Interpretation

by Dylan Callens

  As Carl dashed across the room, he bumped into three more patients, while ten orderlies tried to work their way through the crowd, zapping anyone in their path. The armed patient led a crusade to fight back, calling out, “Look! They’re trying to hurt us all! Fight back now, brothers and sisters! Fight to the death!”

  Shouts of agreement rang high above the orderlies attempting to instruct each other on which patients to control.

  Meanwhile, Chris pulled at the bar. Cement crumbled from around the metal, more brittle than he thought it would be. Progress came quicker than he planned, the bar only fractions of an inch away from being released.

  The more lucid patients mounted an offensive. Nearly twenty of them marched towards the orderlies, drawing attention away from Chris’ efforts. One came in with swinging fists, connecting with an orderly’s nose. As the orderly reeled with blood streaming down his face; he was still able to connect his baton to the patient, promptly zapping the unfortunate man into a wriggling pile of flesh on the floor. More orderlies entered the room, all armed with their batons. One by one, patients were rendered immobile, while the last quarter marched forward, undeterred by their fallen comrades.

  Chris finally managed to pry the bar free from its hold. A sharp smash caught every orderly’s attention as Chris used the bar to bust the window. He traced the window frame with the metal cylinder, making the hole as big as possible.

  The orderlies ran towards Chris, only to find the patients resisting with more swinging fists. While their efforts did slow down the orderlies, the orderlies fiercely fought back with electricity. The crowd of patients protecting Carl and Chris quickly thinned.

  “Carl, hurry!” Chris called.

  Carl, only a few steps away, shot towards Chris. Chris said, “You first. Then you pull me through.”

  Looking back, Carl saw the orderlies closing in. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Chris folded his hands between his knees to give Carl a lift up to the window sill. Carl squeezed his upper body inwards, barely able to maneuver through the bars. Past the first obstacle, his shoulders bumped against the jagged glass, causing thick pools of blood to soak through his shirt.

  The pain didn’t stop him. Carl wiggled out of the window, each movement creating new scratches, some of which barely cut the surface. Others, however, cut deep into his flesh. Finally, his hips were past the glass. Carl looked down to see that the ground wasn’t more than five feet away. He let his body slide down the wall, rolling into dirt.

  Carl bounced to his feet. He hoisted himself back up the ledge and reached through the window for Chris. Chris latched onto Carl’s arms. As Carl slowly pulled back, the jagged glass carved a deep gash in his chest. Crimson dotted the cement sill. Pain, grunting, progress. Carl felt that his frail body might get pulled apart.

  Chris’ arms clung to the outside wall. His head through the window, Carl slipped, his body tumbling into the dirt once more. He looked up to see Chris grimace, a scream escaping his mouth, “They’re pulling me back in,” he called out.

  Reaching up, Carl grabbed onto Chris’ arms again, pulling with his feet up against the wall for added leverage. Chris shouted, “Let go! It’s okay.” Carl refused, but the orderlies were winning the tug of war. Chris said, “Go north! That’s where you’ll find the answers.”

  “Chris, no!”

  “Hurry! Go! And don’t look for your son! They’ll find you again! Just go north.” Carl’s grip slipped before the orderlies took turns electrocuting Chris, whose limp body disappeared back into Bedlam.

  An alarm rang.

  Carl ran. He didn’t know where he was, or where he was going. He ran. As far and as fast as his legs could take him. A minute felt like an eternity. His legs burned. His heart might explode. None of that mattered. He ran. Streets and buildings whooshed together like jittery video – a nonsensical blur. He didn’t try to make sense of the scenery; he wanted to get as far away from Bedlam as possible. He ran until he stumbled forward, nearly crashing to the ground in complete exhaustion.

  Finding a side alley, Carl wobbled toward a building to lean against. Unable to catch his breath, he slid to the ground. Sharp needles poked at his lungs with each breath. A deep whoop led to coughing fits. Dizzy. Nauseous. So nauseous. He heaved out whatever bit of curd was left in his stomach.

  After several minutes of sharp panting, his heart rate slowed. Breath slowly came back to him. Carl brought his knees up to his chest so that he could fold his arms over top. He closed his eyes and lowered his head onto his arms, wishing for the dizziness to stop. The pain in his lungs subsided, replaced by throbbing in his shoulders and chest where blood caked his shirt. Carl pulled his shirt over his head, finding more gashes than he could count. Most were nothing more than superficial scrapes, but the large one on his chest needed stitches. At the very least, he needed to clean and dress the wounds before they became infected.

  Carl tried to figure out where he was. While he ran, his only concern was putting distance between himself and Bedlam. Now, he had to figure out what came next. Chris said that there were answers in the north. But what answers? Carl briefly contemplated what might be north; nothing came to mind. He had spent his entire life within the city limits of Albany. What laid beyond McGuire’s Restaurant in the north end was a complete mystery. Not that it mattered too much at this point, anyway. Carl knew that he was going to find his son, despite Chris’ several warnings.

  With jellied legs, Carl rose to his feet. Taking great care to avoid tumbling, he inched his way towards the road. A first clear look at the world revealed a street filled with potholes and heaved cement where lifeless weeds wilted. Fallen debris from ruined buildings lined the sidewalks. Every window smashed, although Carl didn’t see any glass on the road. He peeked inside one building to find the charred, indistinguishable remains of whatever business or home had once stood here. Only the stink of damp ash lingered.

  Backing away from the building, Carl’s attention shifted to the sky. Thick rolling clouds reminded him of his glimpse into this world while at work. At the time, those flashes felt like a betrayal to the real world. Now Carl thought it was a warning – one that he neglected to heed.

  Realization set in: Chris was right. This place, his world, no longer looked the same. He staggered forward, looking at the wreckage. These were once, Carl assumed, beautiful buildings in his mind. Part of a deceitful veil that disgusted him. He tried to surmise the why and how of hiding this truth, but everything felt so beyond his control that nothing came to mind.

  As he limped forward, Carl scanned for clues as to his whereabouts, but nothing looked familiar. Still, he had a feeling that home was close-by. Turning down another street revealed more ruins. A gentle breeze rippled through Carl’s hair and carried a fetid stench from an open sewer running alongside the dilapidated road. He lifted his blood-caked shirt over his nose to try to filter the malodor. The shirt did little to improve the situation; still, he carried forward. Nearing the end of the street, Carl noticed a barricade of rubble that stopped him from moving forward. The pile looked too much like the one in his dream. Carl didn’t see any bodies on the pile, so he moved forward with caution. He continuously stared ahead, waiting for either a vulture or a body to appear in front of him.

  Slowly, he made his way to the foot of the pile. He sighed with relief, happy that the dream wasn’t a prophecy. He laughed at the idea. He sat at the base of the barricade and laughed at how ridiculous he felt. Sore, cut up, hiding from someone or something. He didn’t know what was after him, if anything at all. He had never felt so alone and laughing was the only thing he could do.

  When he finally settled down, Carl laid flat on his back against the broken asphalt. Exhaustion overwhelmed his body; he didn’t want to move. But he also knew that soon he would have to climb over this pile of crumbled brick and cement to see what lay on the other side. The only other ways out of this area appeared to be through the open sewage or back to Bedlam. Neither of those options appealed to Carl
.

  He swallowed hard, then smacked his dry lips together, grimacing at the taste of sweat and dust. With all of his effort, he raised himself to his feet. Finding a firm footing on the pile, Carl began to climb. Moving slowly up the pile, ensuring every foothold held him before moving up, Carl made his ascent. One bad step would result in more cuts.

  He made quick, easy progress. Carl placed his hand over the summit, finding a secure spot for his foot. He pulled his eyes over the top to see what was on the other side.

  Rail-thin people walked along the street, talking to each other as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Each one wore the same rubbery grin – the same one that was slapped across every orderly’s face. Wild, unkempt, unaware animals going about their business as if the world was perfect. He noted a woman walking by with her daughter, both of whom held bricks of curd in their hands, biting down as if they were eating hamburgers.

  Fallen chunks of cement lay scattered on the ground. As Carl surveyed the nearby buildings, he found that they were in much better shape than the ones he just passed. A sign on the building across the road from him read: Alb n M ll. A row of doors lined the front of the building while a long tattered canopy flapped around like a wounded bird being pushed by wind. A row of windows caked with dirt led his attention back to the sign, Alb n M ll.

  Carl thought to himself for a moment. A smile crept across his face as he realized that this was the Albany Mall. The same place where he and Liam spent so much time on the weekends looking at new attractions or playing the latest video games. He shook his head at how the building really looked, feeling like a fool for buying into the deception.

  Carl pulled himself further over the pile to see an old rusted robot with new shiny guns guarding the street standing below him. The weapons panned up and down the street in opposite directions. Carl quickly lowered himself below the eye-line of the rubble. He thought to himself that the machine must be a robotic constable. Except that robotic constables weren’t rusted out, nor were they so heavily armed. Yet another deception, he supposed.

  Taking a moment to think, Carl decided that his journey would have to wait until dark. Now that he knew where he was, it wouldn’t take him long to get home, back to his son. But walking down this road in daylight held too many risks. There were too many people and he didn’t know if they would ignore him or mob him. More importantly, that robotic constable could catch him in seconds and then who knows what would happen.

  Carl descended the pile of bricks. He knew where he was. This area closed down after Untruthers set it on fire. The day after the fire, an announcement blasted over every Exoche that the area would be remodeled as part of the Neighborhood Greenhouse Project. Progress happened quickly. These buildings soon became impressive glass domes. They were supposed to provide fresh food for the entire city. Three Neighborhood Greenhouse Projects were to be built in Albany. “The newest in bio-tech foods,” the Exoche claimed. “Better food for a better future.”

  Carl leaned himself against a nearby building, ready to rest until dark. He shook his head as he muttered to himself: This is not the future. This is a nightmare.

  Chapter 14

  4f746865722070656f706c652773206f70696e696f6e206f6620796f7520646f6573206e6f74206861766520746f206265636f6d6520796f7572207265616c6974792e202842726f776e29

  Preparing to Update Collective Consciousness...

  Running update on 122.387

  Run patch 387.129.1.5...

  Untruther List: +WinstonCarl; +ThompsonEva

  ...deleting image filter from collective consciousness...

  ...uploading new profile...

  Run MemSync National News Headlines...

  Extract: Untruther Destroys New Neighborhood Greenhouse Project.

  Carl Winston, leader of the Albany Untruther Movement, burnt down the reclaimed neighborhood in East Albany last night. Only months away from completion, the project that would have brought better food for a better future will be set back by several years. According to Fire Marshal, Dan Witherspoon, “The damage is extensive. It appears as though the fires were triggered by explosive devices in twelve different buildings, all set to ignite at the same time. The entire neighborhood was set ablaze and burned to ashes within two hours. It is imperative that all citizens stay vigilant in this time of crisis.”

  According to the Neighborhood Greenhouse Project spokeswoman, Marla Han, “We will never let Untruthers stop us from creating a better future. The Greenhouse Neighborhood Project will continue. We will double our efforts to ensure that this project is completed in a timely manner.”

  Extract: National News Footage.

  Anchor, “In this shocking footage, infamous Untruthers, Carl ‘The Executioner’ Winston and Evil Eva Thompson force citizens to bow down to their knees in what is being called the worst crime against humanity since the Untruther movement first appeared more than eighty years ago. With a body count of over one hundred, Winston is placed at the top of America’s Most Wanted list. Thompson follows closely behind at number three.”

  Cut audio to live stream. Carl Winston says, “I’m coming for you, Albany!”

  Anchor: “All citizens are warned not to approach either Carl Winston or Eva Thompson. Immediately notify the robotic constabulary if you see either individual. They are most likely armed and dangerous at all times. Do not engage them directly.”

  Initiating collective consciousness sync...

  Chapter 15

  Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes just be an illusion. (Javan)

  When Carl woke up, darkness engulfed him. He looked to see if the stars twinkled overhead, the way that they used to every night of his – he didn’t know what to call it – past life? Instead, the deep black of night clung fast to every surface. Carl waited a moment, hoping his eyes would adjust. Vague outlines slowly came into focus, but he still couldn’t see much.

  He carefully climbed the pile of rubble, finding the sounds of sliding gravel too loud against the still of night. With each step, Carl paused, waiting to hear a robotic constable whirl into action, certain that he was making too much noise. His legs shook from the anxiety of being caught. His stomach knotted while his head swam in a thick buzz of incomplete thoughts. His mind drifted, wondering if he should wait until morning when he could see. Waiting, however, posed a greater risk of being found by a robotic constable or one of the rail-thin people wandering the streets. Perhaps people from Bedlam were out searching for him. Maybe he really was mentally ill and needed to go back there anyway.

  The thought of being mentally ill caused Carl to stop his ascent. He considered it as a real possibility, but then wondered why everything he experienced right now felt so real, like he was alive for the first time. The nervousness and tension, the range of emotions that he experienced at Bedlam – all of these were new, or at least more intense, than anything he felt before. Not that these were pleasurable feelings, but they were distinctly his. Is this what an Untruther thinks? He wondered to himself.

  The pile of rubble felt a mile high and Carl was only guessing at where to stick his limbs. He looked back one last time to see if he could spot an easier route. Only darkness stared back at him. Looking forward, at least he could see the outlines.

  No, push forward. He told himself, Liam isn’t far. Reaching up, trying to find another solid hold, Carl soldiered onward.

  Ocean Surge: that’s what he really wanted right now. Something that tasted good and wet, that would quench his thirst while not tasting like sulfur. If he could make it to his apartment, there was always some in the fridge. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would even find something to eat that wasn’t in the shape of a brick and the consistency of moist cardboard.

  Finally, Carl felt the top of the pile with his hand. He hoisted himself up far enough to look straight down. The robotic constable that stood guard during the day was, much to Carl’s surprise, no longer there. Carl sighed, feeling some of the pressure float away. He hurdled a leg over the pile and began his desce
nt, still careful with each step, and still worried that the robot was just out of sight. Eventually, his feet felt the security of solid ground. As his body relaxed, jitters ran through his legs, making balance difficult. Still, he moved his reluctant body forward.

  Carl tip-toed his way along the side of a building towards the main street. The mall, which bustled with activity during the day, lay dead. Faint edges of the building pushed their way through the dark skyline. Carl looked left to see a dim red light illuminate a small piece of the sidewalk. He stood still, thinking that it might be from a robotic constable. The light stayed static, like some kind of street light, though not a very effective one. Still, the need for vigilance was ever-present.

  As he drew near, the light glowed an eerie similarity to the one in the doctor’s office at Bedlam. The orb washed its unnatural red hue across the pavement like a bucket of paint tossed against a canvas, bleeding outward, stopping at definable places without the fade of a typical lamp. A deep breath. Carl tip-toed around the glimmer, careful to stay quiet and avoid the unsettling light.

  Once past the luster, he exhaled. A quick pause allowed him to listen, expecting to hear a constable rolling down the street after him. The street remained silent.

  Carl continued to walk towards his apartment building, struck by the thought of seeing Liam after his birth. The details felt hazy, but he could remember the way that the newborn fit into his hands. “Remember to support his neck and head,” a doctor warned. “He’s very fragile.” Carl took great care to do that, always sliding one hand behind Liam’s head. He brought Liam up to his chest, looking into the boy’s eyes for the first time. Liam stared back, a blank receptacle ready to be filled with whatever knowledge his father chose to impart. But those baby blue eyes started to look like dark, hollowed shells. Not the image that Carl remembered. As Carl took the last few steps up to his apartment building, he doubted that Liam would be inside, leaving an emptiness in Carl’s chest. Standing outside, he barely recognized the shell of what used to be his luxurious home. He looked up, hoping that these fears of his would soon be alleviated. One hug from his son would make this dirty, strange world a better place.