Revolution

by Shawn Davis

  Do they want to capture me? Or do they plan on leaving me down here?

  Rayne exerted every effort to breathe through his mouth and not to inhale through his nose. The surrounding stench was intolerable; a sulfur-rotten egg odor. He was wary about striking his lighter because of what he might see. The cold, waist-high liquid that he waded through could barely be described as water. It was a thick, oily substance that had a gritty feel to it. But what should he have expected? The toilet remnants of the city were flushed into that place!

  Rayne reached into his right jacket pocket to make sure the hand-held computer he took from Prince was still there. His hand closed on the wallet-sized metal object. Peter assumed it was waterproof if it had been manufactured in the last ten years. You never knew when you were going to get caught in a rainstorm. Or a sewer.

  Whatever was contained in Prince’s computer must be important if it was the last thing he held onto when he was killed.

  Rayne shoved the pocket computer into his inner pocket so he wouldn’t lose it and continued his journey through the dark tunnel. He waded slowly through the darkness, keeping his right hand against the slimy wall to guide his way. The walls appeared to be approximately five and a half feet apart and met eight feet above in a smooth, circular concrete arch.

  The system must go on for miles, branching off in many places. A person would have to possess a keen sense of direction to navigate their way out of this stench-infested river.

  Luckily, Rayne possessed an unusually heightened, almost sixth-sense ability, for directions. It had helped him find his way out of many tight spots.

  Peter sloshed through the putrid cavern for what must have been an hour before he felt a cold chill creeping up his spine, as if an unknown hand was slowly scraping an icicle up and down his vertebrae. His slime-soaked body had collided with an unseen pulpy object floating atop the muck. Backing swiftly against the wall, he hoped the thing would pass, but he didn’t hear or sense any sign of movement. Reluctantly, he reached into his jacket pocket for his laser lighter.

  A quick push of a button created an unsteady orange gleam, which illuminated the thing floating in the muck. Rayne had to assume it had once been human because of its advanced state of decomposition. It lay face-up, partially submerged in a stagnant river of brown oily muck. Rayne could hardly bring himself to look at the pale, rat-eaten face, which resembled ground hamburger spread indiscriminately over a bloody skull. The corpse’s gray, slime-soaked overalls caught his attention. It was unmistakably the attire worn by prisoners of the government after the prison system was overhauled in 2045 under the motto, DON’T CODDLE THEM. WORK THEM.

  Is this torn, ravaged, decomposed corpse here because of a failed prison escape? Or is this his sentence?

  Rayne’s mind reeled with uncertainty and horror. Before extinguishing his precious light source, he stared at the soft, putrid remains of the body’s right forearm. Still visible atop the decomposing layers of flesh were the tattooed numbers 885952.

  As Peter continued to wade through the muck, he grew immune to the squeaks of rats and the feeling of large pulpy objects colliding with him at each step.

  Are these the corpses of prisoners sentenced to the state’s overcrowded work prisons?

  Rayne only had the stomach to flick the lighter on once more. The orange gleam cast wavering shadows on the rotting forms of several former prisoners floating in the wastewater. Despite his collision with numerous decomposing bodies, his panic caused him to accelerate his pace until he was actually swimming through the thick, oozing, putrid muck.

  Suddenly, Peter noticed something strange going on in the underground tunnel. The size of the space he was in seemed to be shrinking. It felt as if his body was being lifted slightly toward the archway above. The sounds from his splashing motions left a shallower echo than before. He couldn’t see after he extinguished his lighter, but the water felt less gritty. The thick slime encompassing him seemed to be thinning out. The periodic sounds of water droplets striking the swampy surface from the developing cracks in the concrete ceiling increased in frequency.

  Rayne was suddenly horrified when his hands began to strike the ceiling of the arched tunnel with each swim stroke. He stopped and planted his feet firmly on the concrete floor. The water level had lifted to his chest and seemed to be getting higher with each passing second.

  What’s going on?

  Panic gripped his mind in a vise-grip as rats scurried from their cozy nests in the wall crevices. Their frantic scratching movements echoed throughout the underground labyrinth as they scurried along the walls searching for footholds. Many of them screeched insanely as they fell into the water.

  Rayne had to swat them away with his flailing hands as some of the rodents attempted to take refuge on his shoulders and head. For an instant, he was completely paralyzed with fear as the waters steadily rose. Then, his rational mind took over and he told himself he still had a chance.

  Rayne swam hard in the utter blackness. He remembered the manhole where he entered had been shut; presumably by the Federal Police Officers who pursued him on the surface. He had wondered before why the officers failed to pursue him into the depths, but at that moment he was sure why. The sewage chamber was being flooded by people above. There was no other explanation. Rather than chasing him down into the dark labyrinth, the police officers must have decided to flood the entire area in order to drown any and all occupants.

  Rayne felt along the walls as the water approached his neck. He slid his hands along the slippery cement, hoping to find a way to escape. Straining every muscle in his body, he continued to push his way forward through the stagnant water, which now reached chin level. It was possible the water level would lift over his head at any moment and drown him like a trapped rat.

  Strangely, the thought entered his head that if he had been sitting at home in his apartment discussing the idea of drowning, he would have been sure he would panic and lose all rationality. However, in reality, he felt an unnatural calm take over his mind as his hands continued to systematically feel along the wall for any sign of a change in the structure.

  As the putrid waters reached his nostrils and his head scraped against the ceiling, the fingers of his right hand grasped onto a slimy metal bar. Reaching above the bar, he found another bar. It was a metal rung ladder leading up to a manhole like the one he fell into!

  Rayne leaned against the bars, grabbed hold of them, and lifted himself up into the vertical tunnel as water completely flooded the area he stood in seconds before. Climbing the slimy metal rungs as fast as he could without slipping, he bumped his head on a hard piece of metal, which he assumed was a manhole cover. It felt strange to be completely out of the disgusting water for the first time since entering the sewers.

  Rayne reached up with his right hand and pushed hard on the manhole cover, while he continued to hold tightly onto a slimy rung with his left hand. The cover didn’t budge.

  Panic tried to take over his mind again when his feet became submerged in water. The floodwaters had completely filled the sewer tunnels and were now rising into the vertical manhole tunnel. The heel of his hand pounded against the metal cover without any result. His feet slipped on the rungs, causing him to bump his shoulder into the concrete wall as the water lifted to his knees.

  Rayne continued to smash against the manhole cover as he screamed with frustration. When he realized he wasn’t making any progress, he took out his lighter and flicked the switch. The lighter illuminated gray concrete walls topped with a black metal ceiling. The area was steadily filling with murky water.

  Lifting the lighter higher to examine the manhole cover, he discovered dirt and slime caked into the edges where the cracks used to be. His fingernails desperately scraped at the dirt and slime coating the edges of the cover. He scraped until his fingers bled as the water lifted above his waist.

  Flicking off the lighter, Rayne used its sharp edge to scrape at the dirt caked around the edges of the manhole cover. Ever
y so often he would pound on the cover with his right hand to see if it had loosened, but it hadn’t. The water lifted to his chest.

  Screaming with frustration, Rayne realized how close he was to making an escape, but couldn’t. Bloody fingers clenched the lighter in a death grip as he desperately scraped away the dirt and grime imbedded in the edges. Slimy flakes of dirt drifted down over his fingers. A bloody finger flicked the lighter again when the water reached neck level. Most of the dirt and slime was gone from the edges. Bracing his back against the wall, he locked his feet onto a ladder rung and pushed upward on the cover with both hands.

  Rayne focused all his remaining strength on pushing upwards. The cover still didn’t budge as the water reached his nostrils. His hands continued to push. Peter thought he could feel the metal cover giving way slightly, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his overworked imagination.

  When the water finally covered him completely, he held his breath and continued to push. The water had reached the actual cover, but his bloody hands still continued to push relentlessly against the metal surface. Rayne thought he could feel the metal giving way slightly, but it still held. Water pressure built up around him as the rising water ran out of places to go. Pushing again, he felt the cover give way.

  A rush of elation swept through his mind as the cover tumbled onto the street with a harsh clanging sound. Rayne set his feet securely on a ladder rung and pushed upwards, lifting his head out of the water. Cold air caressed his face like a lover. He grabbed the edge of the street with both hands and pushed up until he was waist level with the swirling black water. He dragged himself out and rolled onto the street.

  Rayne lay on his back in a puddle of slimy water and stared up at the clear night sky. A cloud floated across a crescent moon high above him as his lungs gasped for air. He continued to stare upward at the starry sky and cough out wastewater as precious air filled his lungs.

  When Rayne felt his breath return, he sat up. He was sitting in a puddle next to the flooded manhole in the middle of a dark street surrounded by towering eight-story tenement buildings. Water was still pouring out of the manhole and flooding the street.

  The luminous crescent moon cast bizarre shadows of buildings and fire escapes across the wide street, giving the environment a surreal quality as if he was in a shadow world. There were no people in sight and the area was completely still and quiet with only the dull noise of distant traffic in the background. Rayne stood, shaking and dripping wastewater onto the street as he made his way toward the nearest alleyway.

  Chapter 9

  The Execution

  Campion had lied when she told her Assistant Director that she had figured out a way of getting around the capitol city’s elaborate security systems. Aside from vague thoughts about the government’s high-tech theme park, Virtual-world, she didn’t have any real ideas. The fact was that it seemed impossible to get past the high-tech systems. If they were not able to breach the island’s security, her organization didn’t have a chance to finish what it started.

  Campion finished another set of curls and stared at the ceiling.

  The most important quality a leader must possess is acting skill, she decided, rubbing her chin while she stared at the white plaster surface.

  As long as I continue to act confident and take risks, some of which pay off, people will listen to me and continue to follow my orders. That’s why I can’t allow my current indecisiveness to be revealed to anyone.

  For almost two hours Campion worked out at a frantic pace in her private gym and tried to think of an answer to the current crisis. Her muscles were exhausted, but her mind was still fevered.

  She needed inspiration. Whenever she needed inspiration, she turned to the Classics. Campion enjoyed the irony of being the leader of a violent organization, while still appreciating the finer things in life like classic art and literature.

  Jane showered quickly and returned to her office. Her library of classic literature occupied an entire wall. The rest of the available space on the walls contained paintings by her favorite artists. She thought it was important for the leader of any organization to be versatile and well educated.

  Ironically, Campion was an expert in Classic Literature. She taught for six years at the city’s public schools until she was laid off in the recession of 2045. All the public schools in the country were privatized that year in response to unprecedented federal and state deficits. The bailout for the pharmaceutical industry alone in 2094 had cost the public nine-hundred-billion dollars, which pumped up the deficit to unheard of levels.

  When the public schools closed, a lot of young people couldn’t afford to go to private schools. Naturally, the nation’s crime rate increased dramatically. President Frump passed the Justice Reform Act the next year in response to the crisis. The JRA Act of 2046 federalized the nation’s local police forces into a single national police organization. The Act diverted national defense money into the new force to give them state-of-the-art equipment to fight crime. The modern “Shock Troopers” were born: heavily armored and armed to the teeth.

  Jobs were plentiful in the new Federal Police Force, so Jane tried her luck and applied. She was hired and sent to the Academy. She worked for three years as a Federal Police Officer or “Shock Trooper” and learned many combat skills in the Inner City war zones. She became increasingly disillusioned with society as she responded to more and more violent calls in Inner City.

  After two years on the force, Campion started drinking heavily in the Club District on the outskirts of Inner City. By accident, she encountered a member of the Freedom Underground at a bar, who thought she would make a good addition to the organization. At first, she used her position as a Federal Police Officer for espionage work. Eventually, it became too dangerous and she had to resign.

  After three years as a cop, she went to work full-time for the Underground. Several missions later, her combat experience and adroit mission performance moved her quickly up the hierarchy. She was as surprised as anyone when the last commander died during a mission and she was told she was next in line.

  With the recent setbacks, she had struck a brick wall and needed to think outside the box for a solution. The only inspiration she could think of was the classic literature she loved so long ago when she was a teacher in the public schools. In times of crisis, she instinctively returned to the arms of her old love for solace and inspiration. She walked to the long bookcase at the back of the office and scanned it. Something caught her eye.

  Shakespeare. Henry V.

  Henry V was the English warrior-king who faced the impossible challenge of conquering and overthrowing the country of France. Campion wished this historical figure would give her some ideas about conquering and overthrowing the government of her own country. She thumbed through the play, scanning some of her favorite underlined passages.

  We want to breach our enemies’ fortifications, so what’s more appropriate than Act III, scene i of Shakespeare’s Henry V:

  Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more,

  Or fill up the wall with our English dead.

  In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a man

  As modest stillness and humility:

  But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

  Then imitate the action of the tiger.

  That’s a great inspirational speech to give if we were about to attack New Washington, but it doesn’t help me with what I’m trying to do.

  Campion continued to read from Shakespeare’s works, trading in one play for another as she anxiously flipped through the pages. After several hours, she found that she had gone through all the histories and tragedies.

  This isn’t good. I’m stuck with the romances and the comedies.

  Campion grabbed Shakespeare’s comedy, As You Like It, from the shelf and sat down in her office chair. She leaned back with resignation and began scanning the play. If she couldn’t find any inspiration, she could at least distract herself with some g
ood reading. She opened to a page at random and read it.

  “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players,” she read. “They have their exits and their entrances and one man in his time, plays many parts.” She closed the book and rubbed her temples.

  The world is a stage and the people are merely actors in it. That pretty much sums up my position in this organization as Chief Actor, but how is that going to help me? The only place I can think of where the world really is a giant stage is Virtual-world. The only actors in it are completely artificial; androids and robots. From what I’ve heard about the park, they don’t act very well…

  Suddenly, Campion sat upright in the chair and stared at a painting on the wall by Marcel Duchamps. Her eyes traced the mechanical design of the android-like figure in the painting walking down a flight of stairs in multiple perspectives. Her vision darted to the next painting by Duchamps on the wall, which showed a design resembling an elaborate piece of machinery harboring a maze of wires, circuits, screens and zig-zagging pipes.

  The images of machine art made her think of something one of her spies told her about the captured blueprints of the underground bunker beneath the city of New Washington.

  The spy was also an engineer who pointed out that when the high-tech amusement park was constructed, it required an enormous amount of power to operate. It would have been prohibitively expensive to siphon power from mainland generators or to construct a generator in the park itself. It was easier for the park builders to drill underground, go beneath the city wall and connect the amusement park’s power conduits to the underground nuclear reactor.

  It made sense because the reactor already powered up the command bunker and the rest of New Washington. In order to maintain the power conduits, they had to set up an elaborate maze of underground maintenance passages beneath the amusement park, which led under the city wall to the nuclear reactor. The reactor was connected directly to the supposedly impenetrable bunker.