Joliet, Illinois
“Colonel!” a tower guard called out from atop one of the corner walls, across a hundred-yard stretch. When there was no answer, the guard yelled it out with his hands cupping his mouth. “Colonel!” From across the distance, the Colonel’s head popped out of an upper-story window, his hands propping him up so he could see the distance.
The Colonel had a set of binoculars that always hung from his neck. He had learned that life in Haven required an eagle’s eye, one he wasn’t gifted with. When the Colonel saw that he was being summoned by a guard, he looked through them to see what was being relayed to him.
“Two people, armed, on foot,” the Colonel said to his captain. “Go see what’s going on and who our brave visitors are,” he commanded him.
“Yes, sir.”
The prison walls were tall and made of giant blocks of quarried sandstone. Lookout towers were strategically placed on just about every corner of the entire structure. The facility was closed in 2002 and survived an arson attack in 2017. Now, it was used by a group of surviving men and women that precious few people knew anything about. It was rumored that they bartered with groups like the Order to keep peaceful relations, but those might be just rumors.
...
The streets of Joliet were quiet, but far from empty; many of the houses had people living in them, but they dared not come outside. They would go as far as the window, or some, the brave ones, would look out the front door.
Mason and Shemika were lucky enough to meet a group on their trek to Joliet that called themselves the Mud Daubers. They were willing to barter safe passage through the barrens to get them a little closer to their destination. The Mud Daubers traversed the old riverbeds on four-wheelers and made a living by trading services for goods. Their ride through Will County cost them Mason’s shotgun and ammunition, but it got them to the inner edge of the barrens.
From there, they walked in a file down the sidewalks as they were making their final approach to the penitentiary. They had spent their day sneaking through the barrens of old Rockdale, along the Des Plaines River bed. So much had changed since Mason last traveled through this area. The Fox, Illinois, and Des Plaines Rivers were nothing but beds of fish-smelling earth beneath blankets of sulfur-smelling ash, but Joliet was different. It looked cleaner, as if it was being maintained.
“What are you thinking?” Shemika asked Mason. She was increasingly more inquisitive into Mason’s line of thought, like she wanted to know him better. From Mason’s perspective, she just wanted to know because she was a part of it.
“I’m thinking about the stupid decision I may have made bringing you along.”
His comment was like a spear had been driven into her heart. The comment begged the question, “Why do you say that?”
“Because if anything happens to you, I’m not sure I’ll be able to deal with myself.”
His comment instantly lifted her spirit. She was walking behind Mason, so she felt comfortable letting out a smile, a smile he hadn’t seen yet. “What’d you do before the Flash?” she asked.
“I was an office associate,” he answered, feeling that the answer was somewhat emasculating.
“You were a secretary?” She chuckled.
Mason stopped walking and turned around just in time to see her wipe the smirk from her face. He thought it was cute. In fact, he thought everything about her was cute. The closer he grew to her, the more attractive she became. “Yes, a secretary,” he answered. But he felt an overwhelming need to impress his beautiful companion, so he added, “I was in the Marines before that.”
“The Marines?” she asked, her attention now captured.
“Yes, the Marines. Is that not manly enough for you,” he bantered before turning back around to finish their trek.
“What do they call secretaries in the Marines, ‘tactical grounds technicians’?” she joked.
Mason stopped and turned around again. This time, he was able to see her full smile. He felt like putty. “I was in the infantry before I became a marksmanship instructor,” he said.
“That’s impressive, she answered, “Explains a lot, too.”
“After that I was a merc for the US government during the war. We didn’t have rules of engagement like we did in the military, so we were sent to do things the others weren’t allowed to do. If something bad happened, the government had no knowledge of it.”
Mason turned back forward and changed the subject. “Chances are, they’ve already spotted us from one of their towers, so we need to proceed with extreme diligence,” Mason said in a lower tone, preparing for a tactical challenge.
He found an old house that looked abandoned. It was broken down and the roof was caved in. “This will do,” he said. They walked in through the back door and made sure the house was empty. Mason lifted a couple of planks from the floor of the old musty-smelling house and hid his backpack there, leaving with only his Ka-Bar and a pistol. Shemika had a rifle for the sake of diversity.
The two of them walked down the middle of the road and made their approach to the old dilapidated prison.
“This is where they filmed an opening scene of The Blues Brothers,” Shemika said, all calm, as if nothing crazy was about to happen.
“I heard about that. What a great movie.”
The east gate began to clang just before it slid open. Three men on horseback came riding out onto the street. Each of them was brandishing rifles of his own. Mason did a quick study of on them. They were wearing police-style body armor, the kind that should be worn under a uniform shirt. The armor was intentionally designed to be shorter, allowing for officers to sit down in their squad cars without the armor catching their duty belt and pressing up against their chin. Their hair was cut and well maintained, as were their faces. This told Mason that these men were well groomed and probably led by a professional that demanded a neat and orderly appearance. The horses were thin and not eating well. He surmised that they might not live another season. Now it was time for Mason to put Haven to the test.
“My name is Mason. This here is Shemika. We’ve traveled a long way in search of this place.” Mason stopped talking long enough to give the men their space to say something. The three riders circled the two of them and didn’t say a word, so Mason asked the big question, “I’m searching for my daughter. Word is you deal in children. Now, I’m not sure what that means, but I’m hoping you do and that you can help me find her. She’s nine years old. She was taken from me two years ago by three thugs who work for the Order now. She’s got brown hair; not sure how tall she is anymore.”
One of the men looked up to the tower that was next to the gatehouse and rounded his fingers through the air, signaling the guard to rally help.
“The Colonel will see you in the Colonel’s Court,” one of them said.
Mason was praying they wouldn’t try to take their guns. If they were, then he was mentally prepared to object in kind.
“This way,” the man said.
He didn’t ask for their weapons, so Mason’s anxiety level lowered a bit.
Mason and Shemika followed the lead horse through the entrance of the east gate. They were followed by the other two horses. Once inside, the giant metal gate closed behind them, causing a loud and residual clanging sound.
Stepping into the grounds of the penitentiary was reminiscent of Doctor Who’s Time and Relative Dimension in Space, or TARDIS, machine. The appearance from the outside gave the impression of what might very well be a cramped space on the inside, but it was quite the opposite. It appeared far larger on the inside. The outside dimensions were very deceiving.
The men dismounted their horses and led them around a series of buildings and structures toward the main facility. The walk took them a solid five minutes just to reach the primary building. The men stopped at the main door, and two more men stepped out of the building.
“We’ll take it from here, guys. Thanks,” one of them said.
Mason and Shemika looked at each other one last ti
me before stepping into the facility.
Back where Mason left the dead Scrounger
Seven Scroungers were standing over the body of the man Mason had tortured and killed. They had tracked Mason’s Blazer to the crash site and ultimately to the place where Mason and Shemika had stayed the night. Pete Langdon, otherwise known as “the boss,” was searching for clues inside the house.
“What are you looking for, stranger?” Pete said to himself, as if he was thinking out loud.
“Boss,” one of the Scroungers said from the backyard, where the body was located, “we got a Flesher.”
Pete immediately went out back and saw the seven of them standing over the Scrounger they knew as Joey.
Pete walked over to him. “Is it immobile?”
“Yes, boss. Looks like somebody ran a knife through the back of its neck and paralyzed it.”
Pete stooped down to get a closer look. The dead man’s hazy white eyes were bobbing around like he was trying to see what was happening, and his jaw was opening and closing like he wanted to talk, but nothing was coming out.
“What do you want us to do with him, boss?” one of the Scroungers asked.
“He’s a Flesher now; there’s nothing we can do for him. Get him buried somewhere out of sight. Keep it contained like we’ve been doing,” Pete said, standing back up and walking around to the front of the house. One Scrounger grabbed a shovel and started digging a shallow grave while the other six Scroungers followed the boss. Pete pointed to a pair of tracks that led away from the house. “We’re going to follow these.”
Haven
Mason and Shemika were escorted to the Colonel’s Court and were brought before the man they called the Colonel.
“I’ve allowed you to maintain possession of your weapons. Can I trust that while you are guests here, you will maintain a professional code of conduct?”
“We didn’t come here with any intentions of harming you or any of your people,” Mason said, looking over his shoulder at the two armed guards that escorted them in.
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m searching for my daughter. A little girl named Lydia, about nine years old with brown hair. I heard that you dealt with children, whatever that means.”
The Colonel stood up and said, “I like to walk. Do you like to walk?”
Mason looked at Shemika, and she shrugged her shoulders.
“Sure,” he answered to the Colonel.
The Colonel began leading Mason and Shemika through the facility, and spoke as they went.
“I founded this place not long after the Flash. I’m not even a Colonel; the folks here just started calling me that after about a year.
“Before the Flash, I was the curator of the prison museum. We refurbished the facility to more closely resemble the way it was in the 1800s. Turned out, being the sole steward of such a landmark came with perks. This place is fully operational without the use of twentieth-century technology. That means we have well water and plant rooms with edible plants capable of growing in the shade, such as broccoli, cauliflower, peas, beets, radishes, and cress. I know it’s not a wide variety of food, but we’re not eating each other, as you can see.
“Anyway, I went clean off the track and got ahead of myself. So, after the Flash, I took notice of the widespread violence and realized that if I wanted to keep my family safe, we would have to leave our home. So I took them to the safest place I knew—this prison. Over time, we took in others. I had to overcome a certain paranoia that everybody was here to kill me. Once I overcame that hurdle, the community grew into what we now know as Haven. We have strict rules here, Mr., uh…”
“Mason… my name’s Mason.”
“Mason, we have strict rules here.”
As they went along, Mason realized that Colonel liked to talk and was probably sharing more than Mason was comfortable with.
“Colonel, I’m only interested in knowing if my daughter’s here.”
Colonel continued talking like he wasn’t concerned with Mason’s petition regarding Lydia. “We have a sister facility across the street where we house people that can’t abide by our rules, Mason. If our rules are violated, they are judged by a panel of men and women selected by lottery. If they are found guilty, they are stripped of any and all possessions and relocated.
“Now, I have shared a great deal of information with you, Mason. You and your friend can stay here if you contribute to the community. By contribute, I mean that if you have skills that would be an asset to us, you can stay. If you don’t, then your friend can be used as collateral towards your stay.”
Shemika looked at Mason, and Mason looked at the Colonel. “We’re not interested in staying, contributing, or collateral payments,” Mason said convincingly.
The Colonel opened one last door into a large courtyard where huge amounts of people were congregating. On the walls, above the courtyard, armed guards used a catwalk system to move from tower to tower. Children were yelling and chasing one another around the yard. One group of kids were playing kickball. Mason walked into the courtyard, not giving any heed to his situational awareness. He was desperately searching for his beloved Lydia.
“Good day, Mason,” the Colonel said.
“Wait,” Shemika called out. Mason turned around just in time to see the door slam shut, segregating him from Shemika.
“Hey,” Mason called out. When he wasn’t answered, he began hitting the door with the buttstock of his rifle.
“Drop the rifle,” a man on the wall shouted down at Mason.
Mason looked up and saw a guard pointing a rifle at him.
“I said drop the rifle.”
Mason looked around to study his environment. Three men on the walls were pointing rifles at him, and he saw several more running at him, blowing whistles. The entire mood of the courtyard changed and went silent and solemn as Mason lowered his rifle to the ground and placed his hands in the air.
“Daddy?” a little girl’s voice called out. “Daddy! Is that you?”
Mason searched for the voice he recognized and turned towards it to see his beautiful daughter running to him.
“Lydia!” he called out, with great joy and elation, but his efforts to reach his daughter were cut short by a guard who rendered him unconscious by striking him in the back of the head with the buttstock of a rifle.
...
Mason woke up in a prison cell with a toilet full of human waste, a bed that was mounted to the wall, and a desk, also mounted. His belongings were gone, and he had nothing save the clothes on his back.
“Lydia,” he cried out several times. His voice echoed through the empty metal and stone facility, but there was no response.
The next morning
Mason woke up from a relatively sleepless night. Lydia was the first thing on his mind; after that was Shemika. The facility was dead silent. Mason believed he was the sole prisoner being held in this wing of the prison. Several questions were searing their way into his mind. Among them, the safety of his daughter and friend. Worrying about their safety would prove a waste of time if he didn’t do anything to save them or, at a minimum, inquire about their well-being.
Mason got up out of his bed and studied his environment. The door slid on a track to open and close, so he thought he would give it a tug to see if it was unlocked. It didn’t budge.
“Hello? Is anyone else in here?” he called out, hoping he wasn’t alone. There was no answer. In the distance, Mason heard the sound of a metallic locking mechanism. Somebody was coming, and it sounded like they had keys. Mason jumped back into his bed and rolled over onto his side to feign sleep. Then there was the sound of yet another metallic locking mechanism, then the sound of footsteps.
“Mason, are you awake?”
Mason recognized the voice of his visitor. It was the Colonel. Mason couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this, so he rolled out of his bed and met the Colonel at the door that barred him from leaving. Between him and the Colonel was a solid steel
door with a thick unbreakable glass insert for a window so the Colonel could see his prisoner.
“I wish things wouldn’t have gone this way, Mason. I’m here to give you one last chance to become a member of our community. I’ve spent some time talking to Shemika, and I know that you’re a very skilled and capable man. You would be an excellent addition around here.”
Mason stared into the Colonel’s eyes with an intense veracity. “Why won’t you let me have my daughter?”
“If you become a part of this community, I will consider dropping your charges. After that, when you’ve proven yourself, you may have a chance to earn your daughter back.”
“Earn my daughter back? Mister, I’ve—”
The Colonel interrupted Mason, “I’ve only known you a very brief amount of time. I’ve seen your kind before. You’re only good at one thing—killing. So if you can’t put that kind of skill to work for Haven, then I guess there’s nothing I can do to help you get your daughter back.”
The Colonel turned to walk away, and Mason sensed he was about to be left alone again, without answers. “If you hurt my daughter…” Mason threatened.
“Mason, hurting your daughter is the last thing I want. The future of our civilization depends on the resilience of the young to carry our offspring forward and into the future.”
Mason filled with rage and started beating on the glass window. He turned to grab something—anything—to throw at it to break it out, but everything was securely fastened to the walls and floor.
“Good day, Mason,” the Colonel said, turning to walk out. Two guards met him at the first security door and escorted him out of sight to the second security door. Mason dropped onto his bed and let out a roar that the Colonel heard, now forty yards away and separated by walls of solid stone and steel.
Later that day
Mason heard the far security door open. He jumped up from his bed and went to look out of his window. At first, he saw only the Colonel, who he figured was coming back to taunt him and to beg him to join the community. But then he saw a second person. A smaller female with brown hair. The window to his cell was dirty, and it was hard to see for sure, but Mason soon realized it was Lydia. The Colonel had brought her as far as the second door in, then left her there while he continued alone to Mason’s cell.
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