Driver 8

by G. Michael Hopf

  “Devin, read the first of the tenets, then Kathy you next and so forth down the row. I want the reader to read it, then the class repeat it out loud. Understood?”

  “Yes, Teacher Seven,” the children said in unison.

  She looked at Devin and said, “Go ahead.”

  Devin stood and with no need to read it having memorized it, he said, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the individual.”

  On cue, the class repeated it.

  As he sat down, Kathy stood and said, “Individualism is the purest form of selfishness.”

  Again, the class repeated in one single voice.

  Kathy sat and Darren stood. “Self-determination only determines superiority of one over another.”

  Portia watched as the children continued the process, her eye watching the hand of the clock slowly move, drawing closer and closer to the hour they’d head to the infirmary.

  Melissa stood and said, “Free speech isn’t free, it enslaves those it hurts.”

  Before the class could repeat, Portia interrupted them. “Class we’re getting close to the time. Is everyone ready for today?”

  “Yes, Teacher Seven,” they all replied.

  She looked at the excited faces of the students before her. How can they be looking forward to this? She thought.

  “Class, I need everyone to stand and line up near the door,” she ordered.

  Ever obedient, the children did as she said. They calmly and without making a sound got up and stood in a line along the far wall of the classroom.

  Portia slowly walked by until she reached the front in line. She looked down at a young boy and asked, “How are you doing today, Karl?”

  “Good, Teacher Seven. Thank you for asking,” Karl replied with a big smile on his face.

  “Happy to hear,” she said. “Does anyone have any last questions before we go to the infirmary?”

  In unison the class replied, “No, Teacher Seven.”

  “Good, then let’s proceed, we don’t want to be late and you know what the Number One says about being late.”

  “Tardiness is lazy and laziness leads to apathy which leads to an unproductive person,” the class recited loudly.

  “Correct,” she said. “Karl, please lead your fellow classmates.”

  Karl nodded, opened the door and proceeded out.

  Portia followed the last student. With each step her nausea grew. Who will it be? She wondered.

  Karl led the class proudly along the narrow path from the school to the infirmary near the center of town.

  Portia knew she couldn’t have favorites but she did and it was those that she prayed would return over others. It was horrible to pick and choose, but how could she not. No matter how often she fought the urge to favor or like one child over the other, she just couldn’t help it. Her eyes scanned the line of children until they rested on Melissa.

  Melissa was one of those people who were always happy. No matter what, you could count on Melissa showing up with a huge smile and a positive word. For those who were lucky enough, she’d share a warm embrace. It was impossible not to love Melissa.

  Portia picked up her pace until she was alongside Melissa. She looked down at her and smiled.

  Seeing Portia, Melissa widened her grin and declared, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “Last night my daddy read me the most fabulous book,” Melissa gushed.

  “What was it?”

  “It was called Doggieville. He got it from a driver a couple weeks ago. It’s my new favorite book.”

  “I can assume by the title it’s about dogs?”

  “Yes, a wonderful dog named Kiki. He’s sooo cute.”

  The line stopped in front of a large two story white building. Karl looked back and said, “We’re here Teacher Seven.”

  “One moment,” Portia said as she pulled Melissa out of the line for a private conversation. She squatted down so she could have eye to eye contact. “Melissa, dear.”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not. Daddy says no matter what happens, it’s done to make The Collective stronger,” Melissa said smiling.

  “I’m going to be in the hallway just outside the room. If you need me at all, please have one of the nurses come and get me.”

  “Yes, but you don’t have to worry, I’ll be brave. For The Collective,” she cheered raising her right arm, hand clenched.

  “About the book, Doggieville, don’t tell anyone else about that. You remember there’s strict rules on what you can and can’t read,” Portia warned.

  “I know, Daddy told me not to tell but I trust you, you’re like a mommy to me,” Melissa said wrapping her small arms around Portia.

  Hearing that one word, mommy, hit Portia hard. It was the one thing she would love to be but couldn’t, so being a teacher allowed her to get as close to that as possible.

  Melissa’s mother had been cast out last year after being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. In her absence, Melissa clung to the one woman who exposed motherly traits, Portia.

  The double doors opened and a large woman dressed in white appeared. “Is this Class Two?”

  “Get back in line,” Portia told Melissa. She looked at the nurse and answered, “Yes, this is Class Two, they’re ready for the test.”

  “Good,” the nurse said. Looking at the children she ordered, “Proceed on in, go to the last door on the left and stand in line against the wall.”

  Karl led the students inside.

  Portia followed but was stopped.

  “We need you to wait outside. As the students are released…” the nurse ordered holding up her hand blocking Portia.

  “Wait, no, I’ve waited inside before,” Portia complained.

  “New rules.”

  “No, my students might need me,” Portia challenged and tried to walk around the nurse whose stature was large for a woman.

  The nurse pushed Portia aside and barked,” Excuse me, Teacher. What’s your name?”

  “Teacher Seven.”

  “Teacher Seven, I don’t make the rules, they come down from Number One and this is a new rule.”

  Hearing that Number One just past the rule, Portia relented. Getting on the wrong side of Number One was not where you wanted to be.

  “Just wait out here, I’ll send them out as they clear,” the nurse said stepping inside. Just before the door closed she stuck her head out. “And I’d watch your use of words. Telling people that they’re your students is not wise, just remember, these children belong to The Collective.”

  OUTSIDE OF GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO, GENERATE TERRITORY

  “God, it takes forever to get anywhere. I remember when you could drive from the west coast to the east coast in days,” Barry said his head resting on his chin, eyes fixed on the passing landscape ahead.

  “How do you remember? You’re not old enough to remember,” Kyle challenged.

  “I was seven when The Reboot started, I do remember,” Barry fired back.

  Kyle shook his head, he wasn’t even going to counter his rebuttal.

  Barry noticed they passed what he thought would be their turnoff.

  “Are we going through Grand Junction?”

  “You’ve been complaining about how long the drive is taking and I’m tired of hearing it. So, I’m taking a shortcut. We’ll keep on old interstate seventy.”

  Barry sat up, his face tightened and his eyes widened. “Isn’t it overrun with Generates?”

  “Yeah,” Kyle replied confidently.

  “But that’s dangerous. What if we run into them?”

  “Generates normally don’t venture out during the day, they prefer the cover of night.”

  Barry’s nervous look melted away, he slouched back down and said, “Oh, yeah, I’d heard that. Smart, very smart of you to take the shortcut.”

  Kyle chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, but I’ll add th
at they normally don’t unless they’re hungry, then you’ll see them out during the day. Who knows, maybe the ones who live in Grand Junction are hungry.”

  Barry immediately sat up again, his body tense and alert. “Maybe we, you know, maybe we should turn around and go back to the route we just past. What do you say?” Barry said.

  The radio came to life. “Driver Eight, come in over.”

  Kyle picked up the hand microphone and replied, “Go for Driver Eight.”

  “What’s your location, over?”

  “Six miles northwest of Grand Junction. Be advised we’re staying on seventy all the way through,” Kyle replied.

  “Seventy? Be advised, Driver Three reported heavy Generate activity there two days ago,” the dispatch said.

  “During what hours, over?” Kyle asked.

  Barry sat on the edge of his seat, listening to the conversation intently. Praying the dispatch would say something that would convince Driver Eight to turn around.

  “Three reported the activity was at twelve hundred hours, over.”

  “Copy that. Tell Three thanks for intel,” Kyle said.

  “I’d tell him if I could reach him. We lost contact with him just after he reported the activity, over.”

  “Fuck, no, turn around,” Barry barked.

  “I’ve been telling your dad for a year now we need to go down and clean those savages out of there. They breed like rabbits and spread like a disease. But he said Junction wasn’t worth losing lives over.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Tell that to the folks who lived there before.”

  “They deserved it, we always had problems with them when they were under our protection,” Barry said referring to an arrangement the city state of Grand Junction had made with The Collective.

  “I’ll remind you we had a deal with them and we didn’t come to their aid when they needed it,” Kyle said.

  “Who cares?”

  Kyle leaned over the steering wheel and let his foot off the accelerator. He grabbed the radio and keyed it, “Dispatch, did Three say anything about roadblocks on the seventy?”

  Barry whipped his head and looked out. A half mile ahead the highway was completely blocked with debris and abandoned vehicles. “Turn the fuck around!”

  “Negative, Eight,” dispatch answered.

  “Turn the fuck around!” Barry repeated, his hands white knuckling the dash.

  Kyle put the hand mic down and said, “You know something, Barry, I think I’m going to turn around.” He saw an opening in the median ahead and went for it. He turned the wheel hard to the left causing the truck to lurch that way.

  Just as he made the turn several loud cracks came from outside.

  “What was that?” Barry asked his head swiveling around in all directions.

  “That was gunshots,” Kyle said. “Now hold on.” The truck hit the median and bounced hard. Kyle turned the wheel hard again to the left and put his foot fully on the accelerator.

  What sounded like dull thuds hitting the truck became more pronounced.

  “Drive faster!” Barry screamed.

  When the truck hit the west bound lanes, Kyle kept the pressure on the accelerator.

  Seemingly out of nowhere came a burning car across their path.

  “Watch out!” Barry yelled.

  Kyle weaved around it and jokingly said, “Looks like they’re hungry.”

  Appearing from behind a guard rail, four Generates came out onto the highway and laid down a long board with nails sticking up.

  “Hold on!” Kyle said swerving the truck to the left and back onto the median. He handed Barry an AR platform rifle and said, “Open the gun port and shoot those fuckers!” Kyle’s truck didn’t have side windows, the cab to include the side windows was encased in an inch thick exterior metal shell with small slits for gun ports.

  “Huh?” Barry asked, his face not hiding the terror he was experiencing.

  Kyle caught sight of a Generate with a rifle pointed at them. “Get ahold of something, we’re going to go airborne soon.”

  “No.”

  Kyle jerked the wheel hard again to the left just at the time the Generate fired. His last second move prevented the shot from hitting. The truck flew out of the median onto the east bound lanes. “How we looking?”

  Barry craned his head back and saw the four Generates jumping up and down, no doubt angry they had missed their target. “We’re looking good, I think.”

  “Next time I say something, do it?” Kyle snapped.

  “But…”

  “There’s no buts, maybe asses like yourself, but no buts. I’m the master of these roads and you do what I say,” Kyle roared.

  “If you’re such a master, why did you almost get us killed?” Barry snarled.

  “Typically, Generates don’t come out during the day. It was an educated risk and well, it didn’t work, but we’re not dead so stop bitching.”

  The tire pressure light came on with a ding.

  Kyle looked at it and said, “Shit.”

  “What now?”

  “One of the tires, it’s losing pressure,” Kyle answered.

  “It’s not safe to pull over now,” Barry said.

  “We won’t have too right now, the truck has run flats but we’ll have to reduce our speed. We’ll find a secure place off a beaten path to hunker down for the night. I can fix it then.”

  Barry began to laugh loudly.

  “Something funny?” Kyle asked.

  “I think I shit my pants.”

  “Lucky for you, we’re showering tonight.”

  “I’m joking,” Barry clarified.

  “I’m not.”

  “What do you mean by showering?”

  “Unless I’m running drives in full decon gear, I try to shower every night. It’s a practice I got into from the start and I don’t see any reason to stop now.”

  Not finding a reason to bicker, Barry went along, “Okay.” Suddenly curious about Kyle’s history, Barry asked the one question he’d heard the most. “Are all the stories true?”

  “About me?”

  “Yeah, are they true or have you bullshitted your way to glory and fame?”

  “Now if I had bullshitted why would I tell you?”

  “Did you really singlehandedly kill a dozen Generates with a hand-held shovel?”

  Kyle looked at Barry and replied, “I’m not sure what you were taught, but I was told to never give up. I was out of ammo, I had one knife buried in the skull of one and a damn stick in the neck of another. I had nowhere to go so I tactically fell back to my rig.”

  “You retreated?”

  “No, I didn't retreat and words are important. I tactically fell back, meaning I knew where the shovel was as I had been digging with it when I was attacked. I made my way back to it, and used it.”

  “So, it’s true?”

  “It’s true and the shovel in question is the very one attached to my pack in the back seat.”

  Barry looked behind him and saw the pack sitting there with the shovel folded and clipped to the side in a holder. “Can I touch it?”

  Kyle gave Barry an odd look and replied, “No, I don’t want you fiddlefucking my gear.”

  “I wasn’t going to fiddlefuck anything,” Barry fumed and pouted. “Is it true, you’re always an asshole?”

  Kyle laughed and answered with a question. “Do people think I’m an asshole?”

  “I do.”

  “Then the answer is yes.”

  COLLECTIVE PRIME

  Portia paced the sidewalk in front of the infirmary, looking at her watch frequently. Each time the door opened she looked up with anticipation of seeing her students but each time it was someone else. Her mind spun with the different scenarios, some had Melissa coming out and others didn’t. What am I prepared to do? She asked herself. Lost in her internal turmoil she didn’t hear the door open.

  “The children are done,” the nurse said.

  Portia kept pacing oblivio
us, her back to the nurse.

  “Excuse me, Teacher Seven. The students are finished!”

  Portia jumped, “Oh, good, good.” Clenching her hands into fists, she approached the door.

  The nurse opened the door wide to accommodate the children who promptly began to march out single file. As each child exited the infirmary, Portia’s anxiety grew and her stomach turned. Where’s Melissa? When the last child exited, the nurse let go of the door. “Have a good day.”

  Portia grabbed the door and asked, “Is that it?”

  “Yes,” the nurse replied stoically.

  “There was a girl, Melissa. Is she one of them?” Portia asked.

  The nurse cocked her head and answered, “If they aren’t here, that’s your answer.”

  “But...”

  “Is that all?”

  “No,” Portia said walking up to the nurse. “Can I see her?”

  The nurse looked at her oddly and said, “No.”

  “Please.”

  “You know protocol, once they fail the test, they go to processing.”

  Fear gripped Portia, she knew what processing meant. “Can I ask a personal favor?”

  “What?”

  “Can I go see her?” Portia asked.

  “The answer is no. Teacher Seven. Your request is highly unusual, but I’ll excuse it this one time. Now, please go, attend to the other children,” the nurse said. She turned and walked away.

  Portia stood and stared. A deep sense of helplessness swept over her. The scenarios she’d run through her head moments before came rushing back.

  At the end of the far hallway, a door creaked open and Melissa stepped out.

  Seeing her, Portia called out, “Melissa!”

  Hearing her name, Melissa turned and waved. Oddly a smile graced her tender face.

  Portia wasn’t thinking about protocol or how unusual her behavior was. She let instinct take over. “Melissa, sweetheart, wait there!” she said racing towards her.

  Melissa stood and waited but was prompted along by a young intern.

  “No, wait,” Portia cried out.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, the nurse appeared, “Teacher Seven, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I just need to see her,” Portia said her voice cracking. Her face gave away the emotions running through her.