The Farm

by Matt Moss

  “Cole, you in or what?” Donald asks. “Pay attention.”

  “What’s the bet?”

  “Ten to see the flop.”

  I throw the chips and play my hand, but my mind isn’t on the game. I’m betting small and folding often so I don’t have to find something else to do while everyone else plays. The longer I can stay in the game, and stay in one spot, the better. For some reason, I feel like they’re waiting for me to be alone somewhere, like outside in the dark. They want to catch me by myself.

  “You hot, Cole?” Mr. Gibbs asks.

  “No. Why?”

  “Because you’re sweating bullets.” He takes a drink. “It’s alright man, just a game. Not like we’re playing Russian Roulette or anything.”

  I run a hand across my forehead and wipe away the sweat that I didn’t realize was there. I begin to panic, thinking that they suspect that I know they’re plotting to kill me. And if they suspect that I know they’re going to murder me, they’ll be on edge and make it even more likely that they do, sooner rather than later. “I just need some water and fresh air. I’ll be right back.” The chair nearly falls over as I leave.

  Safe inside the foyer, I lean against a wall and feel that my heart’s about to explode. I breathe and try to slow it down. I know they’re talking about me right now, even with Larry in the room. Probably asking him questions about my behavior recently, trying to get him to think that I’m going crazy.

  I’m not crazy.

  I go out the front door, relieved to be alone, and take a break by the well. The stars are shining bright in a clear sky, the moon, full and glowing white. After resetting myself, I take a deep breath and make my way back to the house. With my eyes watching the ground in front of me, I nearly jump out of my skin as a nearby voice calls my name. It’s Mr. Whyte.

  “Mr. Whyte, is that you?” I ask because his voice sounds different, weathered and grizzled.

  “Cole, we haven’t much time left. They’ve done something to my machine and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m afraid that I won’t be around much longer.”

  Even in the darkness, I can tell that he’s aged significantly. The moon reflects off of his thin, white hair and shows the wrinkles on his face. He looks like a man at the end of his life. It defies all sense of logic and reason.

  “What in the world…”

  He smiles a familiar smile, weaker though.

  So many improbable thoughts run through my mind.

  Whyte nods slowly. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I was going to tell you eventually, but fate, as it seems, has intervened and we haven’t much time.”

  “I don’t understand. How is this possible? How did you become an old man overnight!”

  He thinks for a moment while grinding his teeth, looks up to the sky, then back to me with a nod. “What the hell… I’ll just tell you everything now. First, we may need to sit down; for your safety so you don’t pass out, and for my old legs that don’t work so well.” We walk into the barn and I pull a couple of logs into the light.

  He takes a deep breath. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’ll just come right out with it. We don’t have the time to go into details right now, but here’s the short of it: you are not on the planet Earth. We are not on planet Earth because it has been destroyed.”

  My focused attention fades and I begin to laugh, but he cuts me off. “I’m serious, Cole! Damnit, just look at me! I should be all the proof you need to believe.”

  I stop laughing but can’t wrap my head around it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Whyte. It’s just not possible. Whatever happened with you can probably be explained. Maybe you were wearing make-up before, I don’t know. But we’re not on Earth… that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  He gives me a cautious look—one that says he’s not lying and I better show some respect. He looks away to control himself and collect his thoughts as it seems he’s more prone to aggravation in his current state.

  He finds the words. “There’s a reason why you don’t have any memories before you came here. Sure, you know things like who the presidents were, favorite ice cream flavors, movies, songs, culture. Abram even proved that he knew alchemy and science, a rarity for humans today.”

  I was asking for answers. So what if he’s not lying?

  I dive in now, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “What do you mean, humans today?”

  “Humans today aren’t born. They’re grown.”

  He pauses for effect, gauging my reaction. As expected, I have no words and stare blankly in reply.

  He continues. “Grown to keep the machines alive…” he shakes his head in frustration. “That’s for another day; we don’t have time. Look, all five of you are the same age, share the same physical characteristics—do you think that’s by chance?”

  “I’m going to guess the answer is ‘no’.”

  “Thirty-three is the age, determined by the machines, that a man is born and dies. To be harvested.”

  I stand up. “Wait, born and dies in the same year? Harvested? What the hell are you talking about?”

  He stands up, aggravated at himself. “Argh, I’m not explaining this well. Curse this old body, my mind isn’t working so well. I should have been dead a long time ago.”

  “Mr. Whyte, how old are you?”

  He meets my gaze. “Three hundred and seventy one. Next week is my birthday.”

  It’s official. He’s lost it. “Bull shit. This is all bull shit! Did Gibbs put you up to this? Are you on his side now?”

  He puts his hands up in defense. “No, I would never. He’s the reason that I’m dying! He’s part of the machine!”

  I point to the white house, my temperature rising. “You saying that Gibbs is a machine? What does that even mean?”

  “Technically, he’s an android. See, he’s part of the Artificial Intelligence uprisi—“

  “Stop right there. I’m done. Seriously, can you hear yourself? I don’t know what planet you’re on, but look around you…this is Earth.” I throw my hands up. “Maybe Gibbs was right, maybe you have gone crazy.”

  Pain washes over his face like I’ve never seen before. Tears begin to well in his eyes and his jaw quivers. He moves to speak, but jerks his head to the side.

  I shake my head, feeling betrayed by the man I thought was my friend. “I thought you were going to help me. I thought you were going to tell me about my past and…maybe get off this farm. But you don’t care about me. Nobody does.” I turn away to leave for the house. I stop, turn, and look him in the eye. “Well, this has been a nice parlor trick, and I hope you’ve had fun at my expense. But it’s over now, and I’m going back inside.”

  “Cole, wait!” Whyte says before I go. He reaches into his shirt and pulls a small, chain necklace with a key up and over his head. He places it into my hand. “Maybe this will make you believe me.”

  “What’s this?”

  “This key unlocks the three doors on the second floor above the foyer. Don’t let Gibbs or anyone else see you go into them or they will kill you, no questions asked.” He grabs me by the shoulders, urgently. “You must leave this place. But they won’t let you.” He cups my hand that holds the key. “You have the gun. But you’re going to need some bullets.”

  The gun… it’s gone! I feel behind my back where it’s usually tucked, but it’s not there. I must have lost it between leaving the house and now. “How did you know?”

  He smiles through the tears. “I know everything that goes on in my house. But my time has come to an end. You’re the master of it now.” He takes my hand in both of his and looks at me with pride and hope, much like a father would. Like I imagine my father would.

  “I…I’m sorry Mr. Whyte. I know you’re not crazy. I just can’t…”

  He cuts me off. “I know. It’s a lot to take in, believe me. I’m still trying to take it in, even after all these years.”

  “I’m not saying that you’re lying or that you’re crazy, but I’m goin
g to have to see these things with my own two eyes before I can believe it.”

  “I understand. That has been man’s dilemma since the dawn of time—believing in things which cannot be seen or explained. Yet here we are, at the age of extinction, and faith still lives on.”

  “Faith is a novel idea for old men in their dying days,” I tell him.

  He grins. “Perhaps. But without faith in something more, what are we? Without faith and the soul, we are nothing more than dust.”

  “Perhaps. I better get back inside before they come looking for me. You coming in?”

  “Ha! Looking like this?” He gazes into the distance, towards the fields and the pines. “I think I might go for a walk. A night such as this, it would be a shame not to.” He gazes up to the stars. “And it’s been such a long time since I’ve had a nice, quiet walk by myself.”

  “Anything else I should know before I go in?”

  He looks at me with a gleam in his eye. “It’s as I’ve always said, everything will be revealed to you in time. When you’re ready.” He smiles one last time before disappearing into the darkness, and I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

  Walking back, I try to push everything he said to the side because it’s too much to process. But what if he’s right? What if this isn’t Earth? I’ve had a strange feeling that something isn’t right since I got here; so have the others. And what was it he said about Gibbs being a machine?

  I stand in front of the door and take a deep breath.

  Seventeen

  “The prodigal son has returned!” Gibbs mocks as I enter the room.

  I try to keep my nerves at bay as I rejoin the group and take my seat. “What did I miss?”

  “This,” Gibbs says and holds up my pistol. “Must have been careless and dropped it when you left in such a rush.” He observes it like it’s something of a legend, turning it in his hands. “You know, guns are a crazy thing. Probably man’s greatest invention, to be honest. Guns shaped the world that we know—created nations and established world powers. This… now, this is power.” He holds the gun out, barrel pointed at me.

  My heart stops.

  He grins, then lets it fall around his trigger finger, offering it back to me. I take it from him and tuck it behind my back. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Try not to lose it again. Never know when you might need it,” Gibbs says and drains his glass.

  “Can we get back to the game now?” Benji says, holding a majority of the chips.

  “Let’s play,” Gibbs replies and deals the cards.

  I try to focus on the game in attempt to keep my mind off of everything around me. Eve brings me a drink, and I shoot it down. “Thanks, Eve.”

  “Your welcome, Cole,” she says with an exaggerated tone and smile.

  Larry nods his head at me like I just said something profound. Abram flirts with Jane whenever she walks by and she flirts back. Donald’s stewing over his hand, peeking at his cards every few seconds and mumbling complaints under his breath. Eve’s doing her best to console him in between serving drinks. Mr. Red walks in to check on us again, then disappears. Gibbs fires up a joint.

  I need to talk to Larry, but don’t want to make it obvious. I fold my hand when Donald raises, then turn to Larry as it’s his turn to bet. “I think Don’s got one hell of a hand, Larry. He’s baiting. I’d fold if I were you.”

  “Shut up, Cole.” Donald says. “How’d you know I got a good hand. You cheating?”

  “How could I be cheating? I just noticed you trying a little extra hard this hand to give the appearance that you’re pissed off at the cards. And you just confirmed that you do indeed have a good hand by your reaction.”

  Gibbs laughs. “Good read, Cole. Don, nice try, but I’m out.” He folds. Larry folds as does Abram, leaving Donald the winner of a very small pile of chips. In disbelief and frustration, he looks from one smiling face to the other. “You sons of bitches,” he curses, then reveals pocket aces with the other two showing on the table.

  Abram laughs and points. “You had a four of a kind! That’s hilarious.” Gibbs laughs and joins in taunting Donald. Larry begins to, but I cut him off with a stare and a sharp nod towards the foyer. At first he looks confused, but when I get up, he joins me. I would have preferred that he wait at least a minute before following me, but oh well.

  He meets me in the foyer, by the bathroom. “Larry, I saw Mr. Whyte. He’s… changed.”

  “What do you mean, changed?” he asks, whispering in reply.

  “He’s older now, and I don’t know how.” I shake my head. “But that’s not what’s important right now. I have the key for the three doors upstairs.” I show him the key before tucking it away again.

  His eyes go wide. “Did he say what’s behind those doors?”

  “One of them is an ammunition room, like you said. I’m going to go up there and get some rounds for my gun.”

  “Want me to cause a distraction? I can set something on fire,” Larry says, trying to help.

  I shake my head. “No, Larry, don’t set anything on fire. No distraction, just be cool and casual. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  He nods sharply. “Cool and casual. Got it. Did Mr. Whyte say anything else?”

  “He said something about Mr. Gibbs being a machine and that the Earth was destroyed.”

  “All plausible,” Larry states. He looks back towards the room “Alright, I’m going in. Cover me.”

  “Cover you? Larry…” Too late, he’s already gone strutting into the room with a swagger in his step. I hear Eve offer him a drink. “Make it a double for everyone around the table, babe. Put it on my tab,” he replies in a low, confident tone. “Pour yourself one as well, you’ve earned it.”

  She laughs. “Oh, Larry. You’re so funny.”

  I peek into the room and find the others occupied as they pass a joint around. Gibbs is in the middle of one of his stories; perfect time for me to sneak upstairs. I move through the foyer and up the stairs like a ghost, keeping my feet light so they don’t make noise. Silent, but quick, I make my way to the door on the left, hoping that Mr. Red doesn’t stumble in and catch me red-handed.

  The key turns the lock on the deadbolt with ease and, once inside, I softly press the door shut and lock it.

  It’s a long, narrow room lined with shelves on both sides. The racks are five tiers tall, but not so high that I can’t reach the top. Canned goods, and things like toilet paper and toothpaste line the shelves for about half the length of the room. The rest of the space is nothing but bullets.

  Every caliber bullet imaginable, in multitudes of boxes stacked on top of one another. There’s barely a space that isn’t filled with a box or a magazine of some kind. At the back, there’s a cache of plastic explosives and hand grenades. I’ve never seen so many ballistics in one place; not even in the movies.

  Knowing that time is of the essence, my eyes begin to comb over the piles of boxes in search for bullets that will fit my gun. It takes longer than I would like, but eventually I locate the forty-caliber rounds for my Glock. Next to the boxes, there’s an assortment of magazines that belong to different types of pistols, already loaded and ready to go. I find the ones that belong to mine, and replace my empty magazine with a full one.

  I hammer the magazine into place and pull the slide to chamber a round. There’s a sense of immediate danger and power that comes with the feel of a loaded gun, combined with the sound of racking a bullet into the chamber. It’s loaded and ready to go, even more-so since the model of gun I’m carrying doesn’t have a safety mechanism. All that’s required is a squeeze of the trigger.

  I arrange the boxes and put everything back in its place so it doesn’t look like anyone’s been here, then make my way out. The gun’s in my hand as I open the door. Finding nobody around, I lock the door back and head down the stairs, tucking the pistol behind my back. My head’s down and, in the middle of the foyer, I startle when I hear Gibbs speak. “What’s up, Cole?”

/>   “Not much,” I reply, but can’t think of anything else to say because my heart’s racing so fast. Did he see me go into the room? I’m aware that I may have to pull the gun from behind my back at any moment.

  Gibbs is leaning against the wall near the bathroom, his arms crossed as he sizes me up. “What were you doing upstairs?”

  Shit. He saw me. “I left something in my room—a good luck charm. Figured I could use it out there if I’ve got any chance of winning.”

  “Got an extra one for me?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Anyone in there?” I point to the restroom. “I need to piss something awful.”

  “All you,” he says and turns the handle, swinging the door open.

  “Thanks.”

  I go into the room and turn to lock the door. Gibbs shoves it open, forcing me back, and locks it behind him. My hand goes behind my back in reach for the pistol.

  “Go ahead,” Gibbs tells me and points to where he knows the gun is. “See what happens.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “You broke the rules, Cole. I know you went into one of those rooms upstairs.” He takes a step towards me. “Find anything useful up there? Which room did you go in?” He takes another step towards me. “I can’t believe Whyte gave you the key. That dumb son of a bitch.” He takes another step.

  I pull the gun. “Get back, Gibbs.”

  “It’s not loaded,” Gibbs says and takes another step. I pull the slide and eject a round for him to see. He stops and stands perfectly still. “So, you did find something useful. Good for you.”

  “I said get back.” I steady my hand and put a finger on the trigger.

  He puts his hands up. “Alright then, lawman. Don’t shoot. You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would you?”

  “I want all the guns—from everyone. Now, you’re going to march in there and get them for me. Do I make myself clear?”