The Populace

by Patterson, Aaron M.

  I knew the condition. I was ready to ask the man if he knew Gene, specifically if he was related to him. A large part of me tried to convince myself it was, in reality, Gene I spoke to and that he had somehow infiltrated the ranks of the CA in an attempt to get me back to Minnesota. Such a thought was quickly thwarted, however, when reality over the timing, the reasoning, and the benevolence of the CA set in.

  “What’s the worst thing you’ve done?” I asked Reginald.

  “Well, I burned down a cabin with a man inside, no way for him to escape. That was bad. That was real bad. I wanted him dead. I staked out his cabin and he stood no chance. That was about nine years ago and I’m still atoning for it.”

  “There is no atonement for the things we have done,” Clark said. “We can only learn from the things we have done. I know I try. How about you, Auker?”

  “I try.” I lied, as I wasn’t a big fan of atonement in our world of lawlessness.

  As the van traversed speedily forward, I collected my thoughts in the backseat, disavowing all knowledge that anybody else existed but me, at least temporarily. The most important thing I needed to ponder was the idea of the Ire coming back unannounced, and especially in this van. I would likely be able to destroy both men, although Reginald would be far more formidable than the boy. But I would not want that to happen. I wanted to be free of the Ire evermore, free to converse with all people without worry. I was an enigma, undoubtedly. I apparently was changing the game. It was not a role that suited me well, for I was generally a private person.

  What of Gene? What was he doing now? Did he even want to go back to Minnesota? I would shortly find out. Then again, I could get back to Minnesota and opt to not find him, to leave him out of my life altogether. Such a glorious yet dreadful dream. He had that dominion over me, the type that drills into the flesh while blessing the blood.

  I honestly cringed at the thought of what he’d done in the day or so since his return. The webs of malice he could weave were unprecedented. Even this man, Reginald, who seemed to be ripped from the same cloth, had more morals than that. Then again, I didn’t know Reginald while I did know Gene. Vastly contrasting universes.

  I felt the end of this ordeal coming. The smell in the air was different while also refreshing, a telltale sign of change. I anticipated it and plainly welcomed it. I should have surmised easily that more crap was to fall on my head in the coming days. I knew better than to allow complacency rule my hours. It’s a yin and yang thing, one positive and only equaled by a negative, the balance eternally there.

  I reached the development and was placed in another vehicle. The car and its overly bloated driver transported me from the central office in the Minnesota Number-5 Development to my cabin, the same I’d left two months ago. Nobody had touched my house. Nobody had set foot in it. Furthermore, nobody had planned to do anything with it. This was according to the conversation I had with Statesman Jean-Terry Moreau upon being dropped off by the CA people.

  “You are one with a lot attached to him,” the Statesman, a far more plump stature on his body than the first time I’d met him, said to me. “Wallace Auker, you have the Centralized Authority’s ear at full-force. You know that, right?”

  “I think I know that,” I answered. “They like my blood.”

  “They say it’s magic blood. I say it’s too much wishful thinking. Regardless of their thoughts, is that why you left? To seek out that place in Missouri?”

  “Not at all. I left to help a friend find his sister.”

  “How in this great green world would that benefit you or your friend? Nobody could talk to each other. Unless you anticipated Flegtide working as well as it does.”

  “I see you’re on it right now, Statesman.”

  “How else could I chat with you? Of course I’m on it. So, were you thinking of Flegtide when you left?”

  “Yes, but in a different way. We were going to find his sister in Oklahoma to sway her from ever taking the drug. My friend was adamant against it.”

  “And?”

  “Too much occurred on the way down. Our goal shifted reasoning. We still needed to find the sister, but after too long we began to wonder why we needed to find her. The persuaded resistance of Flegtide wasn’t really what drove us anymore. It was rough.”

  “This friend,” the Statesman said. “Who and where is he?”

  “I believe you already know that answer, Statesman. Del Gregory.”

  “I just wanted you to say his name so your stories lined up. And they do. He is back at his cabin and now, after confirmation, you are allowed back in yours. I said before, Auker, that this is not a prison. You can leave when you like without consequence.”

  “If it were without consequence, I would not have to explain myself right here and right now. So no, you’re wrong about consequences.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Auker, welcome back to Minnesota Number-5 Development.”

  “Thank you, Statesman.”

  “You may like it better than when you left two months ago. People converse now. People are people again.”

  Right, until their heads explode.

  “Your cabin has been untouched since you left, Auker. Enjoy your life resumed.”

  My first act in my old cabin was falling face-first into my nice leather couch in the living room. The rain began beating down on my cabin’s roof. My air was cool but not cold. Remarkably, my floor was relatively clean. And I could see my reflection in my mirror on my wall across from my couch—I was dirty. It didn’t matter, for this was my house.

  My cell, badly in need of a charge at 2% battery life, began to buzz. I took it from my pocket and looked at the screen. J Babblerook, White Male from St. Cloud, 42 Years Old. “This guy again?” I said aloud. After Gene, I wanted nothing more to do with people.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 34

  Immediately

  It didn’t take a full 24 hours for Gene to contact me. Ten hours, in fact, and at five in the morning no less. How would I handle this? Could I answer him and reignite the swirl of misery he’d caused me? I let the cell jingle several minutes before he gave up, giving me a little relief. But then it happened again, myself once more not answering. The cycle repeated six times before I caved.

  “Hello, Gene,” I said, my face obviously looking disinterested on his cell.

  The man was naked and sweating, odd for October. His beard was longer than I’d ever seen it, although I had only seen him five days prior. And his eyes looked nothing short of defeated. “I see you made it back to our place,” he said in a voice that formed the image of a brain on its edge.

  “Back at last, yes.”

  “Did you not answer the first five times I called because you were asleep or you’re mad at me?”

  “Both, Gene. More the latter.”

  I saw Gene lower his head despondently. Maybe I should not have said that to him.

  “I miss you, Wallace. You’ve grown to be a part of me and after the storm on the island I kind of lost you. We should chat.”

  “It’s too fucking soon,” I retorted with aggression. “Gene, the world we live in now is different and I need time to adapt to it before I can be around you again. And you sound like we’re a couple. We are not!”

  “I will back away,” Gene responded. “I know you’ll come back around, but now is not the time.”

  “It’s not. I’m sorry, Gene, but it’s not. Goodbye.”

  I was so rough on the man that honestly was never trying to be bad. He’d been dealt a superiorly rotten hand and he had nobody else to help him deal with it. I hoped maybe, just maybe, the drugs the CA gave him in Missouri would help him. But according to his face during that call, they were harming him.

  Nevertheless, I had to say it. My life was back after such hunger and loss of sanity and discomfort. Finally. I could watch the television again. But my cell buzzed again. “Goddamn it, Gene!” I looked at the screen to see J Babblerook, White Male from St. Cloud, 42 Years Old yet again. No
better time than now to get going with it.

  “Hello?” the voice answered with a pitch black screen. It was gravelly and somewhat high, that voice. Unusual.

  “Is this J Babblerook?” Of course it was; no need to ask a question whose answer was obvious.

  “This is he.”

  “Are you incognito?”

  “No, I just forgot to turn the light on. One moment.”

  The light arrived and on my screen appeared a man in a red and black plaid robe, slightly thin, a thick goatee in salt and pepper, and a smile wider than the Mighty Mississippi River. I had everything to lose by talking to him. So, with my dream of dying in a sunny green field still at the forefront of my mind, I continued.

  “It’s been some time since you first started to get my attention, J.”

  “Twenty years. You were one of the first I reached out to when we were still in the huts. I reside in a completely different development now, however. Over in the UP of Michigan. I just thought I would try again for old time sake, you know, since it looks like the world is attempting to get back to normal.”

  “Yes,” I agreed with such little enthusiasm that I could hardly muster an inner grin.

  “Have you been in your development this whole time?”

  What a weird question. Why would J think I might have gone away for a while? Did he know more about me than he led on?

  “I just got back here yesterday.” I should have been far more discreet. “Helped somebody since I was able to interact with them. Left for a development south of Minnesota and now I’m back.”

  “You sound like an outstanding kind of person. A girl?”

  “No, not a girl.”

  “Interesting, but okay. I forgot to ask, is your name really Wallace or is that to hide something?”

  “It’s Wallace. No tricks.”

  “Well, Wallace, it is nice to finally talk with you after two decades of trying.”

  “Likewise.”

  “I’m currently back in the Number-5 Development for another couple of days. Visiting an old friend, Yves. We promised each other if the day came where we could meet sans-Ire, we would meet. So I came to him.”

  “You’re a good friend, J.”

  “I try, I do. Anyway, I would like to share a cup of coffee. There is a stand, like a bar almost, that opened up in the center of the development next to the CA central office. People are going there to converse. Would you be at all interested?”

  No, and I appreciate you leaving me alone, regardless of how nice you are. I can’t afford to be squashed by another person who starts off nice and ends up raving mad.

  “I don’t see why not.” My contrast of thought and speech made me sound a hundred kinds of bland, I’m sure. When I felt pressured, my vocabulary fell to a crawl at best.

  “That is fantastic, Wallace. What do you say, three this afternoon?”

  “Alright. I’ll be there, J.”

  “I will see you later.” J ended the call.

  I had no idea whether this Babblerook fellow would be the nice comrade to shake me from the Gene disease or the thorn that would be that last in my side. It mattered, too. I would be placing myself in ‘harm’s’ way if the latter were to be the truth. I had nothing much to gain if it were the former. These were the sorts of risks I’d taken my whole life without giving them much thought. I should have learned by now.

  If there was one person I wanted to talk to about this, it was Gene. ‘Hey Gene, I talked to the person who was the first to request a friendship with me after the Ire struck. It’s like full-circle. Isn’t that weird and awesome?’ I wanted to talk like that with Gene. I wanted it badly. But it would not happen. He was a different man, broken by the magnitude if his own dire cruelty. He was Gene V.2 anymore, and sequels typically cannot even compete with the original on every level.

  I felt more than concerned about this meeting with J. Something about it felt more unnerving than the idea of being led once again into cannibalism by Gene. It may be the coincidence about it, maybe the irony of being contacted by J one day after I arrived just like one day after I was in the hut at the beginning of the cabin program he contacted me, or maybe it was just the overly kind mannerisms of J. He was, after all, kinder than most people I’d ever met. This was a red flag, for Gene was just as kind.

  Also, and this cannot be understated, this very circumstance mimicked terrifyingly closely the one in which I mourned Haydon and Gene came along. History was repeating itself, the only real exception being that Haydon no longer lived while Gene still breathed just a mile and a half away from me. I wished him dead, however. Sometimes I wished it. Well no, I never wished him dead. I dreamed of wishing him dead, because dreams are not real.

  So yes, I was extremely timid over meeting J, no matter how benign his intentions. There were ghosts around me that morning, and they all wanted my attention.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 35

  A Cup of J

  It may have been for coffee, but my tongue actually thirsted for some booze, specifically of the vodka variety. But coffee, black and pretty disgusting from being stored away for decades, had to suffice on this scorching mid-October afternoon.

  The lady who ran the coffee stand, Lela, was older than all of us combined perhaps. Moreover, her smile was brighter and more authentic than all of ours combined. She was truly in her element giving, not selling coffee to the masses who could now interact with one another. It was pleasant to see pure joy for once.

  She gave me my coffee in a black plastic cup with a handle. It seemed like kind of her thing, as the other twelve or so people around the stand all held the same cups in their hands. And of course, they all chatted, some in groups of two or three and some in larger packs. I’m certain many of them thought I was a loner, too afraid to talk with others. No, I could talk. I just didn’t really want to talk to them. My world was more jaded than theirs, as I’d eaten people recently, not just killed them.

  The time was right about 3:30, thirty minutes later than his planned ETA to the coffee stand. J approached while wearing a blue and black plaid button-up shirt, black kakis, and a hat that I swear resembled a tri-corner hat from the days of the Revolution, only modernized to an amusing degree.

  “Wallace?” he said, smiling.

  “I assume you’re J?”

  “Nice to finally meet you, Wallace.”

  He shook my hand. I panicked at first, thinking yes indeed this would be the moment the Ire ultimately took me over and I killed him followed by the innocent folks surrounding me. But his hand I shook and all was well. I still felt the anxiety, however.

  He sat on the chair across from me. His face went from kind and cozy to long and tear-covered. His sudden crack was not anticipated. The tears broke him down.

  “What is wrong?” I asked.

  J struggled to say anything. “So long it’s been since I’ve been able to truly talk to somebody without the fear of Ire coming back. And I’ve lost so many people and never had a chance to mourn them through talking about them directly with another person. It’s tough, Wallace. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve lost people too. But I’m probably colder than you, J. The Ire came and I cared mostly about myself. I’ll admit that. It was the only way I figured I could survive.”

  “Have you cared for anybody since?”

  “Well yes, a good bit. But I keep getting bitten, thus—”

  “Thus you are less likely to accept new people,” he finished.

  “You are correct on that thus, J. Yes.”

  “So, you’re Wallace Auker. Tell me, what kind are you on right now?”

  “Kind of what?”

  “Flegtide. Street brands, doubling up on the CA mixes, or make your own? Everybody anymore has their poison, even if it’s only been around about a month.”

  “Well...” I didn’t know if I could trust him in telling him anything about my special situation. He may not believe me, he may hate me for it, or he may try to steal my blood. Trust was eve
rything, and it was much harder to earn it these days. “Street ones, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “Yes, I guess. Who knows really?”

  “I’m sorry, Wallace. I’m so sorry. This is not the pleasant conversation I wanted to have. I’ve ruined it.”

  I sighed. This is typically when I would cave and offer an amending set of words to sooth the downing person. Not this time. “J, you wanted to talk. You’ve wanted to meet me for twenty years. You have and, yes, you have ruined it. I make no apologies for me saying that. You’re a sad man and I get that. I do. But I’ve already dealt with my fair share of damning people, and I rightly don’t think it’s worth my valuable time anymore. You can speak to me again in the future if you want. I won’t ignore you. But for now, it seems you need to get your senses together while alone.”

  “Alone,” J whispered.

  “Pardon?”

  “I am alone, Wallace. Even now, talking to somebody at last, I’m alone. Even after decades of seeing nobody, I am alone. I just want a new friend.”

  He was now sounding wholly pathetic.

  “Sure, there’s Yves, but he’s not all that friendly. I was hoping for that friend to be you, Wallace. Perhaps I’m not ready.”

  “Then get your fucking ass ready before you come out to a place like this!” I growled.

  The many people still occupying the place around the coffee stand all stopped their conversations and looked at me. They would have been more concerned had they not understood the Ire—when it approaches, the person does not speak intelligently. So it was strange for them

  “I’m sorry,” he reiterated.

  “Don’t be fucking sorry, J! Be pissed! Be angry at the world and at the god that would let us become ravenous in this way!” Clearly, my boisterous rant was no longer about the man weeping before me. It was deeper and pretty much all about me. “Have yourself a day of not giving a damn about the world and about the people you’ve not been able to see. Go fuck somebody! Go beat up somebody! Be a human, for we’re finally getting that title to our species back!”