by John Bromley
“Invited by whom? And for what, I wonder?”
“Who the hell knows… or cares. Let’s just get going and find our computer stick.” But Jim couldn’t resist taking one last look at the building and mumbling, “Boy, what I wouldn’t give for a little quality time—just five minutes—alone with that guy.”
“Bet he’d notice you then.”
“He would—if he could still see, with two black eyes,” Jim laughed.
It took a while, with the two men jumping nervously at every sound, but they finally located their quarry. It was buried practically in the shadow of the Wall. Strangely enough, near it they found another large, immovable piece of metal, similar to the one Mike had tripped over earlier.
They were lucky in one way, unlucky in another. On the bright side, the sky was clear—there was no threat of rain. This was fortunate, for they had no motel to stay in, not even an abandoned cabin. The unmarked building across the street was out of the question, since they hadn’t been “invited.” They did find a spot that was sheltered from it and any traffic on the road by trees and bushes. As darkness gathered, they unrolled their sleeping bags, and were even able to light a fire without attracting attention from anyone across the street. About this time, however, they noticed that the two younger men who had arrived earlier were now departing, the older man apparently staying behind. They got in the car and drove off to the south, once again paying no heed to their surroundings.
At this point, Jim and Mike felt safe enough to immerse themselves in their next ‘lesson’.
CHAPTER 18
President Kenneth Thompson, unlike the Congress of the time, learned from history. His idol Adolf Hitler had used laws to beat down and confine his nemesis, the Jews, but they defied him whenever possible. He was then “forced” to send as many of them as he could to the gas chambers.
Thompson had also legally reduced women to lower-class standing, emulating Hitler. Thinking ahead, he realized that mass murder on the Nazi scale was not possible this time around. It was not that he feared an outcry from men—by this time he knew that there would be none. In fact, men were demanding that he do something drastic. Hitler had not needed the Jews and thus could exterminate them, but Thompson did need women for the sole purpose of producing the next generation of “subjects” for him, and his children, to rule.
In just a few days, the President came up with the “perfect” plan. This was his crowning achievement, he felt, because it accomplished two goals at one time. It provided a solution to the economic crisis, and it solved his other problem better than Hitler’s gas chambers had worked with the Jews.
It also marked the beginning of the greatest social upheaval in the history of the world.
It is a fact that Canada is much larger than you men are aware. There is a lot of land in Manitoba and Alberta, where men never venture, because of the presence of something called “the Wall.” At one time, however, it was well-populated, just as Ontario is today. That time ended when Thompson’s next major decree was issued. First, he declared that every person living in designated portions of those provinces—everyone, male and female alike—had to move out. He didn’t care what they took with them and offered no government compensation for what they had to leave behind, claiming that the government was as short of money as the private sector was. He was not interested in where they went, or what happened to them, as long as that area was completely empty within a year. Anyone resisting the move would, of course, be executed on the spot.
After the people had deserted the region (most of them went to the sparsely populated regions of Montana and the Dakotas), he created special demolition teams to destroy every single building within the designated area, from skyscrapers to mountain cabins. This took about eight months, for there were so many volunteers for this work that each team only had to cover about a square mile. After all, it wasn’t very often that an average person had a chance to legally destroy what had been private property.
Contests were actually held to see who could knock a building down the fastest, or with the most style, or with the biggest explosion. There was even one which involved the creation of Rube Goldberg-style devices to accomplish the demolition. The winner’s contraption used no fewer than thirty-two steps, including everything from an egg and a ping-pong ball to a hamster, a pop-gun, a turntable and a toothbrush, to achieve nothing more elaborate than pulling a pin on a grenade in the basement of a house.
In another scenario, a high school teacher was permitted to use two nearly-identical, three-story office buildings to demonstrate the effectiveness of the force of gravity. He rigged one building with two pounds of explosives on the third floor, and the other had an equal charge placed in the basement. When the two blasts were triggered simultaneously, the students saw for themselves that the building with the explosives in the basement received a major gravity assist, resulting in a much more complete destruction. Unfortunately, the teacher knew less about demolition than he thought he did, and therefore did not employ explosion-dampening “blankets.” Thankfully, no one was killed, but one student permanently lost the use of one eye due to flying shrapnel. Despite a lawsuit from this student’s parents, neither this teacher nor his school board learned from his mistake, for he was allowed to try this stunt again a few weeks later with another class and two more buildings. This time, the dynamite placed in the top floor blew apart the entire façade of that building, which fell to the ground and crushed the teacher, along with six of his students.
The fact that the workers were not demolition experts resulted in many incidents like this, with the predictable large number of deaths (well over five thousand), but as always, Thompson was not concerned about that—as long as the job got done as fast as possible. He was anxious to get to the next phase of the operation, which he knew could take longer than twenty years to complete.
This involved three huge simultaneous construction projects. First, identical dormitory-style buildings began going up everywhere, as if the whole region had become one giant college campus. That illusion was shattered, however, when construction began on the second project—the Wall.
This structure made the so-called Berlin Wall of the mid-twentieth century seem puny by comparison, for it contained more concrete and reinforced steel than all the skyscrapers in North America put together. It was over two hundred feet high and immensely thick, and was built around the entire perimeter of the emptied area. At first, roads into and out of the region were left open, so that workers building the dormitories could come and go as they needed, although many of them said they felt claustrophobic just being near the thing. No doubt this was due largely to its imposing height and the dark gray color which was specifically chosen to make it look somber and brooding. That feeling intensified as work on the housing complexes neared its end. Then, one by one, the sections of the Wall were joined together, and the roads began to be sealed off. Then, as now, a person could stand and see nothing but Wall from one horizon to the other, a barricade impossible to see over, around, or through.
You, the men of this century, are familiar with this Wall. You and the generations before you have been taught that it is a place of evil, something to fear and avoid. The myth has been hammered home so well that no man today will go anywhere near it, even though he doesn’t know why he fears the place. But what you don’t know is that within that Wall is a second Wall, equally tall and thick, and built at the same time as the first. Also, the ten miles of barren land separating the two Walls contains the greatest concentration of land mines, razor wire, and other booby traps ever assembled.
The third of Thompson’s projects was the construction of several railway lines. Unlike all other train tracks of the day, which were set four feet, eight-and-a-half inches apart, these lines would use a narrower gauge, only four feet two inches. He wanted a “special” rail line, to carry nothing but his “special” cargo. They originated in various places around the country, but they all converged in one place.
&
nbsp; Twenty years after they were begun, the dormitories, the tracks and the Walls were finished. The region, spanning parts of two provinces, was now completely cut off from the rest of the country. President Kenneth Thompson the First, at the age of sixty-four, had created the largest and most secure ghetto in the history of mankind.
As one of the last acts of his life, he filled that ghetto. He declared that every female in the country, young and old alike, was to be sent there, by his special rail system.
To live behind the Walls.
Forever.
CHAPTER 19
“Stop it right there,” Jim said, rummaging around in his pack. “We got something to do.”
“If I do, you know what will happen—it’ll self-destruct.”
“That’s all right—I’ve seen all I need for now. Grab the shovel and a light and come with me.”
The video seemed to have stopped on its own anyway, so Mike removed the external memory from his computer and followed his partner.
Cautiously, they returned to the spot where they had recovered the memory device. Jim took the shovel and began to excavate around the piece of metal they had noticed earlier. Both ends of it remained underground, but it didn’t take long before they realized that they were looking at a section of railroad track.
The wooden ties supporting the rail had mostly rotted away—seven hundred years will do that, even to pressure-treated wood—but enough remained for Jim to see that the other rail should be west of this one. He stepped off the distance to where he thought the second rail should be, and began to dig. The ground being slightly uneven, he had to dig down a little further than before, but very shortly he found it. He then produced from his pocket a small measuring tape.
“Been carrying this around in my pack for years, and never needed it—until now.”
The tape was only a ten-foot tape, but that was long enough for this application. They stretched the tape between them, and by elevating the tape to correct for the uneven ground, they quickly arrived at a final measurement.
Fifty inches. Four feet, two inches.
The exact width of Kenneth Thompson’s “special rail line.”
Mike looked at the exposed metal rails and gave a low whistle. “Now that’s what I call evidence.”
Jim looked up at the looming, forbidding face of the Wall.
“You were wondering where the women went? Now we know.”
CHAPTER 20
They walked slowly back to their camp, deep in thought.
All this time, and they were hidden in plain sight, Jim’s mind reeled. At this moment, he was separated from possibly millions of women by two Walls and ten miles of booby-trapped land. Never before had he been this close to them. But traversing those last few miles was going to be a real headache.
“I wish this Wall had a door,” Jim said.
“Yeah, well, if wishes were horses…” Mike started to quote, but then had a better idea. “If we had a plane, we could fly in.”
“This Wall has been here for seven hundred years,” Jim pointed out. “I’m sure that if it were possible, someone would have done it by now. They’ve probably got anti-aircraft guns in that ‘no-man’s land’ behind this thing.”
“I remember hearing about a jetliner crashing in this area some twelve years ago,” Mike said.
“Me, too. The press called it ‘engine failure’, but they also took great pains to point out how the proximity to the Wall and its ‘inherent evilness’ was a major factor in the accident. Now, I’d be willing to bet there was nothing ‘accidental’ about it.”
“Somebody decided the plane was too close to the Wall, and they shot it down.”
“Which, once again, raises the musical question,” Jim said in frustration, “who are ‘they’?”
“My guess is someone named Thompson, or one of his stooges.”
“Like our pal, the bogus Four-Star.”
“I think I agree with your assumption that this guy is phony,” said Mike. “You think the Army—the one we’re part of—would be a party to something like this? I mean, you’re a colonel. Would you say to your troops, ‘Shoot down that jetliner, and that’s an order’? What do you think they’re going to say to you?”
“I would hope they’d say the same thing I’d say to my superior if he gave me an order like that—why? So, it’s probably not the Army.”
“These guys probably have access to letterhead with a bunch of generals’ names on it, and use it to make their ‘orders’ look more official. Most likely it’s the Secret Service or, as the women referred to them, the ‘Gestapo’.”
The men made it back to their campsite without attracting any unwanted attention, but then stopped short of it in surprise. Within seconds, however, they had their guns drawn.
While Mike kept watch on the surrounding landscape, Jim went through their packs. To his relief, nothing was missing; their food and clothing, even their high-powered rifles were still there. The only thing different was what had caused them their moment of astonishment.
The memory stick they had just played was gone. In its place was a red satin ribbon, draped across Mike’s computer.
“You tell me a squirrel did that,” Jim said, straining his eyes to see into the darkness, “I’m gonna know you’re insane.”
“Hardly a wild animal,” said Mike quietly, listening for sounds of movement. “One way or the other, we’ve reached the end of the line. Your geo-caching friend is here.”
“Wait a minute—something’s different about this ribbon,” Jim noticed. In all previous instances, the end of the ribbons had been cut in an indented V-shape, like ribbons handed out at fairs. The end of this one was cut in the opposite fashion, like…
“…an arrow, pointing west,” Jim said. “I think I’ll see if it’s pointing at anything.”
“Hold that thought,” Mike said. “It sounds like somebody’s moving toward us from the other direction.”
“Maybe I’ll wait with you for a while, and see what they want.”
They stood motionless, hardly even breathing, listening intently. After five minutes of hearing nothing, they relaxed a little.
“Guess I was wrong,” Mike sounded relieved. “OK—shall we check out this arrow thing?”
“I’ll go. You stay here and guard the stuff,” Jim ordered, grabbing a flashlight. “I’m not going far, so if you need me, just—I don’t know, wave, or something.”
“That might attract too much attention, especially in the dark,” Mike joked. “How about if I stand on my head and yodel?”
“Nah, that won’t work,” Jim shot back. “That’s what everybody does.”
He started walking to the west, but had hardly gone a hundred yards when he heard a gunshot behind him. Spinning around, he saw, in the light of their campfire, Mike drop to the ground. He heard his partner give a shout before firing off two rounds of his own, the second of which elicited a pain-filled moan from another person. He knew Mike had that situation under control, which was good, because at that moment he “felt” a presence behind him. This place is like Grand Central Station tonight, he thought. Wheeling around again, he could just barely make out a bush, and his training kicked in. If there’s a hiding place, there’s a shooter in it, aiming at you. But before he could draw his own weapon, or even drop to the ground, he saw a muzzle flash from his right—seemingly from the Wall itself—and he heard what sounded very much like a body topple over onto its side.
He slowly crawled over to the bush and peered around the side of it. His instincts had been right, as usual—something that used to be a man was lying on the ground, holding yet another high-powered rifle. He retreated to the south side of the bush, knowing he couldn’t remain there too long—in this position, the road was behind him. The one advantage of this location was that it put the bush between him and the Wall, and whoever it was that had brought down this thug.
While he sat contemplating his good fortune—if indeed that’s what it was—he was joined by Mi
ke, who had made his way silently from the campsite.
“I don’t remember yodeling,” Jim whispered to his partner.
“Yeah, well, that guy back there got tired of my company real fast,” Mike responded, “so I decided to come see how you and your guest were getting along.” He peered around the bush. “Good shooting, Jim—head shot, in the dark, and only one round. Very nice.”
“Wish I could take credit for it, but it wasn’t me.”
“What?”
“Shot came from over there—practically in the Wall itself.”
They waited in silence, but as before, they heard no sounds of movement.
“What say we go take a closer look?” Jim suggested.
“Can’t hurt,” Mike answered, but then remembered the body of Jim’s “guest.” “Oh, wait—yes, it can.”
“Let’s do it anyway,” Jim said, creeping cautiously toward the Wall. Mike had no choice but to follow.
They got within ten feet of the Wall and… stopped, dead in their tracks.
“Did I say something about wishes and horses?” Mike asked.
There was a door, in the Wall, and it was opened out at a ninety-degree angle.
“Looks like, maybe, beggars will ride,” Jim answered, as they moved even more carefully toward the portal. Jim sprinted across the opening and looked into it from the left side, while Mike peered in from behind the door itself. It was even darker inside the doorway than it was out in the suddenly silent Canadian night, so they had no way to judge how far into the Wall the opening went or if, in fact, it went all the way through.
“Flashlight,” Jim ordered.
Mike had brought one, and shined it into the opening. The tunnel that was revealed was only about seven feet high, seemingly chiseled out of the solid concrete of the Wall. It seemed to go about fifteen feet in, but then either ended, or turned left… or right… or maybe both. It was impossible to be certain from their vantage point. One thing they could see was that no person was visible. However…
