Aftermath

by LeVar Burton

  “My, will you look at that. There is a little girl under all that dirt, and a pretty one too.”

  Amy smiled and felt a flush of embarrassment warm her face. No one had ever called her pretty before. Her mother probably had, but she didn’t remember. Taking a seat at the table, Rose handed her the plate with the slices of bread on it and passed the jelly. She also set a glass of milk in front of her. Real milk, from a cow, not the powdered stuff that came out of a box.

  “Are you rich?” Amy asked, amazed to be drinking real milk.

  Sister Rose laughed. “Rich? No, child. I’m not rich. In fact, I’m poor. Been poor all my life.”

  “But how can you live in a house and afford milk?”

  “Honey, when you’re raised poor you learn to make do with what the good Lord gives you. I don’t have a lot of money, but I don’t owe anybody either. That’s what gets people in trouble: they live beyond their means and pretty soon they owe everybody.”

  “Is that why there’s so many homeless people?” Amy asked.

  Rose nodded. “The earthquake and war are also to blame. When those things happened, one after another, the country went belly-up. Broke. Suddenly, everyone was poor. Many of those who still had homes standing didn’t know how to act being poor. They didn’t know how to save, spent more than they should, and ended up being homeless too. Now the people who were already poor, who never had anything in the first place, why it was just another day to them. Understand, child?”

  Amy thought it over for a moment, then nodded. “I guess it’s better to be poor than homeless any day.” She took a drink of milk and then wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “But why do the white people and black people hate each other so much?”

  Rose cut a slice of bread for herself. “They don’t all hate each other. Just some. Been that way ever since I was a little girl. Shoot, it’s been that way ever since Jesus was around.”

  “But why?” Amy wanted to know.

  “Child, you sure do ask a lot of questions.” Rose smiled. “But that’s okay; it means you’ve got a brain up there in your head. I don’t know why whites and blacks don’t get along. I think they’re afraid of each other because fear is a part of human nature. It’s natural for humans to be afraid of what they don’t know. The old America was never quite honest with itself in admitting it had created a problem with the races. In the end all that hurt and anger and resentment got to be too much to ignore.”

  “I think wars are stupid,” Amy said, spreading jelly on another slice of bread.

  “Amen, child, amen,” Rose replied. “Where’s your family, precious?”

  Amy shook her head. “We lost our home in the earthquake. My father was killed, at least that’s what they told me. My mother was taken to a hospital. I don’t know where she is, but I’m going to find her. I think she has namnesia and can’t remember who she is …”

  “You mean amnesia,” Rose corrected.

  “Right. Amnesia. I think she’s got that and can’t remember anymore. But I’m going to find her one day. She’s a pretty lady, and a good cook too. I’m going to find her and then we’ll live together again, in a real house. She’ll take care of me and I’ll take care of her.” She stopped and looked to Rose for reassurance. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  Sister Rose leaned across the table and put her hand on Amy’s. “Honey, if your mother is out there, I’m sure the good Lord will help you find her.”

  Amy seemed satisfied with the answer. “Right. I pray every night and I know that God will help me find my mother. Someday.”

  Rose leaned back in her chair and studied the little girl. She smiled. “I’m sure He will. But we can’t have you finding your mother looking like you just lost a fight with an alley cat. You finish that last slice of bread while I draw you a hot bath. I think I might even have some clothes that will fit you.”

  Amy smiled a jelly smile as Sister Rose got up from the table and went into the bathroom. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of water running and knew that the bathtub was being filled. She couldn’t remember if she had ever had a bath before; all they had were showers at the homeless shelters. She would have to ask her mother when she found her. And she would find her. Someday.

  Chapter 18

  Rene Reynolds was not stupid. She knew her life was in danger. Randall Sinclair would not let her live knowing about his plans for the Neuro-Enhancer. The only reason she was not already dead was that he needed her. If the good doctor could not find the homeless man she had given the codes to, he would extract the information out of her. Slowly. Painfully. One numbered sequence at a time. She had no doubts that Dr. Sinclair would resort to torture or any other means to get what he wanted. And if they found the homeless man, they would no longer need her. She would be eliminated. It was as simple as that.

  She thought of the man she had given the code disks to, feeling a twinge of guilt for putting his life in jeopardy. Randall Sinclair would not rest until he found him. His men would search the streets and back alleys of Atlanta, threatening, bullying. Sooner or later, the man, and the codes, would be located. Once found, he would be killed. So would she. But maybe death was a better choice than the imprisonment and torture that awaited her if the codes were never found. Then again, she had one other option.

  Escape. She had to get away. Rene had to put as much distance between herself and Randall Sinclair as possible. Only then would she be safe. Unfortunately, escape was not an easy task to accomplish for a person locked in a cell and constantly guarded.

  But you’re not in a cell now.

  Rene raised her head and looked around. Humiliated and angered by her confrontation with Dr. Sinclair only moments before, she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Nor had she been paying attention to her surroundings. But now, as the same two guards led her back to her cell, she studied her environment, hoping to find a way to escape.

  The hallway they traveled was narrow and well lighted, and presented little in the opportunity for freedom, especially since she was flanked by two armed men. At the end of the hallway, however, just beyond the elevators was a row of windows. The windows might offer an avenue to the outside, but she would need a ladder or rope to get to ground level. Unless …

  Rene had looked out the windows in Sinclair’s office. At the time she had been intent on finding out where she was, focusing her attention on the buildings across the street. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice the tiny ledge beneath the windows. The ledge might run the entire length of the third floor. She would still need a way to get from the ledge to the ground, but Rene was hoping for a miracle.

  They stopped before the elevators and one of the men pushed the button to summon the car. She was so intent on hatching plans for escape, several moments passed before she even noticed the door directly across the hall. And it wasn’t until Rene heard the echo of footsteps on concrete that she realized what it was.

  A stairwell.

  Of course, stairs. She mentally kicked herself for being so stupid. There were always stairs in buildings with elevators, emergency exits in case of fire. The stairs would lead to the ground level, maybe even to a door to the outside. The door to the stairs had no lock; therefore, no key was required to open it.

  As Rene studied the door, she felt a slight breeze caress her skin. Her heart fluttered. The breeze came from the direction of the door.

  Air. She sniffed. Fresh air. Somewhere on ground level a door stood open, a door to the outside. The stairs led to that door, led to freedom.

  Rene could barely contain her excitement over the discovery. If she could elude her guards, slip free for only a moment, she could race down the stairs and out the budding. She wondered if someone guarded the stairs at ground level. She didn’t think so. From what she had seen so far, she was the only prisoner.

  Her thoughts of freedom were dashed by the arrival of the elevator. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be ushered into the car. But as the elevator’s doors slid closed, a slight smile tou
ched the corners of her mouth. A thought had crossed her mind, filling her heart with hope once again. Maybe there was a way to escape after all. She had a plan.

  Rene didn’t protest her inhumane treatment, or try to question the guards, as she was led back down the hallway on the fourth floor. She was actually anxious to return to her cell, anxious to be alone. She was worried that her sudden change in character would arouse suspicion, but the two men who guarded her didn’t seem to notice. If anything, they were probably thankful she was quiet for once.

  She arrived at her cell, finding it to be exactly as she had left it. The sheets on the bed had not been changed; the room still stank. Obviously the maid’s day off. Another tray of food had been brought. As always, the tray held a ham and cheese sandwich, an apple and a carton of warm fruit drink. She ignored the food, too keyed up to eat. It was all she could do to sit on the cot and appear despondent now that hope burned in her heart.

  She was still sitting when one of the guards returned with a fresh change of clothes: a pair of denim pants, a matching shirt—navy surplus stuff—and a belt. No underwear. Rene waited a few minutes until she was certain the guard would not reappear, then she tried on her new clothing. The pants were a little too big, as was the shirt, but the belt and a two-inch cuff corrected the problem.

  Slipping her shoes back on, she tossed her old clothes in the corner of the room and took a seat on the cot. Leaning back against the wall, she waited. If her plan was to work, then she had to be patient. She had to wait

  Out of fear of ridicule, and because she had witnessed them extremely rarely, Rene had never mentioned the Neuro-Enhancer’s curious side effects in any of her reports. If she had, the medical and scientific community would have scoffed at the device, labeling her as a bona fide nut case. Support of the Enhancer would have quickly disappeared, along with any hope of obtaining the funds needed to market it. She had not even written them into her private notes. Therefore, Randall Sinclair had no idea that prolonged use of the Enhancer could develop psychic powers in certain individuals, and she was determined to make sure he never learned.

  Rene slowed her breathing and willed her mind to relax, quickly reaching the same heightened state she did when using the Neuro-Enhancer. A tingling flowed down her body as thousands of neural regions in her mind were suddenly activated. When the tingling became almost unbearable, she again projected her thoughts.

  This time, however, she did not focus her thoughts on a homeless man thousands of miles away. Nor did she just send them out at random. Instead she concentrated on the guard who brought her meals. Blocking everything else from her thoughts, she formed a picture of his face in her mind. With that image locked securely in place, she projected a command.

  Help me.

  Time passed. She began to tire from the strain. A headache formed behind her eyes; her mouth turned dry as cotton. Rene thought of the warm fruit drink sitting unopened on the table. Her concentration wavered.

  She shook her head, pushing all thoughts of food and drink from her mind. She had to stay focused. Her freedom depended on it. Her life. What seemed like an eternity slowly crept by. Finally, she was rewarded with the sound of a lock being turned. The draft which followed told her that someone had opened the door.

  Rene didn’t open her eyes, but she could tell that someone had entered the room and was standing just inside the doorway, watching her. Every nerve in her body could feel that presence. Her muscles tensed with anticipation, but she remained motionless, appearing to be asleep.

  Closer. Come closer.

  She heard the soft scrape of a shoe sliding across the floor, felt the gentle displacement of air. A pause. Uncertainty. The guard was being drawn to her, but he didn’t know why.

  Closer … closer.

  Movement again. A shadow fell upon her.

  Closer …

  The guard leaned closer, perhaps to touch her, or to wake her. He never got the chance. Rene struck like a cobra, kicking him in the face as hard as she could.

  The guard slammed back into the porcelain sink, going down hard. Before he could get back up, Rene was on top of him. She struck him in the nose with the heel of her hand, drawing blood, and then grabbed him by the hair. The man struggled and reached up to pull her off him, but Rene pounded his head against the porcelain bowl. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn’t stop. Even when his eyes rolled back, she didn’t stop banging his head against the sink until she was certain he was unconscious.

  Rene released the guard’s head, but remained sitting on his chest. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe. She took several deep breaths and then slipped off him. Searching through the guard’s pockets, she took his keys, wallet and a pocketknife. She also took the electric stun gun clipped to his belt, wishing it was a real gun instead.

  Crossing the room, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  Chapter 19

  Closer … come closer.

  The voice came to him on silent wings, calling him from the darkness. Leon sat near the open doorway of the boxcar, feeling the night air upon his face, listening to the clickety-clack of the train as it made its way through the blackness of the land.

  Unlike before, the mysterious voice did not slam into him like a speeding bullet. Instead, it floated to him ever so gently, softly. An angel’s kiss. His intuition told him that the voice was not being directed toward him, not this time anyway. He was but an eavesdropper, listening to a mental conversation between the woman and someone else. He waited to see if the voice would be answered, if another person had the ability to project thoughts. Could there be more like her? He listened, but it was only her voice he heard. Hers and hers alone.

  Even though she was not directing her thoughts toward him, Leon still heard them. A little fainter maybe, a little weaker, but he heard them all the same. For some strange reason, some peculiar twist of fate, he and the woman were now joined together mentally. He wondered if the connection would grow stronger with the passage of time and prayed that it would not.

  The woman’s mental calls already invaded his mind and haunted his dreams. If the connection grew stronger, would her feelings soon become his? What of her fears, her dreams and desires? Would her every waking thought infiltrate his mind, taking over, pushing aside the part that was him? If so, then surely madness would follow. That was why he needed to find her. If he didn’t, then the voice would continue to haunt him, eventually driving him over the edge.

  Closer … come closer.

  He took the two computer disks out of his shirt pocket and studied them, wondering what vital information they contained. The disks were a clue to the woman whose voice he now heard, but it was a clue he could not unravel—not yet anyway.

  Closer … come closer.

  “I’m coming,” he whispered. Slipping the disks back in his pocket, he stared into the darkness of the night. She was out there somewhere.

  A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him. Leon jerked and reached for the knife in his knapsack.

  “Easy, brother. I didn’t mean to spook you.” The hand released him and Red sat down beside him.

  “You didn’t,” Leon lied.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Red was looking at him, trying to study his face. His eyes shone with the reflection of moonlight “A man doesn’t sit alone and talk to himself unless he’s crazy—which you aren’t—or something’s bothering him.”

  “I wasn’t talking to myself,”

  “I’m coming … I’m coming,” Red said, repeating the words Leon had spoken.

  Leon turned on Red, becoming angry. “Look, what I say and do is none of your business. You’re not my guardian angel. I didn’t ask for your help and I don’t need it.”

  “You needed it the other night when you were hanging by your toes out the boxcar.”

  “Is that what this is all about? I owe you something?”

  “You don
’t owe me a damn thing,” Red said. “I just thought you could use a friend. My mistake.” He started to stand up.

  Leon reached out and touched his arm. “Wait. Don’t go.” Red sat back down. He didn’t speak, giving Leon a chance to say what was on his mind. A few minutes elapsed before Leon said anything.

  “You said you were a soldier?”

  “I thought this was about you?”

  “Tell me first. Which side?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  Red sighed. “All right then. Yes, I was a soldier. And yes, I was with the pro-government forces. To answer your next question: yes, I fought in the uprising. You happy?”

  “Did you kill anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  Red sighed again. “I was a platoon sergeant in the infantry. A ground-pounder. They sent my unit to Detroit … sent us to the biggest damn mess you’d ever want to see. Detroit was a war zone, a living, breathing hell. We took fire from day one, lost a lot of men. Seemed like everyone over the age of ten had a weapon of some kind. The snipers were the worst. You couldn’t take two steps out in the open without someone popping a cap into your ass.

  “It was bad enough we were getting our butts kicked, but a lot of the minority soldiers in our outfit refused to fight back. They laid their guns down rather than fire on people of their own race. Some of them even joined the other side. Men who were in my unit, men who were my friends, were suddenly the enemy.”

  He shook his head. “At least that’s what our commanding officers called them—the enemy. But that was a lie, just like all the other lies they told us. There was no enemy, not really, no supreme evil about to take over the country. All there was were people, average everyday Americans trying to make their lives a little better. I finally got sick of the lies, sick of the officers telling me that I should shoot my neighbors, shoot my friends, and walked away from the whole bloody mess.”