking lot and the front of the building. It was an old VFW hall. Raymond could spot the faded outline of the letters above the double glass doors and blacked out neon beer sign marking the hall’s entrance. But the beer sign was about the only light not burning. This building was far from abandoned. Through its dimly lit windows, Raymond could see faceless shadows cloaked in white moving with purpose.
Just past the building, a paved walkway sloped upwards, towards the track where the old freight train had stopped. Several men were busily pushing hand trucks stacked with crates, loading them onto the empty cars. He couldn’t tell from this position, but by their bulging muscles, Raymond guessed these fellows to be Triz. Like Po.
Looking back at the adjoining island, he could see more lights. A towering brick chimney billowed smoke somewhere near the small island’s center. The top of a massive dam served as a bridge which led from a brick path near the VFW hall over to the island. Erected over the start of the bridge hung a darkened sign, which faced the tracks. It looked to be freshly painted.
Another train was approaching on a parallel track. It began to slow as it came to the old VFW hall. As it did, a barrage of halogen lights - which looked to have been borrowed from a high school football team’s night game crew – suddenly flashed on.
The lights cast the area in strange shadows. From the hall, the robed attendants emerged, moving with purpose towards the approaching train. Accompanied by armed drones, their scurried movements made the large sign hanging over the entry to the camp seem to flicker.
Squinting, Raymond could make out the words.
Purgatory Camp Glory
Cleanse Your Sins. For Losing You Now is No Loss to God.
“C’mere!” Salome said. “The other train’s coming.”
Raymond followed her to a line of trees about twenty yards from the dam. Close to the sign, Raymond could see barbed wire fencing and a guard's station blocking the way forward across the top of the dam. The dam seemed even bigger from here. At the other side of the dam, Raymond could spot a smaller bridge leading down to the island.
“Get down and stay quiet," Salome whispered. Crouching low, she ran over to a stack of empty pallets piled close to the tracks. Looking around, she signaled for Raymond to follow her. "You're gonna see some things here," she said as Raymond crouched next to her. "Things you're not going to want to believe are real.”
They stayed hidden behind the empty pallets. The ground was dry and gravely. The wind whipped up the dust and Raymond looked out in horror. Drones with rifles raised approached the second train, unloading the cars and leading the disheveled passengers to the brick road that led to the island. All Triz.
“How the hell can they fucking do this?” Raymond said, his voice cracking.
"They?" Salome shot back defiantly. "Ain't no they. It's us hombre. We let them do this. Not the Prophet of course, but damned near everyone else. The Chosen say they're rounding up the Triz to protect them. To study them. To see why they lived. It's all bullshit, of course."
"What happens to them once they're inside?" Raymond said coldly. The line of people exiting the trains seemed to be unending.
“Once inside, they’re divided. Divided into three groups. If you’re big and strong like your brother, you go to drone processing. If you ain’t so strong, but you look like you got a few years left in you, then they take you to the Mess Hall. That’s mule training."
“What’s the third place?”
Salome paused, rising to her feet when the guards near the train were finished unloading the prisoners. "The third place is something I don't even talk about.”
Raymond nodded, letting it go. “So what’s the plan?”
“Plan?” Salome replied, raising her eyebrows. "Duck!"
"What?" Raymond blurted out.
Salome didn't have time to explain. Kicking out Raymond's legs, she tripped him to the ground, pulled a revolver from her side pocket and fired two shots.
Rolling to his side, Raymond got up to see two Chosen guards lying dead near the tracks.
"Here's our plan handsome," she said, running up to the fallen guards. Quickly, she pulled the robes off of the smaller guard and draped them over her clothes. She pulled the white helmet off of the guard's head and put it on.
"Well don't just stand there handsome," she barked from behind the helmet's tinted visor. "Get dressed!"
Raymond quickly did as she said, following her out towards the bridge where the prisoners were being marched.
There were more guards here, supplemented now by drones. Raymond looked around at the other guards as they moved deeper into the camp, trying to match their gait and pace. The flurry of activity kept him off balance. The chaos.
Everything seemed to be moving maddeningly fast. The snap of a whip crack startled Raymond to attention. He slipped his hand under his robe to make sure Remmy was still there. Slowly, he turned to see an obese Chosen guard cursing a young man with Down syndrome. The young man had black curly hair and had turned into even more of an ox than Po.
"Stop holding up the line, mule!" the man barked. Shoving him aside, the fat guard screamed more unpleasantries at the other scared souls marching forward. The young man with black curly hair started to cry.
But there were more than Triz here. Scattered packs of survivors just like Raymond were being herded through the gates. Men were separated from women. The few elderly in the crowds were chased like cattle. Children, what few there were, seemed to be an especially important prize. Chosen guards, their white robes dirtied at the seams with a mixture of mud and humanity, pulled them from the masses personally.
Salome and Raymond paused, waiting for a gap in the herds and then ran fast to what looked to be a line of dorms. Angel-armored drones criss-crossed the yard, the red focusing lights from their helmets moving methodically back and forth as they scanned.
“We gotta move fast,” Salome said. “Follow me.”
Raymond nodded, following Salome quickly to the side of a dark building. Salome pushed Raymond behind a wall of carefully stacked metal barrels and peeked around the corner of the building.
Some of the Triz, the older ones mostly, were being separated from the others. A Chosen woman was supervising the process. Dressed in a long black gown, a dirty white scarf covered part of her face. She reminded Raymond of his kindergarten teacher Mrs. Pavlov. The one who used to pronounce his name Be-An, even after he corrected her. A fat old hag with a hair lip who got off on showing she was in charge. She was probably the reason Raymond hated school so much.
The woman in the black gown was making marks on a clipboard as she glared at the older Triz with fake, condescending smiles. Whatever she was saying to them, it was a lie.
But now the smile seemed real. It stretched golden between her wrinkled cheeks, as she motioned for the old Triz to climb onto a bus. It was a school bus. Raymond looked at it. Something about it wasn't right. As the old woman ushered the last of the group onto the bus, Raymond figured it out. There were no rear wheels on the bus. The back of the bus was held up by cinder blocks. The old lady fastened the door shut with a chain and flipped a switch attached to a light pole. A motor started and the inside of the bus began filling with smoke.
"That's number three," Salome sa
id faintly. "But no time for tears Ray," she said. "Not now that we're so close." Wiping her eyes, she dashed towards a dumpster adjacent to a long building that looked like something post-industrial. It stunk like methane and oil. Glancing up, Raymond could see the smoke belching chimney he spotted earlier. Crouching behind the dumpster, she waited for the last of the prisoners to be marched inside.
With a pair of channel locks she pulled from her bag, she busted a lock on a service door and pushed her way in. Quickly looking around, she bolted up a flight of wooden stairs. Raymond followed, Stopping when they got to a junction in a sterile hallway, she glanced both ways before continuing up to the next level. Raymond followed her to an area that looked like a mechanic's garage. The smell of grease was heavy. From somewhere nearby, he could hear the rhythmic machinations of some type of assembly line. Salome motioned for Raymond to stay back while she ran ahead, glancing out at an open room around the other end of the hallway before giving him the signal to join her.
Raymond made it to Salome, finding her crouched down behind what looked to be a canoe-sized log, the insides of which were hollowed out, revealing a narrow padded bench. Made out of hard plastic or fiber glass, the log was obviously artificial. Men in white robes and black skullcaps walked by in both directions. A trio of drones, their armor clanging as they marched, moved past them with singular purpose.
Beyond the hallway was an entrance to another facility. Red carpeting led into a darkened area. When the drones had passed, Salome ducked and ran across the hall and into the room.
Entering the front of the facility, Raymond realized that this was more than just another room. It was the entrance to an exhibit. No, Raymond thought to himself. Of course. This was a ride.
Salome led them past a set of saloon-style swinging screen doors that looked like they once marked the way to the start of this ride’s line queue. They moved underneath the metal railings that twisted around a cement maze, coming to a wide open foyer.
"Detention wing's just past here. If we're quiet, we'll get there unnoticed." Passing through the queue, she pointed to a circular launching pad, surrounded by a mote-like trench.
"Were you ever here?" Salome asked, stepping into the dried out mote.
"No," Raymond said, following Salome. "Why would I have been?"
"Before they turned this island into a National Guard armory, it used to be a water park. They actually kept this ride open for awhile to entertain the families."
"How do you know so much?"
"Jake, he knows everything. Used to be in the Marines. The Prophet had plans for this place."
Salome turned on a flashlight as she walked swiftly into a dark tunnel. It looked like this was supposed to be some sort of Colonial American themed adventure ride. And while the log boats that once sailed by were long gone, the faux villages were not. It reminded Raymond a little of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride he rode on when they visited Disneyland back when he was a kid. Except, in this case, instead of scenes of marauding pirates and dancing bar-maids, there were scenes of Minutemen and Betsy Ross and some guy who looked like a garden gnome guarding General George Washington’s boat. Upon closer inspection, Raymond corrected himself. It was a garden gnome.
“Stop gawking handsome!" Salome whispered. "This way!" As they continued along the boat track, they came upon a British fort. A couple of mannequins dressed as Red Coats lied on their side guarding the entrance, muskets still in their hands. A Union Jack hung from a flagpole next to the set of plastic log doors the soldiers were once tasked to guard. With a mock salute, Salome stepped over the guards and entered the fort.
Behind the log doors and the wilted British flag there was just moldy drywall and a narrow hallway leading to an exit sign hanging above a black door with a push bar. “The detention wing's on the other side,” Salome said. “If your brother's still alive, he’s in here.”
Salome ran to the door and stopped. Reaching to her side, she removed a slim device that looked like an old smart phone. It was pink and had hung from a holster tucked under her pants. Raymond hadn't noticed that back on the train. She raised the device up, holding it like it were a gun in her right hand; with her left, she signaled for Raymond to keep quiet. Raymond quietly raised Remmy. With a gentle shushing sound, Salome lowered her hand to the push-bar on the door and opened it.
Three drones patrolling the far end of the hallway took notice, swung around and immediately opened fire.
"Shit!" Salome screamed. She flipped back around to try and reopen the door but it was locked shut. "Get down!" Salome rolled to a crawl, leaping behind an admin's desk as drone fire ripped just over her shoulder.
Raymond didn't wait for any orders. Parking himself behind a gurney with dark-stained sheets he opened fire.
By the time he pulled the trigger and let Remmy rage, the drones had figured out their gameplan and the shot went wide right. They appeared to be working together. Much more than a human team. They were fighting and defending as one unit.
The two drones in front paused for less than a second, simultaneously switching weapons. With their angel wings fully raised, they started running up the hallway, machine guns blazing with a strafing fire aimed low at the sides of the hallway. They weren't trying to kill them. They were trying to flush them out.
Their mistake. As the bullets ripped, Raymond aimed left and fired. Swinging right, he fired again and both drones were down.
He was about to take out the third when it began to speak...
“STAY WHERE YOU ARE WAYMOND!”
Raymond dropped his rifle and froze.
“NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS OR YOU WILL BE KILLED WAYMOND!” the voice commanded.
This was Po.
“NOOOO!” With every rage he held against their dad for causing this, Raymond jumped, not even knowing why exactly, hurling herself towards Po with all of his strength.
Before Raymond could connect, the not-Po pivoted, much quicker than Raymond would have thought possible, and fired.
The bullets grazed Raymond’s arm, enough to sting like a scratch on a sunburn but no deeper. Hitting the hard linoleum floor, Raymond rolled behind another gurney and sat up.
Salome was also in motion, leaping behind the counter of a reception desk at the center of the hallway. She looked up at the ceiling, at a solid black device about the size of a cigar box with dual silver antennas sticking down. Jumping up on the counter, she reached up and tore the box down.
For a moment, Po stopped. Salome jumped down off the counter, looking scared but ready. Raymond felt that she’d been in situations like this before. Probably many times before.
"Come to me!" Salome yelled. "Taking out the network relay's only gonna stop him for a few seconds!"
Raymond got up and ran towards Salome's voice as Po came back to life. He grabbed Raymond firmly by the neck and hurled him back against the wall.
"You will soon join Po, Waymond," the creature yelled. Through the helmet, the voice sounded like Po was playing with Abraham's old synthesizer. He reloaded his weapon and raised it.
"You will join Po or Waymond will die."
Raymond made no effort to move. All he could do now was bury his face in his hands and cry. With his gun still raised, Po lumbered towards him, his boots banging off of the linoleum tiles.
Salome was looking at Raymond too, mouthing some words he couldn’t understand. With Po just feet away, Salome raised up her slim pink smart-phone-looking gun like she were going to take Po's picture.
“No! That’s my brother!” Raymond yelled.
“Not anymore.” Salome gritted her teeth and fired.
Raymond turned towards the rampaging Po and jumped, hoping to block the shot.
As he flew through the air, he had a momentary recollection of his earliest memory of his older brother. They were at a beach in Ohio visiting their Aunt Audrey. Raymond couldn’t have been more than four or five. Po was maybe seven. Some older boys, prob
ably having sensed that Raymond was deathly afraid of water, were pushing him towards it. About neck deep into the lake, he remembered hearing someone screaming incoherently, causing the boys to bolt. Raymond turned to see his older brother, a red blanket tucked behind the back of his shirt so that it flew behind him like a cape. His little arms were outstretched long, running as fast as he could. “Po save you Waymond!” It was his Superman. His hero.
Raymond hit the ground hard, bursting the memory, and quite possibly his shoulder blade. As he did, he looked up to see a surge of blue electrical charge hitting Po square on the chest. He kicked slightly, whimpered, and then was motionless. Raymond ran to him as tiny sparks enveloped the metal armor like synapses on the brain. Underneath the armor, Raymond hoped he was still wearing his windbreaker. Po got cold without it. Within a few seconds the sparks slowed, then stopped. Raymond dropped down to his knees and began to cry.
Raymond had failed his hero again.
