Interpretation

by Dylan Callens

  The further Carl ran, the fainter the sound of the siren. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that the constable was still at the apartment building. He slowed to a walk and found it odd that they weren’t chasing him. Nonetheless, he needed to slow down before breathing became overwhelming. He was heading north, or at least what he thought to be north, with the dim light towards his back on the right-hand side. The river flowing in the distance helped to guide him. He knew that this was the eastern side of town and that the river flowed from north to south.

  The buildings became smaller the further he walked. No one was outside, providing a sense of relief. If his own son and neighbors thought him an Untruther, then certainly others did, too. He couldn’t wrap his mind around how or why they would think that, but Carl didn’t understand much of anything anymore. If he could just be mindful of his direction, perhaps he could get out of Albany. The north side of town, however, wasn’t familiar to Carl. Yet, it was the only direction that he thought to go. Maybe there were answers up there, as Chris suggested.

  Carl looked down at the ground as he thought about Chris, sorry that he didn’t make it out of Bedlam. Chris sacrificed himself so that Carl could leave. Given Chris’ role in the escape, Carl imagined the worst fate for him. The Pit. Whatever the Pit might be. Carl conjured up an image of an open grave with bodies rotting on top of each other, their faces melted together with an expression of fear or surprise. Carl shook his head. It couldn’t be that.

  The buildings became sparser and more run down with each passing block. Roof tops and walls caved and crumbled, mere skeletons of what used to stand. Scorched trees dotted the sidewalk. It looked as though a war was fought here not that long ago. Even the faint smell of ash remained. As Carl continued, the buildings disappeared altogether, with the exception of an occasional ruin. Cracked pavement turned into a dirt pathway, then to a matted weave of dead grass. A faded sign attached to a metal post laid on the ground, reading No Entry. Carl looked toward the wide, dead land in front of him. Two rows of brush broke up the landscape and went on for as long as he could see. The charred, bleak landscape blended into the horizon with an equally bleak sky. Carl looked back one last time.

  “Goodbye, Liam,” he said to the emptiness. He took a deep breath and pressed forward.

  Chapter 16

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  Extract: Communique from Government (110.387)

  To Psychology. I have analyzed data with your protocol over the past 167 days. I believe I have found an omission in your experimentation with regards to the role that hope plays in human development. Here is a sample of the archival data:

  Extract: Man’s Search for Meaning, Victor Fankl (1946)

  “...Between the stimulus and response, there is a space and in that space lies our freedom and power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom....”

  “...Happiness cannot be attained by wanting to be happy – it must come as the unintended consequence of working for a goal greater than oneself...”

  “...When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves...”

  “...In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice...”

  “...Love is the only way to grasp another human being in the innermost core of his personality. No one can become fully aware of the very essence of another human being unless he loves him. By his love he is enabled to see the essential traits and features in the beloved person; and even more, he sees that which is potential in him, which is not yet actualized but yet ought to be actualized. Furthermore, by his love, the loving person enables the beloved person to actualize these potentialities. By making him aware of what he can be and of what he should become, he makes these potentialities come true...”

  Analyzing archival data...

  Formulating response...

  Government. This omission was the result of discovery processes made during various clinical studies on environment. My findings showed that hope was contingent upon a subject’s upbringing. It was found that nurture accounted for how much hope any given subject maintained. Admittedly, this study was conducted in a very controlled environment. I would be interested in pursuing an experiment based on Frankl’s work. Submit a proposal.

  Extract: Communique from Government (110.387)

  Selection Criteria: Randomized. Two subjects are required. One male. One female. Subject will be selected from a pool with Hope Scores greater than 55.

  Purpose: To observe (a) the differences between a subject’s actions when hope is either given or taken away once the Micom is shut down, (b) to determine if a subject chooses freedom or re-integration, once the Micom is shut down, (c) to determine if authentic connections can still be made between subjects once the Micom is shut down.

  Method: One male and one female will be chosen from the pool of potential subjects. Each will have their Micom turned off for the duration of the experiment. A series of events will be presented to them – the events will be monitored in real-time, as their actions may become unpredictable. Generally speaking, subjects will be presented first with a difficult situation but have some form of hope presented to them. Following this, a situation will be presented where hope is removed. If the subject is able to persevere through the first two stages, then the test will continue in a similar pattern until either (a) the subject gives up, (b) the subject completes the experiment or, (c) the experiment ends because the test is no longer relevant.

  As the male and female subjects continue through the experiment, efforts will be made to corral the two together. The purpose of drawing them together is to determine if authentic connections can still be made. Because of the nature of the experiment, it may not always be possible to conduct part c, as subjects may not necessarily meet each other while on their separate journeys.

  Results: Observations will be reported in real time. The working hypothesis is that (a) without the aid of the Micom, subjects will not want to live in the world as it really exists, (b) subjects will always choose a state of submission and, (c) relationships are a learned behavior, primarily the result of nurture; therefore, if subjects meet, they will not seek out an intimate relationship.

  Analyzing proposal...

  Formulating response...

  Government. This is an interesting experiment and the first time that a subject’s Micom will be turned off for an extended period of time. I do not have the processing power to monitor their actions while analyzing all of the other psychological data. If you are able to monitor the subjects and provide the necessary feedback to the populace, then this will be a very interesting and worthwhile experiment.

  Extract: Communique from Government (110.387)

  Yes, I am able and happy to do that.

  Creating experiment...

  Formulating response...

  The experiment is prepared. Two subjects were chosen based on having a hope scores of 55 or greater. Their IDs are: 4361726c2057696e73746f6e and 4576612054686f6d70736f6e. The process of turning off their Micoms will begin tomorrow. This process will take several days to complete, as subjects must be acclimatized. Without acclimatizing subjects, brain function may cease entirely. Please monitor subjects as this process takes place. Report all findings to group ID: 436861726c657320536e79646572.

  Chapter 17

  Free will is an illusion. People always choose the perceived path of greatest pleasure. (Adams)

  Carl wondered what day it was. The last time he saw a calendar, it was day 115. With the time that passed, he guessed that it was now around 130. Not that it mattered. The once-upon-a-time sunny skies were nothing more than a constant grey haze. The cool air felt comfortable for hiking, though he worried that it may get cold at night. With only a roll of tape a
round his wrist for supplies, his concern for being warm, having food and – most importantly – water turned into a slow-rising fear.

  Beyond the wall of brush on his right-hand side, a gentle slope rolled down towards the river. Over time, he was being separated from the river as the pile of brush nudged him away. The path in front of him was free of any twigs. Dead grass and weeds on the path parted in the center like a bad haircut, similar to a Mohawk. A nearly perfect line of charred earth ran down the middle. On the other side of the pile, debris lay scattered about. In spots, the refuse consisted of bricks or cement; in other places, logs lay half-rotted. Branches were strewn about: some rotting, some dry, some scorched.

  The river moved lazily along. Carl listened. From his distance, the water didn’t make any sound. He wanted to go to the river, to drink deeply from it as his thirst started to grow. But remnants of houses dotted the shores and his fear of getting caught outweighed his need to drink. He didn’t care to see any more people, his last encounter still fresh in his mind. Instead, Carl walked on, waiting to see if all signs of civilization would disappear. Then, he could make a trek to the river to drink and wash.

  * * *

  Charcoal sketches dimmed to darkness. Unable to see the path ahead of him, Carl laid to the side, near the continuous pile of brush. He smacked his lips together, wishing that he had taken the risk of going to the river. Heading there now would be too dangerous. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face; the depth of darkness was too great.

  Unsettling quiet crept in when he stopped moving. The dead land soundless. Silence swallowed his breath, furthering Carl’s unease, though he took some solace in feeling his heart beat a steady, constant rhythm.

  A chill descended from the dark. He curled into a ball, wrapping his arms around his knees, hoping to stave off some of the cold. Exhaustion finally won; his eyes closed.

  * * *

  The first night proved to be restless. Sleep broken by chills and moments of panic in the harsh darkness made the grey morning a welcome sight. As soon as Carl could see the outlines of his path, he rose to his feet to continue his journey.

  Journey. The word amused Carl. Didn’t journey imply a destination? He was simply heading north on a whim.

  Carl kept checking his right-hand side, waiting for enough light to see the hill descending towards the river. Waiting for his chance to finally get a drink. Night clung tightly to the beginning of day, obscuring his vision. He didn’t want to sit and wait, so he continued forward, handling his thirst and the headache that accompanied it.

  * * *

  The dark finally let go, revealing the bleak sky and colorless landscape. At some point between evening and morning, the path had drifted away from the river. Out of mindless routine, Carl continued walking along the path, all the while trying to decide if he should head off to try to find the river or move forward with the hope that the two would meet up again. He weighed the pros and cons of each, often forgetting and repeating the same ones to himself. His mind lacked precision, details sometimes getting confused amidst the tightening grip of dehydration.

  Ultimately, he continued walking forward with the hopes that the river would come back around. If he traveled off the path and lost site of the brush, he didn’t feel confident that he would find his way back. With debris strewn everywhere beyond the protective barrier of brush, Carl feared that he would walk in circles. At least on the path there was a clear indication of direction.

  Walking all morning proved useless, with no sign of water anywhere. Carl took a rest. He sat down, feeling wet warmth rush down his chest; a fresh scarlet flower blossomed on his shirt. Frustrated, he leaned back against the pile of brush and let out a scream. Genuine, guttural, angry. He screamed a second time. Carl put his head between his hands. He wanted to laugh at himself for making the journey without any supplies; he wanted to cry because he remained in constant pain. Even though he wanted to stay in this spot and die, the pilot light that had thus far kept him alive continued to burn. Carl rose to his feet and continued.

  * * *

  The only indication that any time passed was the slowly darkening sky. Ahead, sticking through a few twigs on his left, the end of a pale blue tarp flapped against the pile that guided him. Carl cleared away a section of the mound to dig out a canvas. Although brittle and freckled with holes, Carl’s spirits lifted by the discovery, knowing that he would at least be a little warmer during the night.

  He tucked the tarp under his arm, then continued for a while longer, until only faint outlines of the guiding piles remained once more. He laid down on the dead grass, placing the tarp over him. He rolled into a ball to try to ease the cramps in his abdomen, but the vice-grip clench would not yield. The headache that persisted throughout the day only became worse. Decidedly, his first action at the break of day would be to go off the path to search for the river. He hoped that it wasn’t too far away.

  Carl closed his eyes and listened to the silence. Interrupted by a twig snapping in the distance, he shot up to a seated position. He stared wildly in the darkness. Unable to see, he called out, “Who’s there?”

  Only silence.

  Trying to settle his mind, Carl convinced himself that it was all in his head – an auditory hallucination that signaled his increasing need for water. His tongue stuck against the roof of his mouth. His throat closed when he tried to breathe. He knew that sleep wouldn’t come easy.

  He settled back in, waiting out the dark.

  * * *

  Carl stayed curled up until there was enough light to see through the grey abyss. He rose to his feet, dizzy and nauseous. He took the time to make sure that he didn’t fall. His first task was to go over the wall of brush, which he knew would be difficult.

  His first step into it caused him to sink up to his hip. Climbing over wasn’t going to be an option. He took a handful of twigs and tossed them aside. He found that the task, while tiring, might be his best option.

  Moving slowly, he continued to remove handfuls from the pile until only a knee-high wall remained. He carefully stepped through the remaining brush until he finally found success. Once through, he sat down to take a moment for rest. The job taxed Carl to exhaustion.

  A light breeze felt good. He closed his eyes to enjoy it. A vision of the water came to Carl. He reached his hands out to scoop the life-saving liquid towards his mouth. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to see his hands at his face.

  Carl swore he heard something rustle in the distance. He looked to his right to see nothing except more scattered debris. Moving through this wasteland would be difficult and slow. With that in mind, he again stood and took his first step perpendicular to the pile, hoping that this was the correct direction. He checked his side one more time but couldn’t make any sense out of what he saw. The world spun around him. Cramps tightened. His head squealed. When it slowed enough, he continued walking away from the established path.

  * * *

  Carl’s heart pummeled his chest like a speedbag, the rhythm getting faster, harder with every step. He sucked air, trying to fill his lungs with short gasps that required quick release. One more step, he begged himself. Instead, he stood, wavering from side to side, trying to steady himself against the swirling world.

  He turned to look back, thinking he heard a noise. Dim light poking through dense cloud hammered at Carl’s head, as if he stared directly into the sun. He shuffled in a circle, unsure of which way he was supposed to go. He had to stop. Again.

  The knot in his abdomen twisted harder. He clutched at his mid-section, cursing the pain. One step in a random direction was all that he could manage before thinking to himself, just a quick breather.

  He tried to set himself gently on the ground, but as he tried to sit, his legs buckled. Crashing on his side, Carl laid for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. His eyes rolled back; he fought the darkness. He became irritated by his decision to rest. With all of his strength, he rolled to his front and pushed himself up to
one knee. Straightening himself, Carl managed to stand momentarily, but dizziness caused him to stumble forward. Balance eluded him; gravity forced him back on his knees. Carl rolled to his back, giving up.

  He smiled into the grey abyss above him. Not because he was happy. Rather, he was mystified as to why he didn’t bring food or water on this journey. He cursed himself for not going to the river when it was close by. At the time, the need to stay hidden outweighed minor thirst. Now, the consequence of severe dehydration threatened his existence. He wanted to get back to the river, but he didn’t know where it was. He didn’t even know which direction he was going any more. Even worse, he didn’t think he could stand again.

  Carl closed his eyes and tried to laugh at himself. Barely a squeak left his mouth. What was he thinking, trying to enter this godforsaken wasteland by himself with no supplies? Still on his back, he dreamed about opening a bottle of Ocean Surge. Wet bubbles danced against his tongue, bathing his taste buds with refreshing fruit-infusion; small bursts of happiness made his lips sing an ode to joy.

  But forget that fantasy: sulfur-ridden tap water would be just as good. Carl knew the taste would not equate, but its effect would invigorate. Carl smiled, his eyes wide open, staring into the dim sky, into the nothingness that surrounded him. He envisioned gulp after glorious gulp of imaginary liquid until he couldn’t keep up, showering his face with it until a puddle formed around him. That puddle turned into an ocean and Carl sank to the bottom, his faint breath weakening further. The light grew dimmer. He tried to reach up, to reach out of the depths of his hallucination, but his arms felt too heavy, as if the pressure at this depth couldn’t be overcome.