The Free Citizen

by T. J. Sedgwick

  “I need you to leave with me,” he said trying to restrain his nervousness.

  She giggled nervously as he pulled her closer, her naked torso slipping against his wet skin.

  “Go where, Cal?”

  “Go away. Take a road trip. You remember that one we did a few years back, don’t you?”

  She seemed to relax, her eyes showing memory recall.

  “Yes, when we did the Army families trip across to New England in ’76,” she whispered happily. “That was fun, camping out with all your army buddies and their families. But it was a little scary at first—there was so much security around our convoy and a lot of fighting going on in the distance. And it’s only gotten worse since then hasn’t it? Are you sure it’s safe?”

  2076 had seen a lull in the fighting in the Northern American Union to the point where trips outside the cities were conceivable if escorted by the military. It was the first and only time they’d been camping together. Together with dozens of other couples, singles and families as a reward for the success of Operation Iron Fist North—a brutal quelling of the northern Badlands.

  “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said. “Just trust me.”

  “Fine, but why are we whispering? Why don’t you want Ruby to hear?” she said.

  “I’ll tell you once we’re on our way. This isn’t an ordinary road trip. It’s a contingency plan for key military personnel and their families. It’s…”

  He hesitated. She leaned back, looked him in the eyes. Her smile had faded, her eyes carried suspicion. Lying to Cora wasn’t something that came easily to him.

  “It’s what?” she whispered tensely.

  “It’s a contingency escape plan for times of invasion.”

  “Invasion!” she said, her voice raised too much for comfort.

  He pulled her ear close.

  “Shhhh! Please, this is classified.”

  He felt a nod. She said nothing.

  “Invasion from the Alliance, from across the lake, from Canada. This city would be on the front line. It’s just a drill, but we need to make it as real as possible. Don’t worry. Just follow me when the time comes. Ok?”

  “Ok.”

  He and Cora got dressed in the walk-in closet. She put on her dark sweatpants and hoodie, topped off with a dark watch cap to ward off the chill. She put on her running shoes. Rae went to get his hiking boots and both their winter coats—puffy and waterproof.

  “Ok, let’s do that long walk around the perimeter,” she said. “I need some fresh air after being in the office all day.”

  They kissed and put on the footwear and coats.

  “Let’s go,” he said, making his way to the closet in the study to get the Go-Pack, guns and ammo. He pursed his lips, frowning, tension rising in his temples as he donned the backpack, Ruby never far from his thoughts. Quickly, he spun the combination. Clockwise, counter-clockwise, clockwise again, then the final counter-clockwise turn. Reaching to open the gun locker, he heard a distant whirring.

  “Cal!” screamed Cora.

  She came running in, worry etched on her face.

  “The Police are coming!”

  He held her shoulders, locking eyes.

  “It’s ok, just trust me, Cora,” he said. “Remember, this is a drill. It’s meant to seem realistic.”

  She nodded. He grabbed the ammo and she put it in his pack.

  “Take the handgun,” he said, passing it to her.

  He snatched the M4 assault rifle, setting the selector from Safe to Full-auto before extending the stock.

  “Stay here,” he said, leaving the study, the whir of the drone growing ominously.

  He squatted down by the side-table in the corridor at the threshold to the living room, leaning the M4 out of sight. On rounding the corner to the living area, he saw it, outside in the fading light of dusk, Lake Michigan beyond. The meter-wide Police multi-copter hovered towards the floor-to-ceiling window, silhouetted in the half-light. When the drone’s powerful spotlights came on, he squinted and retreated into the corridor, squatting behind the side-table. The spotlights flooded the living space with illumination, casting harsh shadows. He peeked past the corner squinting to see properly, as the near-seamless emergency pane slid down, unleashing the rotor noise, gusts of frigid winter air invading the apartment. The drone’s advance stopped, and it remained hovering just beyond the window aperture.

  A deep, authoritative voice, full of subsonics boomed, “Calvin Rae, by order of the Government, report immediately to Lakeshore Hospital. You will be arrested if you fail to comply. Present yourself now and confirm compliance.”

  Shit! Time’s up. They’re calling me in right now. They must know.

  His mind buzzed at lightspeed, running through the options, his hand reaching behind for the M4.

  “You have ten seconds to present yourself, Calvin Rae.”

  He got up and stepped forward to face the machine, hands half up.

  “Calvin Rae, stay where you are,” commanded the drone. “Standby…”

  The drone’s spotlights dimmed, and a projected image appeared in mid-air in front of Rae—a uniformed officer, pallid-skinned, middle-aged, stone-faced and wearing an insignia he didn’t recognize.

  “Captain Rae, I am Police Major Michael Zwicky, State Intelligence Liaison Department,” he said flatly. “We have orders to ensure you go immediately to—“

  “I heard. What’s the rush? Thought it was day after next. And what’s with sending drone?”

  “Captain Rae, I’m speaking to you as a courtesy. You’re a high-value Citizen the Government wishes to retain, but your behavior is irrational. You need help.”

  “Help, huh? Is that what you guys call it?”

  “Listen, I’ll cut the bullshit, Captain. SIA knows enemy intel are trying to recruit you. They can’t have that.”

  Fuck. They know.

  “Whatever you think you know, whatever Alliance operatives have told you, are lies,” said Zwicky, his anger rising. “The Alliance are under control of an alien parasite. Most of them become Screamers, but some don’t. We can’t trust any of them. Whatever they did to you on the Erasmus has blinded you to that. You’re high-value to them too. Once they get you, they’ll turn you. You’ll end up like those monsters… those Screamers. Constant pain. Constant anger. We know, we’ve caught them, we’ve studied them, we’ve—”

  “Thought you had a cure!” he said buying time, thinking. The police major had sown seeds of doubt.

  “I’m not privy to that information, but if President White says so, then it’s true.”

  In that sentence, in the glazed look of a police major—who, in Rae’s mind, should be empowered and questioning—a tsunami of truth came surging back.

  “Ok, fine—I’ll go.”

  Zwicky forced a tight smile on his thin lips.

  “We appreciate your cooperation, Captain.”

  The floating image vanished.

  “You have three minutes to exit the building,” boomed the drone. “Proceed on foot to Lakeshore Hospital main reception.”

  Rae turned into the corridor out of sight, picking up the M4, then jogged back to Cora in the study.

  “We need to move. Now!” he said urgently, grabbing then donning the backpack.

  He knew Ruby would be feeding everything back to the authorities as would the CCTV network in the condo and beyond. But there was nothing he could do about it. All they could do now was move.

  He kissed his wife.

  “I love you, Cora.”

  “I love you too,” she said, voice trembling. “Cal, do I need to take the gun?”

  She looked scared, confused.

  If she’s not armed, they’ll target me. And they need me.

  “No, give it to me.”

  She passed him the handgun, which he pocketed.

  He kissed her on the mouth, took a deep breath and said, “Let’s go. Follow me.”

  He advanced down the corridor, M4 slung but a
t the ready, Cora close behind. Reaching up, he found the fuse panel and deactivated electrical power to the apartment, killing the lights. The drone’s spotlights scanned the living area as it advanced into the room.

  They doubled back to the end of the corridor where he forced open the one-meter square door to the goods elevator, normally used for deliveries, baggage and shopping.

  “Get in.”

  Cora, then Rae, knelt and crawled into the dark, stuffy cube before he pulled the door shut.

  Using his watch for light, he ripped off the overhead panel.

  “Elevator uses block power,” he said.

  Quickly eyeing the manual control panel, he held the button marked, Release while flicking the Down toggle switch once. A light blinked as the elevator descended at a rate that made his stomach lurch. Cora made a squeal of protest.

  “Hold on,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her, the other on the M4. “Few seconds, then out as fast as we can.”

  Gravity forced his muscles to work hard as he squatted, waiting for the deceleration to end. The elevator softly halted its descent. He slid open the door to the service bay—spartan, tile-and-bare concrete, lit by harsh white light. Quiet. Empty. He hopped out, turned and helped his wife. Only her immaculately made-up face was visible in her dark outfit, accentuating her light eyes. She looked scared. No time to assuage her angst.

  “Come on, follow me!”

  They dashed across the space, past an idle delivery cart and a couple of parked autonomous trucks towards the large service door, closed to the chill night. Muffled, barked commands came from somewhere in the opposite direction—the direction of the condo lobby.

  They’re here.

  He eased open the exit door, M4 ready, scanning the busy downtown street. There were throngs of brainwashed Citizens, Servile slaves carrying things, sweeping the streets, waiting the tables inside the New World Steakhouse, opposite. Autonomous cars buzzed past, delivery drones scuttled along the sidewalk lined by eateries, shops and offices. He turned left, keeping the M4 down low, pulling Cora close, trying his best to keep the weapon out of sight. Several people glanced, quickening their pace, one crossing the street. Alarmed voices reported from behind. He looked around. The crowd parted, the heads of two big, dark-clad SWAT men bobbed above the throng as they pursued them, shouting.

  “Police! Move aside!”

  “There!” one of them pointed. “Stop those two!”

  Civilians all around them stopped, their hypnotized faces scrutinizing them.

  Rae broke into a run, pulling Cora to match his pace.

  “Quick, down here,” he said, ducking into a side alley, pushing a young man to the floor who’d stepped into their path.

  They had a fifty-meter head start on the SWAT guys, but now word was out, everyone would try to stop them. The dimly-lit alley ran between two long downtown blocks—service doors and fire escapes but few people. A Servile man—overweight, Asian-looking, in kitchen uniform—came at him from nowhere, aggression in his eyes, meat cleaver high above his head. Staying in stride, Rae jabbed him in the throat with his rifle butt. The cleaver clattered to the ground as the man clutched at his throat, gasping for breath. Two more Servile men went down in the same way before a huge Servile woman sprinted out from an open door and grabbed Cora’s throat. She shrieked, clutching at the iron grip, panting, fear in her eyes. Rae spun around and swung the stock, smashing it hard into the attacker’s jaw. Her thick legs turned to jelly, and she collapsed. He gripped Cora’s hand and pulled her panting, stumbling into a half-sprint. Eyes skimming side to side, asphalt advancing through pools of light, he spotted it. He stopped abruptly, the rhythm of jackboots drawing closer from behind.

  “There they are!” called one of the SWAT guys.

  “Lay down,” said Rae, squatting down.

  Cora went prone, next to him. He aimed the M4 and fired a short burst at the ground in front of the SWAT men, sending dust and debris spraying into their path. They rolled expertly to either side and took cover—one behind a dumpster, the other in a doorway. Rae grabbed the survival knife from its sheath on his belt and levered open the manhole cover, throwing it aside with ease.

  “Climb in!”

  He lit up the alley with more suppressing fire as Cora slid into the blackness of the sewer. A final burst, then he threw in his backpack and jumped after it, freefalling, then catching a loop-step part-way down. He scurried back up and pulled the solid steel cover back in place, extinguishing all light.

  10

  I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried not to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.

  Nelson Mandela

  C limbing downwards, the smell of the sewer and the acoustics of their footsteps hit his senses all at once. Cora panted but said nothing. Finally, he reached the bottom and his feet sensed terra firma. He clicked on the tactical flashlight on the M4's barrel, bathing the dank concrete tunnel in white light. Cora stepped over his fallen backpack and hugged him.

  “This is damn scary for a drill, Cal!” she said, releasing the embrace, stepping back.

  “I know, but we need to keep moving. They’re right behind us.”

  She stood there, hands on hips, looking up at him disapprovingly.

  Rae said nothing as he bent down and fumbled in his backpack.

  “Are you sure this is a drill, Dearest Husband?”

  He looked up, nodded, then found what he was looking for, before zipping the backpack and offering the headlight to Cora.

  “This place stinks of shit,” she said. “Of your bullshit, Cal!” she said as he donned the backpack.

  The real Cora’s back. No Ruby, no surveillance, no need to act, he thought, smiling.

  “Come on, put on the headlight. They’re right behind us.”

  She gave him, that look. Her withering, death stare. The one he remembered but hadn’t seen for… forever. The prelude to a huge blowout of an argument. He held her shoulders, eyes connecting.

  “Look, just trust me. I promise I’ll explain everything when we lose these guys,” he said quickly. “No time. Let's move.”

  She sighed.

  “You’re a dick, you know that,” she said, switching on the light.

  The twin pools of light danced ahead, lighting the way as their feet splashed through the shallow liquid flowing along the tunnel floor. He heard Cora shriek and turned to see rats scurrying past them.

  “We need to stay quiet,” he said urgently.

  A metallic clang sounded from where they'd came, followed by aggressive, echoing voices.

  “They're at the manhole. Come on, run!” he said, accelerating. “Ignore the rats, it's a sewer.”

  She nodded and joined him, their footsteps splashing along.

  “Great date, Cal. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

  Rae led the way, taking a left branch, then a right and continuing a circuitous route. Footsteps and voices pursued, and Rae knew they could be a kilometer away or a lot closer, such were the acoustics of the sewers. They reached a bigger bore, maybe eight meters across. Waist-high sewerage flowed hard, a noxious, watery soup of detritus and germs. He turned to see Cora looking down at it in horror shaking her head.

  “No fucking way, Cal!”

  “Come on,” he said, chuckling. “It won’t be that cold—the sewerage comes from heated buildings and ground temperature stays pretty constant year-round.”

  “I don’t give a shit about the temperature, you idiot!” she said through gritted teeth as a suppressed shout. “Find another way. Now.”

  He jumped in, remembering to keep his mouth shut, then turned to look up at Cora. He smiled, extending his hand.

  “Come on.”

  “Carry me across,” she said.

  “Fine,” he said, wondering if he’d resist the urge to at least get her butt wet as her cradled her above the
waterline towards the concrete bank opposite.

  “Cal, you’re getting my butt wet. Idiot!” she shrieked, punching his arm.

  He sniggered, buoyed by their banter. It just underlined what a corrosive effect total surveillance had on them.

  He placed Cora down on the ledge, then hauled himself up. His waterlogged pants felt heavy and cold, but he’d experienced a lot worse. They were lightweight combat pants and would dry quickly. They stood and took a breather, the rushing water masking every other sound. Cora stood and looked at his wet pants.

  “You stink, you know that?” she said with the barest hint of a smile beneath confected annoyance.

  “You too,” he said, kissing her cheek, slapping her wet butt playfully.

  Time for playfulness was limited though and he knew they had to move south, out of the city as soon as possible. They’d need to balance speed with stealth and avoid injury or getting swept away. Even a twisted ankle would be disastrous. And getting lost in the labyrinth was a real possibility, despite his best efforts to recall the sewerage system map from memory. Some things were a lot harder without a functioning mindchip.

  Echoes of their pursuers grew louder.

  “Time to move.”

  “Wait, how far is the canal you told me about?”

  “Just over twenty klicks—”

  “Klicks?”

  “Twenty kilometers. But the perimeter’s only ten. If we get past the perimeter, maybe we can surface. ‘Til then we’re down here with the rats and the shit.”

  She sucked in air, nodded resolutely.

  “Twenty kilometers—that’s a long way,” she said.

  “No more than one of your weekend runs.”

  She went to say something, then stopped herself and nodded.