by Lars Teeney
“Thank you, Sergeant, no further questions,” the councilwoman excused the Sergeant.
“Okay ladies and gentlemen, before we adjourn for the day, there is one more witness to be called to the floor. I call Birdie Nubia to the floor for questions,” the councilman announced. Birdie heart sank when he heard his name called. His mother encouraged him onward. An usher approached his row to escort him to the front. He walked down the central aisle toward the witness box, passing scores of onlooking faces. Then he saw them, the scowling faces of the two officers that had visited him in the hospital, Cooper, and Dino.
“Birdie! Remember what I said!” was all that echoed in his head. he could think of nothing else. Birdie climbed into the seat that was too big for him. He had to crouch to reach the microphone.
“Hello, Birdie. Do you know why you are here?” the councilman asked.
“Yes,” he said shyly.
“Okay, good. And, do you know what it means to tell the truth here—to know why it’s important to tell the truth?” the councilman pressed on.
“Yes, sir,” Birdie chirped timidly.
“Excellent. Birdie, I want you to remember back to the basement, with the women and children, right before you left the crawled out through the window. Can you do that?” the councilman asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Birdie, when Jamal came to the basement and told you all to crawl out the window, did he say was going to do anything?” the councilman asked. Birdie was silent for a moment, frozen by indecision. He wanted to cry. Then he spoke,
“Ye-yes. He told us—he wanted to kill some pigs...” Birdie forced himself to say it, albeit reluctantly. Birdie wanted the protection that Cooper and Dino offered, and he didn’t want to live on the street. Most of all, he wanted to be with his mom again.
“Very good, Birdie. So, you all left the burning house through the basement window. Then, you ran to the backyard wall. When you and your mother got to the top what did you see?” the councilman asked.
“W—we—saw many cops. They had their guns out, and told us to come down. They grabbed my mom. Jamal jumped up on the wall. There—was a bunch of shooting—I don’t remember anything else,” Birdie reported.
“I see, Birdie. Just one more question for you. When the police shot Jamal Nubia did he point a gun at them,” the councilman followed up. Birdie was silent. He looked down from all the dour faces that mean-mugged him. He couldn’t bear to look at his mother right then.
“Yes,” Birdie managed, with eyes averted.
“Thank you, Birdie, no further—” the councilman was interrupted by an outburst in the audience.
“Lies! Fucking lies! What did you do to my son to make him betray Johnny Nubia? You Nazi pricks! Johnny Nubia shall rise again—” Kesha launched into a rant, at the top of her lungs, condemning all present. Security rushed to remove and restrain Kesha.
“Order! We will have order!” the councilwoman yelled, banging a gavel. The security personnel wrestled with Kesha, who continued her rant and struggle, even after being dragged from the hall. Birdie finally broke down in tears.
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Evan Nubia had poured through all remaining files, including that of the public hearing called into the incident. He chucked the files into his campfire. Evan decided he had read enough. He did still have Birdie Nubia’s biography that he had not yet touched, but the story had grown too tragic and he needed a break. He peered in his retinal H.U.D. and observed his current location, which was just outside of Princeton, New Jersey. He would be able to reach New York today, and he looked forward to being reunited with his friends. Evan, got up and packed his gear, kicked sand onto the campfire, and prepared his motorbike for the trek north. He kickstarted the motorbike and pulled onto the road from the dusty shoulder for the last leg of his trip to New York.
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A CIRCLE ON THE FACE OF THE DEEP
Craig a Briuis had quite enjoyed the solitude of his lone, cross-country trek. He spent most of it traveling on foot, like he had done once, years ago, during the Holy War in Alaska. The solitude of the road soothed his inner, savage beast. To his astonishment most of the countryside that he had witnessed once he had escaped the development of the East Coast, was not actually a barren wasteland, but was a vast, uninhabited sanctuary for many creatures who roamed its plains with impunity. The one place that had matched the description of a wasteland was the ruined city that was once Chicago, Illinois. Craig had made it a point to visit the city that had paid the price for his failure to defeat the enemy in the Holy War. He blamed himself for the death of millions of Chicago residents. Once he head lingered long enough in the old city ruins, he had moved on, west over the Great Plains.
There, he witnessed vast herds of horses and bison, teaming streams filled with fish and gigantic, swirling flocks of birds that blackened the sky. It wasn’t all rehabilitated wilderness. In some places he had come upon recent battles that had been fought with fury, resulted in great loss of life. He had seen the dead of both Apostate and ‘Remnant Regime’ soldiers on these fields of battle. From time to time, he would pass the burnt-out shells of sacked settlements, or abandoned farms, that had been reclaimed by the earth and trees. When he finally reached the western edge of the plains, he entered the Rocky mountains. Here he would catch an occasional ride from a passing trader. One such trader had told him tales of villages and tribes of isolated people, dwelling in the mountains. They had been so long left alone that they had not even heard of the [Virtue-Net] or the Reverend. These tribes had been in isolation and had developed their own regional dialects. These tribes made up a loose confederation that the traders had called the ‘Rocky Mountain Tribal Zone’. The traders did not have many interactions with the tribes because most were hostile, but a few did trade wares. These tales had fascinated Craig, as he had never experienced this aspect of the Country before, as he had been steeped in the strict dogma of the Regime’s military.
When Craig had reached what had once been known as Utah, he had truly experienced a wasteland. The years had not been kind to this land. Many of the ghost towns he had come across here had been abandoned during the environmental disasters of the Twenty-first Century, and had never been resettled. While travelling here provisions were scarce and hard to come by. He had founds a few edible plants and he had shot the occasional squirrel, or caught a snake. Craig had inched his way across the American desert, then he spied the vast Great Salt Lake, and near its shores was an ancient, uninhabited city. Craig saw the great, white pillars of a ruined cathedral rising above the husks and shells of buildings. When he had passed through the center of town he had a run-in with a pack of feral dogs, which barked a crowded around a recent kill of a coyote. The Alpha Male appeared to be a German Shepherd like breed, but, had a strange curled up tail, and was a peculiar bright orange color. It stood tall and proud, and did not suffer from mange the way many in the pack did. The other dog’s barked and yapped at Craig when he approached. One snapped but Craig did not flench. The German Shepherd-like, Alpha Male trotted over to Craig, and sniffed at his leg. The dog looked up at the man and wagged its tale and panted, almost happily. Craig lowered his hand and patted the German Shepherd-like dog on the head, and stroked the back of its neck. Craig pulled from his pack a piece of dried meat that he held out for the dog to snatch. The German Shepherd-like dog scarfed the meat down after chewing.
Craig gave the dog one more pat, and then continued on down the road. The dog followed. After walking several miles out of the ruined town he turned around and looked behind him. There was the German Shepherd-like dog, following several feet behind him. Craig continued on, after several hours he had turned and gazed behind him once more, and still the dog followed. As evening neared and he saw that the dog had not gone back to his pack it had become apparent the dog had ‘adopted’ him. He stood and waited for the dog to catch up. When it reached him, it sat down and panted, then barked once.
“Aye, lad, it appears that I am not going t
o get rid of you. I suppose I could use some company on my journey, but you need a name. Letsee, well, you are navigating this sea of sand—how about ‘Sailor’? Yeah, that’ll do it,” Craig made his mind up. Sailor had barked once, apparently in agreement. He pat Sailor, then he reached into his pack and pulled out a bandana from within, and tied it around Sailor’s neck.
“There you go. Now, keep up! I travel fast,” he said, then turned and started walking once more. Sailor barked in agreement, and then scurried off after him. The two of them travelled across the tall peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountain range and had done well at hunting together. Without training, Sailor had herded a dear into the kill zone Craig had prepared, who had then shot the deer. Their system had worked well. After a few days they descended to the foothills overlooking the Sacramento Valley. Craig was nearing his destination.
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She arched her back with pleasure. Her slender frame was thrust into the air and then down again, riding the bucking bronco that was his pelvis. She let out moans of ecstasy that signaled her climax, and soon he too quaked with orgasmic energy. She collapsed down upon his chest, exhausted and euphoric, and he wrapped his arms around her like a protective cocoon. The heavy breathing soon subsided and the euphoria faded to a feeling of contentment for each. Junjie sat staring down upon Teri’s form, and she brushed her fingers across his sculpted midsection.
“I was so worried about you in the battle,” Teri confessed, looking up at his face.
“I worried about you too. Afraid.” he said in broken English. She smiled up at him. He returned the smile.
“Do you think you will have to leave?” Teri asked with some worry.
“Not sure. Don’t know what happen next,” he replied. She reached out and kissed him once more. Then, she looked at the time displayed on her retinal H.U.D. and cursed.
“We should get up and go! My father will be looking for me, and I’m sure Major-General He will wonder where you are!” she said. He nodded in agreement, and they leapt up from the blanket that covered the hay pile they used as makeshift bedding. Both struggled to get dressed in the relative darkness of the barn, and then attempted to smooth out hair to look presentable. They exited the barn, and then split up to approach town from two different directions. Teri walked around the south side of town, along the way, observing the wreckage of the recent battle. Charred husks of vehicles littered the fields south of the town's wall. There were bullet impacts and craters all over the ground. She was glad that the townspeople had removed the dead from the field almost immediately after the battle had taken place, so that she did not have to gaze upon them as she walked toward town.
At last, Teri had reached the southern gate of town. Her biometric data was broadcast to the sentries at the gate and so that let her through, and she started out toward the center of town. As she rounded a corner she nearly collided with her mother, Gertrude.
“Teri! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Gertrude scolded her daughter.
“Sorry, I was down by the river—” Teri lied.
”Just come. We are needed in the infirmary, there are many wounded soldiers to tend to!” Gertrude stated, and rushed off. Teri followed closely behind and smiled to herself.
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Craig and Sailor had crossed through the barrens of the Sacramento Valley, passing through once thriving and fertile farmland in the past, now scrubby desert. The many towns that had been abandoned by millions who had fled north or to the coast, lay silent and solemn. Soon man and dog had reached mountains and forest once more. It had been a welcome change to the scorching sun and parched desert of the valley. Craig had followed old route 20 west, and soon came to the shores of a once large lake, that was now just a small pond. He could see signs off to the side of the road that had been called, “Clear Lake”. At this point Craig turned north, with Sailor strutting alongside. Soon he had reached the terminus of route 20, which collided with 101. Craig had been familiar with this highway, as it ran close to his old home, Santa Cruz, the town he had once ran his H.E.M.A. school in. He turned south, toward Ukiah.
He saw smoke pillars in the distance, and wondered what the source was. Onward he walked, and soon spied signs of battle. Some vehicle wreckage still burned. He recognized the Martyr tank husks, but some of the vehicles were not of a Wynham Industries make. But, he did recognize the Red Star markings of the Republic of China. Craig quickened his pace, and soon reached the north gate in the wall that surrounded the town of Ukiah.
“Hold!” a voice cried from behind the wall. Craig could see several men on the wall who pointed weapons in his direction. Craig put his hands up. The gate opened and out poured three men. They approached him with double quick speed.
“Who are you? And what is your business in Ukiah?” the sentry barked while pointing his rifle.
“Easy, lad. I am here on business. I would like to establish trade relations,” Craig said calmly.
“You are armed more heavily than any merchant I’ve seen,” the soldier was skeptical.
“So, I don’t need any guards and can take care of myself. What of it?” Craig retorted.
“One second,” the sentry began to talk to someone in his head, and after several exchanges, he turned back to Craig.
“Okay, you are cleared to enter the town. Welcome to Ukiah,” the man said. The sentries turned and walked back to the wall, and Craig and sailor followed behind. When he entered through the gate he came face to face with scores of Chinese soldiers rushing about. He was taken aback by this fact. Craig now thought that the townspeople had surrendered the town to the Chinese. His temper flared, but he tried not to show it. He understood that he needed to gather more intelligence before he made any brash moves.
“The President would like to meet you, to speak of your trade mission. Please follow me,” the sentry instructed.
“The President?” Craig was confused.
“Yes, our leader, President Greenbaum,” the man said nonchalantly. Craig was led through well-maintained streets. Clearly the people who lived here were prosperous, as he saw rows of occupied houses, with roofs covered in solar panels, and yards overflowing with fertile gardens. Soon, Craig and sailor were brought to a large, blue house, with a front porch that wound around the side of the house. The sentry began talking to the voice in his head, then turned to Craig.
“Okay, please wait here. The President will be out shortly to greet you,” The man bid Craig farewell, and took his leave. Craig, left all alone, and not knowing how long he would be kept waiting, picked up a nearby stick, and roused Sailor with it. Craig tossed the stick overhand down the gravel road and Sailor launched off after his prey. When the stick landed, Sailor kicked up loads of gravel to stop himself, then snatching up the stick with his teeth, and tail wagging, he sauntered back to Craig triumphantly with the prize, finally, dropping the stick at Craig’s feet. Craig picked up the slobber-soaked stick and repeated the process.
After nearly half an hour of waiting and playing fetch the front door of the blue house creaked open. Two men stepped out.
“Yes, Constable, I understand your concerns. I appreciate your suggestions, but my hands are tied right now. The Chinese did help us repel the foe. Okay, bye now,” a middle-aged man, tall but solid man, with thinning hair, sent the other man off. The Middle-aged Man took notice of Craig and Sailor.
“You there! Can I help you?” the Man called out.
“Yes, yes, you can. My name is Craig a Briuis, this here is Sailor. Mind if you tell me your name?” he asked, approaching the front porch.
“I am the president of Ukiah, President Ernest Greenbaum. Pleased to meet you, Craig,” he announced and presented a hand to shake. Craig grasped it firmly.
“Yes, likewise,” Craig said.
“So, Craig, what can I do for you? My man says that you are here to discuss trade, but, you do not look like a trader,” Ernest observed keenly.
“Aye, yes, it is true. I misrepresente
d myself,” Craig confessed. Ernest’s brow shot up with contempt.
“So why lie, then? I don’t like to have my time wasted,” Ernest stated coldly.
“I do not aim to waste your time. I am what you may call, an Apostate. I have traveled here because I have heard about the Chinese invasion and occupation of the North-west. I came to investigate firsthand,” Craig announced. Ernest smiled.
“Well, then, I fear you night have wasted a trip. I wouldn’t call it an occupation,” Ernest informed him.
“What would you call it then, sir? I see Chinese soldiers all over your town,” Craig asked irreverently.
“Craig, I would call it an alliance built out of necessity. The Chinese just assisted us in repelling a ‘Remnant Regime’ attack. Regime forces still have quite a presence. Though, they are desperate. Did you know they had the remains of Reverend Brigham Wainwright, the founder of the faith, propped up on the command tank, like some Saintly artifact on Crusade?” Ernest asked, trying to shock him with the resolve of the ‘Remnant Regime’ forces.
“Interesting, and what do the Chinese expect in return? I find it hard to believe that they do not have plans to annex your settlement,” Craig scoffed.
“Look, I take the challenges one at a time, that is all I can do. If the Chinese wanted to conquer us, they could have easily done so, instead, they took a diplomatic approach. Now for better or worse we are allies. And, anyway, this town does not possess the strength to stand up to them,” Ernest explained the situation.
“I—We, the Apostates, will not stand idly by as the Chinese take over America,” Craig barked.
“Is that what this is—America reborn? Last time I checked you were standing in the Republic of Ukiah. Here, why don’t you come talk to the Chinese officer in command? We were in the middle of a meeting when you came by, he’s in my backyard. Come.” Ernest waved for Craig to follow him into his house. Craig climbed the steps of the porch with Sailor in tow. Craig was led through the foyer and down a hallway, clad with family photos. Craig glanced at a family portrait, with the man known as Ernest, posing with his family, his wife, daughter and son. He noticed the yamaka on the son’s head. Jewish, Craig had thought. Craig was then led through a sliding glass door and into the backyard. Immediately, he noticed an impressive redwood deck spread out through the yard. Further out was a thriving garden, with a variety of vegetables growing, and a small greenhouse to its side.
