by Talis Jones
As if realizing that his purpose has digressed, he restores his original air of efficient authority and clears his throat. “Ms. Travers, I am here to offer you a deal. I work for Python, a neuro-tech corporation based in the Southern Coalition, and we have a project that we would very much like your help with. The gas released in the explosion of ZoiTech continues to affect people, like a virus, and we’re developing a vaccine.”
Disbelief almost has me laughing. “Twenty-five years and you still can’t work it out? Then it must be impossible.”
Van remains unmoved. “You’ve been locked up for twenty-seven years, Ms. Travers. And we’ve managed to develop short-term ones, yes, but nothing that has proven to be truly effective. People are suffering, Ms. Travers. Don’t laugh.”
I sober quickly. “My apologies, Van, but you can’t really expect a demon like me to care. So, what’s in it for me?”
His jaw clenches tight, tight enough to make my own ache, but with a controlled breath he lays out the deal. “You provide us with your expertise and intimate knowledge of the chemical that wreaks havoc on humanity, help us create a true and effective vaccine under the leadership of Python’s team, and we’ll arrange for the termination of your prison sentence.”
“You serious?” I can’t help but have a few qualms and reservations.
“You agree to help us and you’ll walk out of this prison by the end of the week,” he promises. “Of course, first you will reside on our campus working for us, but once the project is successful then you can leave and go wherever you choose. Do whatever you want. Be whoever you decide to be.”
It’s too good to be trusted, I know. But I’m so starved for the sky I don’t know that I care. Even so, I ask, “Who funds Python?”
“I’m sorry?” Clearly he expected me to jump on his offer, not question its foundations.
“I trusted ZoiTech once,” I explain simply. “And it was run by a monster accepting funding from fools. So, I want to know who exactly is funding Python? I want to know who exactly is going to be profiting from my help.”
Van’s head tilts in thoughtful scrutiny. “I thought you said you don’t care about the lives of innocents?”
“Who funds Python?” I repeat, unwavering.
A frustrated sigh through his nose hits the glass and his eyes dart towards Adi behind me. I simply wait.
Lowering his voice so I have to lean in to hear him he reveals, “Python is funded by a movement called Sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary?” I question and he glares at my volume though it’s not like I shouted.
“I’m only telling you this because we need your help. Badly,” he confesses. “And I believe you need our help just as much. This is not public knowledge and I’m taking a risk telling you at all especially with other ears who might hear nearby.”
“Not to mention the cameras,” I remind him bluntly.
His lips quirk up again. “Don’t worry about those.”
Before I can question what he means, Van resumes his discreet whispering. “Sanctuary is a movement in the unclaimed territory that has spread south, east, west, and even overseas. A movement seeking to restabilize and re-unionize the States as well as advocate for the freedom and protection of altered beings.”
I have no interest in their political agenda, and I don’t trust it anyway, but my attention is caught on the last bit. “Altered?”
“Those who didn’t die…most simply recovered or were asymptomatic while others…changed.” He glances cautiously towards Adi then focuses on my rapt attention. “Heightened senses, impossible abilities, increased strength…it varies from individual to individual, but it appears the change is somehow genetic and inheritable though unpredictable.”
Cold sweat breaks out along my skin. Xi had done it. He’d really done it. Maybe not how he’d planned, not as absolute or controlled, but he’d done it. Superhumans now walk among us.
“Tell me more about Sanctuary.” I decide to sidestep the ice bucket that he’d just dumped over my head.
Surprised by the direction of my request he nonetheless complies. “We have several communes where people work together - everyone with a task and everyone receives their share of the benefits. Small scale trials for the ultimate large-scale goal. With time, Sanctuary has managed to grow and now has agents working to find and protect altered beings, dismantle unjust governments, house those in need, revitalize the ravaged earth, and now we’re asking you to help us go further in our medical endeavors.” He nods firmly in conviction with his words. “We will restore ourselves into one nation, free and equal and just. Sanctuary will take our past mistakes and use them to craft a better future.”
I sit there, staring at this man at least a decade younger than I and wondering how often such beliefs and speeches have been spouted throughout time. Far too many to be funny anymore, I’d bet. I can see the fervor in his eyes and I remain unmoved. This Sanctuary sounds like a nonsensical attempt at a utopian society. Utopia is a bullshit idea. World peace is a bullshit idea. It is impossible and pointless to strive for.
Everyone wants something and unless it is the exact same thing done the exact same way, only conflict can breathe. To achieve one goal means to deprive someone else of another. You got that seat in Harvard and someone else didn’t. You won that scholarship and someone else didn’t. You won that election and someone else didn’t. You returned from war and someone else died in it. You aimed your weapon at your enemy and only one of you walked away: one dead but walking, the other free but gone.
No.
The closest we can ever get is a world of tolerance. And tolerance, despite the way it is so often slung around, is not accepting things. It is not conversion. Tolerance is agreeing to disagree. But humans will never be satisfied with tolerance. They want to be right. So, they will yell and rage and burn until they’ve slaughtered all that oppose them and call it peace. Until the world is but a mound of silent corpses with only one victor, one voice, standing atop it, there will never be world unity. So stop alienating people, labeling people, categorizing people, silencing people, controlling people, shoving your boot against another’s throat in the name of self-proclaimed righteous justice and deepening divides by trying to force people to accept and convert to your wants and wills because that will only further chaos and instability, it will push us farther from any foolish goal of world peace. Bullying for the “greater good” is still bullying.
These violent endeavors, whether in blood or loving oppression, will only succeed in creating a world not worth living in. A world filled with zombies, lemmings, parrots, unable to think freely, act freely, speak freely, and on that day God will come and we will feel such intense shame we need not the fires of Hell to punish us.
I once had such bright, pure dreams. Dreams to help humanity, dreams to help revolutionize medical care, dreams to have a life where I lived surrounded by friends and family, a life where I would always have food on my plate, prayers on my tongue, and hope for tomorrow.
I’d believed in ZoiTech, I’d believed in Dr. Xi, and I’d paid for it when sabotage hit the fan and the government needed someone to take the fall. I was seen not evacuating, but heading towards the source of the explosion. Me, the intern who received an unusual and sudden promotion, the attractive young woman who was seen spending an uncommon amount of time with Dr. Xi himself who rarely gave anyone the time of day, the bright young student who idolized the brilliant award-winning doctor, the prideful employee who was caught leaving Dr. Xi’s office angry and shaking, the girl who had become infatuated with the creator of ZoiTech and vowed to destroy everything when rejected by him. The facts twisted into lies and grew more exaggerated and sensational with every report and turn of the trial and I’d eventually stopped seeking them out.
Justice? Hope? Trust? Those are dreams I’d once enjoyed before being shaken awake by Dr. Xi’s betrayal, Jez’s sacrifice, and the people’s cry for blood whether innocent or guilty.
I scoff at myself for even no
w my cynicism wrestles with my stubborn ability to hope. My stupid faith won’t just let me die. Because what if, had I not been set up and sentenced to serve penance for a crime I did not commit, I died trying to survive in the wake of chaos? What if, by my being here in prison, I was protected for a time such as this? So that I could be here for this man to find me? So that I could help in this desperate fight to preserve the human race?
Regardless, all I know for certain is that I am desperate to see the sun set upon the horizon and rise again each day.
“Ms. Travers?” Van prods politely.
I want to see that angry sun that burns down on me thirty minutes a day be swallowed by the holy earth just to be spat back out in the morning, too angry to die. I don’t know that I trust Dr. Vanguard Mehen or Python or Sanctuary, but I do know that he’s offering me a chance at freedom from this prison and freedom from my guilt. I can finally do something again. He is offering me purpose and it’s that that nearly has me cry.
“My name is Morgan,” I begin. “When do I start?”
Approval with a touch of relief lights up his face. “Give us a few days to sort out the paperwork then a prison bus will transport you to a prison closer to the border of the Southern Coalition where I will have two Sanctuary agents meet you and escort you to Python’s campus.”
“And where’s that exactly?” I ask just out of curiosity.
He thinks a moment then says, “Carolina.”
It takes me a bit longer than I’d prefer to admit to dust off my mental map, but an image of sweet tea, roaring cicadas, and white front porches rises in my mind and I wonder if that’s right or confused with someplace else. Doesn’t matter, I’ll see for myself soon enough.
Soon.
A shiver of anticipation chases down my spine and I stand.
“Thank you, Van,” I smile not trying to hide the depth of my gratitude.
“I believe the thanks should be given to you,” he nods, standing as well. “You’re going to save the world, Morgan Travers.”
His words are fanciful flattery, but I don’t shoot them down. What he doesn’t say is that I’m the one who destroyed it in the first place. Adi comes over and grasps my upper arm, guiding me back towards my cell while giving me odd looks at the hopeful smile smeared across my face.
Thirteen
“Everybody on!” a guard barks. “Single file. Come on, come on, we have a schedule to keep!”
A rough shove knocks me forwards and I bang my shin against the step. Swallowing the sharp ache, I continue my way up onto the bus, awkwardly maneuvering in my chains. The others have their hands cuffed as well, but mine are attached by a long chain to a pair of cuffs around my ankles. I take the next empty seat along one of the long benches lining the bus’ sides and collapse onto it gratefully. Thoughts of leaving this place kept me up too late.
My neck twists as a familiar prickling sensation alerts my brain and I shake off my exhaustion to stare the pair of eyes into submission. He breaks the standoff, his eyes shifting towards the man seated next to him. Now they both watch me curiously.
I dismiss them rather than open any door for confrontation or talk. They’re just a couple of youths, barely worn into adulthood by the look of them.
A guard walks up and down the aisle, eyeing us sternly. When he stops in front of me he sneers and leans down to unlock the chain at my cuffs only to loop it around a bar in the bench seat and re-lock it to my wrists. No chance of an escape for me, not that I need it with Van’s offer already signed. He struts away, shouts some orders and threats about misbehaving, then slams the door shut to take his place up front with the driver.
Once the engine fires up and we sway with its uneven roll, I have to work to keep myself alert rather than give into the bus’ rumbling, rolling lullaby. I don’t try to keep track of how much time passes, but I guess hours. One by one the other prisoners get bored and decide to nap. I try not to dwell on my envy.
My eyes drink in the passing scenery blurring by, the sun firmly risen now, and I almost succumb to letting my eyes fall when a voice decides to break the silence, seizing my attention.
“What d’you do to earn all those extra chains?” It’s one of the young ones who’d been eyeing me earlier.
I lift my eyes slowly to meet his and I can see the temptation to quail though he fights it. “Sent us to Hell in a handbasket.”
He laughs until his friend suddenly elbows him sharply then they both sober, giving me a sharper look. The chatty one scratches at his wrist as if searching for something that isn’t there.
“You Gan?” the first guy asks after a moment.
“And you are…?”
He hesitates at the thought of sharing his name and I smirk. Turning away I hope for some peace to let my thoughts wander. It isn’t safe to doze, not with everyone knowing who I am and my being chained to my seat so I’ve no chance to defend myself should I need it.
“Win.”
I turn towards him, my brow pinched in surprise.
He gestures to the man beside him. “This is my cousin, Remi.” Remi nods though his fingers fidget nervously. They don’t look much alike besides a couple of shared features and matching heads of dark hair.
Ignoring their unexpected introduction, I ask, “You’re from the Southern Coalition?”
Win’s eyebrows shoot up. “How d’you know?”
“Your diction,” I decide to answer. “And that wild look in your eyes.”
He laughs, a bit of pride puffing up his chest. “Yep, got caught stealing across the border. R.A. has some cool tech and it sells nice on our side.” His fingers do that habitual reach towards his other wrist again before realizing it’s bare.
Leaning forwards, I lock my eyes on his and warn, “You shouldn’t be talking to me.”
“Oh yeah?” Win rises to the challenge though I hadn’t meant it to be one. “Says who?”
“Says everyone on this bus who’ll consider breaking your legs for being friendly to me.”
Remi’s fidgeting picks up in speed then suddenly stops. “No one tells us what to do,” he growls decisively.
Win nods in agreement. “We’re the Wild Cousins,” he crows, though not too loudly. “We do what we want and we handle ourselves just fine.”
I shrug. Far be it from me to tell another soul what they can or can’t do. We all have to die sometime.
“So, where ya headed?” Win asks nosily, determined to speak with me.
“I’ve been traded to the Coalition.” Not exactly a lie.
The man beside me lets out an involuntary hiss, eavesdropping on my words. Remi shudders in agreement. “Prison isn’t pretty in the S.C.”
“Prison isn’t pretty anywhere,” I retort.
“At least here there’s tech, entertainment, temperature-controlled buildings…” Win points out with a cringe. My eyes keep dropping, distracted, as his fingers play with some imaginary object at his wrist. A bracelet he lost, maybe? “You’re hardly young, Gan. First winter will probably take ya. Or the summer maybe. Temps get wild out there.”
Remi shakes his head. “Look into her eyes, cuz. She’s not going anywhere that easy.”
I don’t take offense to Win’s rude observation. His evident yet unexpected worry almost makes me laugh. “I’ll be fine, Win,” I smile. “Don’t lose sleep over someone like me.”
Win’s stomach gives an impressive rumble. “I keep dreaming of frybread, cuz,” he groans.
Remi gives him a knowing smile. “Soon.”
“No breakfast?” I ask.
“Nah, they didn’t want to risk us puking if we got motion sick,” Win replies in disgust. “Why? Isn’t it the same for you?”
“Nothing is the same for me.” Deciding to keep the risk of talking going, I turn back Win’s earlier question on them. “Where are you boys headed?”
“Same as you probably,” Win grimaces. “They caught us, processed us, threw us in your cozy little prison, then decided they didn’t want to parent us and are
throwing us back over the border.”
“Worse place to serve time in,” Remi mutters darkly, “but easier to escape from if you’ve got friends.”
I tilt my head, curious. “And do you? Have friends?”
Win rolls his eyes with a touch of childish petulance. “None still willing to help us out.”
“We get into trouble a touch too often,” Remi explains ruefully.
“Well then I guess I’ll see you in the yard,” I assume uncaring.
Win’s face curls into a mysterious smile. “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
Just then Remi rises to his feet, bracing himself with a hand against the roof of the bus. Everyone follows suit except for me, bound in chains to the bench, and as a unit they begin to rock the damn bus.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss frantically.
“Going home,” Win grins.
“You idiots are going to get us killed!” A prisoner beside me sends a sharp slap across my face and my lip catches on my teeth. Spitting a wad of blood on the floor I glare at the fools around me. I finally get a miracle promising penance and freedom only to have it snatched away in a fiery bus crash. Not. Bloody. Happening.
“Win. Remi.” I bark their names with as much heat as I can shove into them. “All you’re going to do is crash the bus! And if we’re not all dead then the guards will finish the job with their guns. They’re probably radioing for backup right now!”
As if to punctuate my point we hear a gunshot fired into the air followed by a string of obscenities and warnings muffled by the divide between us and the front of the bus.
“Come on!” Remi urges everyone and the rocking has the bus swerving along the road as the driver panics.
My head cracks against the wall and I suck in a sharp breath of pain. Clamping my eyes tightly shut I begin to fervently pray because any minute I could be launched out of my body and off to meet my Maker.
With a brutal jolt the bus falls off of the paved road and flies down a gulley before slamming to a halt when its nose strikes the bottom. This time my head ricochets against the metal wall of the bus so hard everything goes black and I don’t know if I’ll ever open my eyes again.
