by J. L. Harden
Everyone is nodding along and someone says, “Hear, hear.”
“We are a comparatively small community compared to those of the great continental Arks, but we know how to bond together to overcome any problem, any form of adversity. When times are tough, we will never quit. We will never complain. We will never falter. Rather, we will help each other, we will look after each other. And together, we will overcome. We will overcome anything. Even… pure evil.”
He points at me as he says this, as he says the words ‘evil’ and ‘pure’.
Photo evidence of me appears on a screen. Pictures of me killing and shooting. There is video evidence as well. All fake. All doctored. But as fake as it is, it is still effective. It is absolutely damning.
“Zoe Harrison has fallen from grace,” the Mayor says. “She was our Sheriff. She was supposed to protect us. Serve us. And yet… she has betrayed us all. The evidence speaks for itself…”
And then Angel is wheeled out.
Wheeled out.
In a fucking wheelchair.
She is so drugged up she can’t focus her eyes. She can’t lift her head properly. It sort of rolls around on her shoulders.
She is a puppet.
They’ve pumped her good and full of some sort of mind control substance.
They pull her strings and her testimony is damning. More damning than anything the Mayor or Mike could’ve said.
“She… she was working with the big man,” Angel whispers, slurring and drooling. “They stole us from Wonderland. Tied us up and gagged us. They put a knife to my throat and a gun to my head. We had no choice but to go along with them. We were raped. Repeatedly. We were beaten. We were drugged. Ruby… one of the other girls… my friend… my sister… she was given so much… she overdosed… she died in her sleep, choking on her own vomit.”
The Mayor wipes away a tear from his cheek.
He is amazing.
“But even then,” Angel continues. “Even after Ruby died, they didn’t stop. The Sheriff… Zoe Harrison. She joined in… she joined in with everything… the beatings… the abuse. The rape. She is pure evil. She is a monster…”
I tune out for a second because I need to. I’m getting too worked up. Too angry. I’m so furious I can’t think straight. So I tune out so I can save my strength. So I can fantasize about revenge, about escaping from this situation. But then I realize escaping won’t be good enough. Because what I really need to do is, I need to save Angel. She’s in just as much trouble as I am. She’s just as dead. I can take the beatings. I can take the electrocutions. I can take the torture both physical and mental. But this… seeing her like this… it’s too damn much.
Need to save her.
Need to make a run for it.
Into the Eternal darkness…
Barefoot and blind.
A fucking suicide mission…
I hope Ed comes through with the goods. I could use a man like that on my side. Yeah, if you’re going into battle, if you’re going off to war, you want Edgar Ramirez beside you, that’s for damn sure. His brother Hector would be handy as well. More of a weapon, a bomb, a heat seeking missile to point at your enemies. Just point and shoot. Set and forget. Edgar on the other hand, he’s not only strong, but he’s cunning. He’s freakishly smart. He’s the kind of guy who could destroy his enemies without lifting a finger or throwing a punch if he wanted to.
He’s the kind of guy who can control Hector.
And then again, if he wanted to, he could throw as many punches as he so desired, as he saw fit, get as dirty as he wanted. It would be his choice because he’s Edgar Ramirez. Wasteland Transporter. The hard man of the Buried City. And right now, he’s a hard man with a score to settle. He’ll be plenty pissed that they got his brother. Plenty pissed that they’re desecrating his name and spreading lies and misinformation.
God, I hope he comes through with the goods. The goods being a pair of boots, a flashlight, a gun, a knife. That’s all I need. I’ll do the rest.
Wait. Be smart about this. I’ll also need something to destroy the tracking device they implanted me with. Won’t get far otherwise. Not sure if Ed will be able to cut it out. They insert it so it becomes attached to the radial artery. You try and cut it out, you bleed to death.
Yeah, need to play it smart. Need to think this through.
I turn my attention back to the circus that is this… whatever this is.
Trial.
Witch hunt.
The Mayor is still spitting venom and lies and a toxic and twisted version of events. A version of events that honestly, wouldn’t even be possible in a distant, parallel, alternate universe. It’s just not possible. But he makes it sound possible. He makes it sound plausible.
His words are his weapons, and with them, he is devastating.
They, the Mayor, and the other silent parties, they ask me if I want to say anything to my victim here today, and to my other victims and to their families. They ask me if I want to apologize and express remorse for my actions.
I’m too angry to think straight and I say, “Is there any point?” And this probably plays right into their hands. I probably actually do look and sound like a psychopathic monster.
For a split second the Mayor drops the act, he drops this whole fucking charade. He flashes a smile… a smile of pure joy and happiness. It only lasts for a second though.
But time slows down and then it stops altogether.
And that second… it’s a second that lasts a lifetime.
Chapter 9
The two goons, my torturers, they escort me back to the dungeon. They carry me, holding me under my arm pits. Each time I try and use my own legs to walk, they strike the back of my knees with a wooden baton.
I go limp.
Mike follows from behind. “How’d you like that, Zoe? How did that feel?”
“I’ve got a better question, Mike.” You fucking reptile. “How did that make you feel?”
I’m still angry and furious and my heart is racing.
“Don’t try and get in my head, you little self-righteous shit. I know how that felt for you. I know. Yeah, I know it was more painful than anything we’ve done to you so far. More painful than the physical torture. The beatings. The electrocution. And there’s plenty more to come. We’re not done with you yet.”
“Taking me on a publicity tour?”
“You’re so smart, aren’t you? So very clever and smart. And yes, if that’s what you want to call it. Yes. We are taking you on a publicity tour. Your face will be plastered throughout the Buried City and the Canyons, throughout the Wasteland. And every single person left here, left on Earth, all those damned souls, everyone will know what you did. They will know who you are.”
“I’ve always wanted to be famous.”
“Better than famous. You’ll be infamous. You will be a terrible and memorable villain. You’ll be the kind of villain that people love to hate. The kind of pure evil that unites enemies. We’ve talked about setting you free. Getting you out. Seeing how long you survive. See how long you last before the mob, before the people hunt you down and chase you and back you into a corner. Rip you apart. Limb from limb. I would love to see that.”
“I’m sure you would, Mike. I’m sure you would.”
Before he leaves, the new Sherriff lays into me with a furious combination of punches. He releases pent up anger and frustration in these blows. First to my head and face, and then to my gut. The force takes my breath away.
And then he aims a combo of left and right hooks at my chin.
I guess Wonderland has seen to his broken hand. Fixed it up real good. He’s already being rewarded for his actions.
After he’s done, after he’s tired himself out, I say through a mouthful of blood, with my eyes barely open, with my lungs devoid of air, I say. “You’re getting old, Mike. You’re losing your strength.”
And I mean it.
And he knows it.
Mike exits the dungeon angry and outraged.
He still can’t believe the sass I’m giving him.
The goons throw me in my cell and lock me up.
And waiting for me, waiting in the Waiting Room of all places, is a present…
A gas mask…
One of the goons notice. “What the hell is that?”
“Is that a gas mask? What the fuck is that doing here?”
“Something’s wrong. Raise the alarm.”
There’s a note written on the concrete floor. A message written in blood. “Dear Z… Put me on… E.”
“Open the cell,” the goon says. “Get it. Get her…”
I grab the mask and slip through the broken wall, into the Eternal Darkness. They won’t follow. They’re just as scared of the dark as I am.
Behind me I hear the fire alarm.
“Forget her. She can’t go anywhere.”
I slip the mask on and I crouch down in the darkness, out of sight. I listen to the fire alarm.
And then I hear other sounds.
I hear the goons, I hear them choking. I hear one of them throw up.
I move back into the cell. The dungeon is now full of smoke, or fog, or gas. I see the goons curled up on the floor, choking. They are completely incapacitated, possibly dying.
Ed is there with his own mask on. He opens the cell door. “Let’s go. Before reinforcements get here.”
Edgar Ramirez. Hard man of the Buried City. A man you most definitely want on your side and by your side. A man you want to go to war with. He’s come through with the goods. He’s delivered on his promise.
There is no false hope. Not with Edgar Ramirez.
Together, we escape this dungeon, this torture chamber. Together, we disappear into the hustle and bustle of the Buried City.
Chapter 10
We make our way through the very center of the Buried City. I walk with my head lowered, looking at nothing but the concrete ground. A pathetic attempt to hide my broken and infamous face.
We eventually arrive at a giant apartment complex. A mass of buildings that house a large portion of the population.
Ed leads us to a small apartment on one of the upper levels.
One bedroom. One bathroom.
Barely a kitchen.
Barely room to breathe.
“How’d you fucking do that?” I ask about the jail break. The gas. “Did you just kill a whole lot of people?”
“I used a kind of nerve gas. Found it a long time ago. Out in the Wasteland.”
“Are… are they all dead? Is Mike Malone dead?”
“No. The nerve gas I used is not lethal. It’s merely a paralyzing agent. They’ll come good in a few hours. Couldn’t risk using the lethal stuff. Couldn’t risk killing you as well.”
Damn. I would’ve taken the risk. Especially if it meant putting Mike Malone in the ground. And my torturers. Yeah. Fuck those guys.
“You need to stay here,” Ed says. “At least for the moment.”
“Here? We’re in the middle of the goddamn city.”
“Trust me, they won’t find you. No one knows about this place. Not even Hector knew about this place. And the walls are lined with lead. They won’t be able to track you. They won’t be able to get a lock.”
“No. But they’ll have a pretty good idea.”
“It’s not a permanent solution. But this will give us time. We’re not staying. We will be leaving very, very soon. But I need to follow up on a lead first. And I need to get supplies.”
“Supplies? What kind?”
“The kind you need when you’re going off to war. The kind you need to survive the Wasteland. Basically, we’ve got two options right now. We can hide. Or we can run. I’ve got a few more hide sites that no one else knows about. They’re scattered throughout the city. Or we can make a run for it. We take our chances in the Wasteland. We head for the Deep Canyon. Either way, we’ll need supplies. We’ll need food and water. Guns and ammo.”
I would love a gun right about now. A spare magazine or two.
“And you need to rest,” he says. “Get your strength back.”
“I still don’t feel safe here.”
“I know you’re worried. I know you don’t want to go back. But look at it this way, it’s like hiding a needle in a haystack. You’re the needle and the city, this enormous apartment block is the haystack. Even if they go door to door, they won’t find you in time. They don’t have the man power anymore. Most of the Enforcers have gone back to Wonderland. We’ll be long gone before the new Sheriff comes a knocking. We’ll be long gone before he even wakes up from his nap.”
“But when it comes time to leave, what are we going to do about the tracking device they stuck me with?”
“Again, we’ve got two choices. The safest choice is an EMP. This will completely destroy the mechanism, but unfortunately, an EMP will be damn near impossible to obtain.”
“Okay, so what’s option number two?”
“I’ve got a friend. He works in the morgue. He’s real handy with a scalpel. He’ll get it out of you. You won’t feel a thing.”
Ed gives me a pair of boots and he apologizes about not having a spare gun handy. Or a knife. But he’ll have all these goodies, and more, very soon.
After he gives me the rundown of what he needs to do and what we’ll need to do over the coming days and weeks, Ed goes out the door quietly, a man on a mission. And I’m left behind to regain my strength, left alone with nothing but my thoughts and the pain in my bones.
And the waiting, the inactivity is unbearable. Once again time slows down and it practically stops. And I get an idea. A crazy, stupid, desperate idea. I could save Angel. I could sneak out. Track her down. Get her to safety before the Sheriff and his goons knew what was happening.
No. This is a pipe dream. This is a suicide mission.
You still have the tracking device in your arm, Zoe. You need to think. You need to play this smart.
But I need to do something. Anything.
Can’t sit around here all day. Not while Angel is being tortured and brainwashed and drugged.
Time speeds back up.
And then I get a feeling, one of guilt and anger.
And now all I’m doing is sitting around wasting time. I’m doing nothing. Not a damn thing. I’m doing nothing when I should be doing something. Because what I need to do, before I run away, before I escape from the Buried City with Ed, I need to rescue Angel, I need to save her from the Mayor and the Sheriff and the Collector and everything they’re doing to her.
Need to get rid of the tracker first though.
Need to play this smart.
Edgar said, “I’ve got a friend in the Morgue.”
I can take a guess who it is. A mad genius of a man.
I convince myself that I can’t sit here any longer. Need to make a move. I need to go right now.
Time is flying by and time is wasting away and so is Angel. I’m all she’s got and I’m not going to leave her behind. Not going to sit here in this room, in this one bedroom apartment while they continue to torture her and drug her and do god knows what else to her.
I raid the small kitchen for some tinfoil. A rare luxury in this day and age, in the Wasteland, in the Buried City. Luckily, Edgar Ramirez is the kind of guy who can get his hands on rare and luxurious items. He’s the kind of guy who hoards these rare and luxurious items. I tear a section off and wrap it around my wrist. This will either insulate the signal from my tracking device, or boost it.
I have no idea which one.
But I’m prepared to take the risk…
I’m prepared to put everything on the line.
Because if this goes as well as expected, Doctor Maximillian Schroeder could slice me open and remove the tracking device in a matter of minutes, all without me feeling a thing.
With minimal blood spilt.
No fuss. No muss.
And then I can get right back to saving Angel.
Chapter 11
Doctor Maximilian Schroeder has a mad sci
entist vibe about him. He looks crazy, and some of the things he says are even crazier, but he is good and thorough. He’s the kind of doctor who can tell if someone died the right way or the wrong way. He can tell when someone died painfully, or peacefully.
He is good. The best.
And on top of the skill and the steady hands, he has an insatiable thirst for knowledge. He’s also got the fortitude and the stomach to cut up dead bodies all day long. So yeah, he’ll be able to handle my little problem easily. Like Ed said, he will have this implant out of me in no time at all.
I won’t feel a thing.
And if I know Max, he won’t ask any questions.
I make my way to the hospital of the Buried City. Again, I keep my head lowered. I keep my pace casual. Not too fast. Not too slow.
Hopefully no one will notice my broken face.
The hospital of the Buried City is a marvel of human ingenuity and desperation. If necessity is the mother of all invention, then this hospital is definitely a product of necessity.
It’s necessary because the Wasteland is a dangerous place, the Buried City is a dangerous place. As a result, this hospital was built with one thing in mind… treating the critically injured, the mortally wounded. It was built to save the lives of people whose lives needed saving right fucking now. This hospital is strictly for emergency situations only. And because it was built for emergencies, it has kept growing over the years. And now, in its current state, it has grown to include a number, a sprawl of buildings to house these sick and injured souls.
And of course, the dead.
I slip through the main entrance. I hear people screaming and nurses running frantically around. I use this chaos to my advantage and make my way to the basement, to the lowest point in the main building.
This is where the dead end up. Not all of them, but a lot. This is where they sink to after whatever ailment took their lives. Usually a knife or an edged weapon, sometimes a fist or a boot. Sometimes a bullet.
This is where they end up when their life is ended.
