“Perhaps.”
Maxwell smiled and patted Leo on the arm.
Suddenly there was a loud commotion and everyone turned to the rear of the room. More men dressed in jeans and black shirts barged in and started scanning the aisles.
“The trackers are on high alert today,” Leo said.
“There’s been talk. Fanatics are always trying to cause trouble.”
Scout watched the trackers as they moved up and down the rows like they were looking for someone. They scanned the entire auditorium then left without saying a word to anyone. Ten minutes later the delegates entered the room and took the stage. A hush fell over the audience and Delegate Harold stood up and loudly clapped his hands together.
“We all know why we are here,” he started. “So, unless there is any other pressing business, let’s not belabor this.”
Delegate Harold was a tall thin man with a bald head and eyes that looked like coal. Between Scout and his friends, Harold was the devil. A stern man who thrived on snappy decisions and an unwavering sense that he knew what was best. He wasn’t a man of the system, he was the system.
“Perhaps we should hear the opposition,” Delegate Stephens suggested.
Delegate Stephens was Harold’s biggest rival. He’d been on the other side during the renouncement and still held fast to many of his beliefs, including his desire to reinstitute electricity across the board.
“That is fine, Delegate Stephens,” Harold said with a fake smile. “Do we have anyone willing to represent the opposition.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Stephens replied. “I’m certain I saw trackers removing anyone that might have spoken to that position.”
Harold smiled. “Then unless you plan to speak on that position, I suggest we move forward.”
Stephens glared at Harold then turned and looked at the other ten delegates across the stage. Today was not the day nor the hill he wished to die on. But he knew sooner or later he’d have to take a stance against Harold if we wished to win the position of lead delegate. Lowering his shoulders, he leaned back in his seat and waved his hand. “Let the voting begin,” he replied with a slight grin.
“To all those in attendance,” Harold started. “Your elected delegates will now publicly vote on article seven, the right to free speech.”
Scout shifted in his seat as his dad leaned forward with a greedy smile. Scout couldn’t understand why everyone thought Harold was some kind of savior. He seemed to have a hidden agenda that wasn’t that well-hidden. Why were so many blind to it?
“All in favor raise your---”
Harold paused as the doors burst open again. The same scraggily-dressed man that was at the produce market stumbled inside, waving his hands. “Am I too late?” he gasped, wiping a trickle of blood from his face.
Harold raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Who are you, sir?”
“Denton Kellish,” the man replied. “I represent the opposition.”
Harold glanced back at Stephens. Stephens smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Harold cut his eyes then walked toward the edge of the stage.
“Time for opposition has passed, sir.”
“Have you cast your votes?”
“We were just about to,” Harold said, his voice dripping with righteousness.
“I do not wish to offend the delegate but according to the bylaws, if a vote has not been cast opposition may still be heard.”
“He’s right!” Stephens elated with a bit more gusto than he meant.
“Fine, fine, Mr. Kellish. You have the floor.” Reluctantly, Harold sat down.
Denton walked down the aisle toward the front of the room. He stopped at the foot of the stage and turned to face the crowd. Clearing his throat, he attempted to straighten his wrinkled shirt and slick back the few strands of hair on his head. “Um, we…we must, um…one moment,” Denton said in a quivering voice.
“The bylaws also say arguments must be delivered in a timely manner,” Harold warned.
“Yes, yes…I um, I’m ready now. We must,” Denton paused and took a slow breath. “We must retain our right to free speech. We cannot let the government silence those that wish to speak up. It is our right, a right given to us long before the formation of the delegates.”
“Mr. Kellish, I’ll remind you that constitutional arguments are invalid in this forum and subject to First Rock censorship articles.”
Denton glared at Harold. He wanted to jump onto the stage and strangle him but the tracker standing a few steps away would’ve made sure that didn’t happen. Instead he bowed his head slightly and turned back to the audience. “It is our right, our right to speak. Don’t let them take it away.”
Suddenly, Maxwell jumped to his feet. “All speech isn’t equal!” he shouted.
Denton turned to face Maxwell. “You’re right…you’re right, sir. It isn’t. But who should be the judge of that? Should the council of delegates decide what we should hear?”
“Better than you deciding it,” Maxwell replied to a chorus of cheers.
“Dad,” Scout whispered. “What is he doing?”
“Keep quiet,” Scout’s dad replied.
Denton tried to reply but the audience booed every time he started to speak. After a few minutes he gave up and turned back to face the delegates.
Harold stood up and made an exaggerated sigh. “I think we’ve heard enough. Shall we put this to a vote?”
The other delegates agreed and Harold shooed Denton away with a wave of his hand.
“Don’t give up your voice!” Denton shouted as a tracker escorted him out of the auditorium.
“Now that the theatrics are over, all in favor of implementing article seven, please raise your hand.”
One by one the delegates raised their hands. The vote seemed unanimous until it came to Delegate Stephens. He rubbed the bristly hair on his chin and stared into the audience with a concerned look.
“Delegate Stephens?” Harold said in a voice slightly above a whisper.
Stephens glanced at him then looked back to the crowd. He started to speak but swallowed back his words and turned to look at his peers. They glared at him, their eyes warning him, or maybe daring him to go against what they thought was inevitable.
“Stephens, should I count your vote as a nay?”
There was a small gasp in the room and Stephens felt a chill tip toe across his back bone. He straightened up and clenched his jaw as his resolve faltered. Harold grilled him with his narrow, dark eyes. A slight grin spread across his face as if he wanted Stephens to vote against the majority.
While the delegates decided the fate of the new world, they really had no power at all. They were puppets, talking heads that followed the decision of the lead delegate. That meant following the decisions of Harold.
“Stephens?” Harold called again.
Stephens shivered at the sound of his name. With a quick glance into the audience, he slowly raised his hand. “You’ve got my vote, Delegate Harold.”
Harold smiled. “Then that settles it.”
After the vote concluded Scout’s dad met with Harold for a few minutes in private. Scout waited outside, watching the residents go about their day without the slightest clue of what went on inside of the townhall. He almost pitied them but felt anger at how gullible they all were. How they’d trusted everything the delegates said, everything they did.
“You ready?” Scout’s dad asked, tapping Scout on the shoulder.
“Yeah.”
Scout didn’t say much for the majority of their ride home. But as Marshall’s farm came into view, he couldn’t contain his anger and confusion any longer.
“Dad,” he said through a tight jaw.
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you speak up? Why didn’t you say anything during the vote?”
“What would I say?”
Scout huffed. “I don’t know. Something, anything. That they just can’t take our rights away.”
“That’s now how it works
, Scout.”
“Then how does it work?”
“It’s complicated. Delegate Harold is a very powerful man. You don’t oppose a very powerful man.”
Scout wanted to argue but he could tell it wouldn’t do any good. They rode the rest of the way home without saying another word. When they arrived, Scout walked the horses to the stable while his dad silently crept off to his workshop.
“You enjoy your day?” his mom asked as he closed the pen.
“It was fine,” Scout replied. “I’m really tired. I’m going to lie down.”
“Okay? Scout, you know whatever they do down there, it’s for the good of everyone, right?”
“Did you talk to Dad?”
“No…but I’ve been to First Rock. It can be overwhelming. A much different life than we have over here. Things are a lot more complicated in the city.”
Scout laughed.
“What?”
“You sound like Dad.” He turned to head inside then paused. “Do you mind if I go to Devin’s?”
His mom shrugged. “It’s getting late.”
“I’ll stay night if that’s okay?”
“Fine. But be home early tomorrow. You’ve got a stable to clean.”
Scout smiled then rushed upstairs and quickly packed a bag. Before his mother had even gone back inside, he was darting across the lawn toward the single story on the other side of Marshall’s farm.
He ran up the porch and tapped his knuckles on the heavy, wooden door. A few moments later, Jacob wrenched it open. “What do you want?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.
“What are you doing here?”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s too dangerous for you.”
Scout smirked. “You’re going, aren’t you?”
“So, what if we are? Did you come over here to tell us how bad of an idea it is again?”
Scout shoved Jacob in the chest and pushed his way inside. “I came over here because I’m going too.”
“About time you grow some balls.”
Scout made his way to Devin’s room and stopped at the door. Devin and Cayden looked up then shared exhausted guises. “We know, we know,” Cayden groaned. “It’s far too dangerous.”
Jacob laughed. “He said he’s coming.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I am,” Scout confirmed. “When are we leaving?”
Devin stood up and pushed the door closed. “Why the change of heart?”
Scout started to make a joke but stopped. Sighing, he took a seat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor for a few minutes. “My dad took me to First Rock today.”
“Oh, I hate that place,” Jacob groaned.
“They had a vote today. They’re blocking free speech now.”
“So?” Devin said with a shrug. “What does that matter to us?”
Jacob grabbed an empty bag and started stuffing it with rope. “I gotta agree with Devin. Who cares?”
“I care!” Scout suddenly exploded. “Aren’t you sick of living like this?”
“Like what? We do whatever we want to do. Go wherever we want to go. What’s wrong with things the way they are? It’s not like we live in First Rock. Whatever they pass, that’s for the city, not for us.”
Scout gasped then clenched his teeth in frustration. “There’s a world out there, a world they keep lying about. And now they want to shut up anyone that talks about it. It doesn’t just affect First Rock, it affects all of New Hope. It’s like they don’t want us to know about the rest of the world.”
“There is no, rest of the world,” Jacob said.
“You mean across the great ocean, don’t you?” Cayden asked in a low voice.
“Sure. But not just that. We don’t know anything about anything. For years the delegates have kept everyone in the dark. I want to know what the rest of the world looks like.”
Jacob made an exaggerated sigh. “There is no, rest of the world. It’s all dead.”
“That’s what they want you to think. That’s what they tell us but why can’t we see it for ourselves?”
Jacob shook his head and brushed him off. Cayden shrugged. “So, past the great ocean…past the dead zones, that’s what you’re talking about?”
New Hope was mainly wide-open spaces, pockets of towns or sparse patches of homes, dotted across the land. First Rock was right in the middle, the only real organized city. To the east was the great ocean, what became of the five oceans after the dawn. To the west were the dead zones. Trackers patrolled the dead zones. Go too far in any direction and you’d hit signs warning you to go back. Ignore those signs and you were signing your death warrant.
Beyond that, there was nothing. That’s how the story was told. After the dawn, when the world settled the only thing left standing was New Hope. There were no other countries, no other civilizations, no other people. They were all that was left.
Scout leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he bit his bottom lip and let himself dream for a moment. “Has anyone ever seen what’s on the other side?” he asked. “Has anyone ever crossed the great ocean?”
Cayden shrugged and looked away.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re coming with us now,” Devin said with a laugh.
Scout opened his eyes and stared at Devin. “Because that rocket is gonna fly. No matter what I have to do, I’m gonna launch that rocket and from up there…I can see it all, and then, and then I’ll know.”
“It’s your funeral, man.”
“Sun’s going down,” Jacob said as he stared out of the window. “It’s time to stop talking and start doing. Devin, can we take the wagon?”
“My dad won’t be back until tomorrow night. We’ll be back before that, right?”
“Of course,” Jacob replied with a giggle.
Devin frowned. “Fine but, Jacob, you can’t kill another horse.”
CHAPTER 4
THE MIDDLE GROUND
It was a four-hour ride to the scrap pile. Four hours under a faint half-moon that kept slipping behind the clouds. Four hours through a dense fog that cloaked the ground, making the path even more treacherous.
Scout had begun to doubt his decision the moment they walked out of Devin’s front door. Now he was fighting the urge to turn around and go home. Only an hour ago he was full of conviction and revolution but that was quickly replaced with fear.
His friends didn’t have the desire to change the world nor did they have the fear that came along with it. They were having fun, being teenagers, while Scout saw himself as something bigger.
“Guys, shut up!” he groaned as Jacob tripped Devin, causing him to fall and vanish beneath the fog. “I hear something.”
“You don’t hear anything,” Jacob replied.
“Yeah,” Cayden added. “There’s no one out here. Hello!” he cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Dude, chill out. It’s the middle ground, we’re the only idiots dumb enough to be out here.”
“What about trackers, genius?”
Cayden laughed. “They don’t come out here either.”.
Scout glared at them for a moment then turned and climbed back into the wagon. “Let’s keep moving.”
“I gotta pee first,” Jacob announced a walked a few steps away.
Once he finished, he took a seat next to Scout. Devin smiled the yanked the leather straps and the horses trotted off.
“I did hear something back at the barn the other night,” Jacob whispered.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because, it was probably a fox. Just like right now. Nobody’s out here, Scout. Trust me, we’re as far from people as you can get.”
Scout shrugged and stared off into the night. They continued on for another half hour, slinking through the shadows. Scout grew more and more nervous the closer they got and he struggled with the feeling in his gut that screamed for him to go back. “How close ar
e we?” he asked.
“Here,” Jacob replied and pointed up ahead.
Scout followed his finger into the distance and took a deep breath. A rickety, chain-link fence leaned in a crooked stance. The sign that had once read “Danger” was faded and barely clinging to the gate. Behind it looked like a giant junkyard filled with warped metal and indistinguishable pieces of things most of the world had never seen.
Scout climbed out of the wagon and took a few steps closer then paused. “This is it?” he asked.
Jacob grilled him. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. You always hear the stories about the middle ground, guess I was expecting something a little more menacing.”
Devin and Cayden laughed in unison. “Menacing,” Devin repeated. “It’s just a junkyard. I think they tell those stories about the middle ground to keep people from finding all of the good stuff.”
Jacob huffed. “Let’s get in there and get the rest of the solar cells…before we find out the middle ground is everything they said it was.”
Scout nodded. “I’m gonna walk. Pull the wagon up.”
Devin gave him a curious glance but didn’t argue. With a quick snap, the horses started moving forward and Scout followed along behind them, ignoring the fear that continued to bark in his ear. Apprehensively, he felt his way through the dense fog that had only grown since they’d left. He jumped at every sound, expecting to see a tracker charging at them. But that never happened and once they reached the fence, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Jacob and the others leapt out of the wagon and cautiously approached the gate. Jacob stopped in front of it and placed his hand on the rusted metal. “Well,” he said softly. “Here we are.”
Cayden shivered and narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the fog. “I don’t remember it being this spooky.”
“It was daylight,” Devin replied.
Scout was silent as he stared into the sea of discarded items. It was like looking into the past but at the same time, the future. Most things he couldn’t even identify. The shell of a helicopter, decrepit navigation screens torn from an airliner’s cockpit, twisted and warped scraps of metal that had once been turbine engines, and that was only the things that protruded from the fog. There was no telling what lie underneath it. “Where did you see the solar panels?” he asked finally.
Almost Human Page 3
