The Collector

by Luna, David

  Inside Chelsea’s shack is a bombmaker’s paradise where shelves of chemicals and other components used in homemade explosives line the handmade aluminum shelving.

  The pail tumbles to the floor immediately as Chelsea spots Neil already inside her home waiting for her, his arms folded in confident victory as he’s finally one step ahead. Before Chelsea can blink, let alone turn to flee, Slayter blindsides her from the shadows with his shock baton, sending her reeling to the floor as the baton nearly dislocates her jaw. Slayter continues to beat her into submission until the sound of a crying baby steals his attention.

  Neil works to tie Chelsea’s hands, but she goes berserk when Slayter picks up her baby from a makeshift playpen, her flailing arms clawing skin from Neil’s neck.

  Slayter notices Neil’s freshly drawn blood. He sets the baby aside and returns to help secure Chelsea, yanking back both arms and slamming her face to her wooden workbench. He shoves Leon’s photo at her.

  “Where is he?” Slayter demands. No answer. Slayter slides Neil a chemical bottle from the shelf, then wrenches Chelsea’s head to expose the side of her face.

  “No…,” Chelsea whimpers.

  “She nearly killed you once, now she drew blood again,” Slayter shouts to Neil.

  Neil hesitates. Slayter pops off the cap and slams the container down, spilling liquid near her cheek. She whimpers more as the residual chemical bubbles on the wooden workbench and trickles towards her face.

  “Forrest. Borders. Roberts. Benson,” Slayter lists in rapid succession, “our blood’s on her hands. She makes the explosives.”

  Neil looks to the blood on his own hands, then to Slayter, his eyes ordering Neil to douse her with the chemical. Neil lifts the container and tilts it towards Chelsea’s face, his throbbing heartbeat drowning out the sounds of Chelsea’s pleas and the hysteria of the screaming baby.

  Just as the bottle is about to tip over, Slayter suddenly intervenes. “Stop,” he announces. Both Neil and Chelsea are relieved until Slayter retrieves the crying baby and lays it on the workbench. “Last chance,” he threatens.

  Chelsea breaks into such a panic that even a straightjacket would have trouble containing her, yet Slayter brutishly pins her in place. As she continues to withhold information, choosing to fight and squirm rather than comply, Slayter nods to Neil to proceed.

  Neil squeezes his eyes shut and slowly begins to tilt the acid over the helpless infant...

  A short while later, Slayter locks the rear doors to his utility truck, while Neil staggers to the passenger side. He glances over his shoulder to verify Slayter is out of sight, then uses the door for support as he leans forward and vomits. “What did he just do?”

  Half a dozen Security Enforcement Officers swarm the shack and remove the explosive materials. One SEO exits carrying the baby, unharmed. Chelsea must’ve given in before Neil went through with it, though the episode with the chemical bottle was still intense for him.

  Slayter strays towards the fire pit at the center of the sector – the heart and soul of the community – while dozens of hidden eyeballs watch in fear from the forts up above. He scoops a handful of dried moss, the same moss used to help ignite Chelsea’s explosives and dips it in the few remaining red embers at the bellows of the smoldering fire pit. The moss fibers ignite like a fuse.

  Neil wipes the sour residue from his mouth just as he spots Slayter through the windshield with the glowing flame in hand, addressing the hidden residents spying from above.

  “This is the only place to find this, they say. Not even the Black Market has it, they say,” Slayter mocks as he waves the burning moss in the air. “You know what I say? One, seven, five, two, A – all weapons intended for use against the Agency shall be seized and destroyed.”

  “Slayter!” Neil shouts as he whips open the door and stumbles out of the utility truck.

  “It’s become clear your sector is a weapon…,” Slayter threatens, a maniacal grin forming in the corner of his mouth, “…and it must be destroyed.”

  Neil protests again just as Slayter disperses the burning moss outwards in all directions. The fibers sail through the air and rain down on the forest floor simultaneously, the dead bark immediately igniting and giving life to a fire that whips throughout the base of the wooden shacks and begins to eat the bottoms out from under them, the wood structures so dry and the draped moss so plentiful it is as if they were soaked in kerosene.

  By the time Slayter returns to the utility truck, the flames have already overtaken the second level in the trees. The blaze dances across the suspended bridges and leaps up to the third tier, sending the spying residents scrambling, jumping, and swinging for their lives. Neil can’t do anything but watch as the destruction unfolds before his very eyes, squinting as the scorching heat reaches his face. What was once a sector of joy has been turned into a sector of fear; the music of life replaced by agonizing screams of death.

  Neil collapses into his seat as Slayter hops in the driver’s side. He doesn’t even want to ask Slayter why he did what he did since he knows Slayter will just reference the penal codes – blank checks he can write to do whatever he pleases. The urge to vomit resurfaces.

  Slayter scowls as he sees his partner struggling to keep it together. “Man up,” he demands as he brings the truck to life and throws it in reverse. “She’s taking us to Leon.”

  The storming of Leon is a complete blur. Neil remembers sneaking up on a mobile RV parked in an abandoned industrial complex near the docks of the polluted bay just outside of Downtown. He remembers calling for Reinforcement SEOs to cover the perimeter and monitor escape routes. He remembers his palms being overly sweaty, unsure exactly how the mission would unfold. Would Leon surrender? Would he take his own life? Would Adrianne still be held captive, and if so, was she injured or even alive? Could Neil look her in the eyes after selling her out to Leon in the first place? And the worst uncertainty of all, would Leon reveal Neil’s secret as his final act of terror – terror more personally destructive than any bombing could ever inflict on him?

  Sitting back at Agency Headquarters in the Collector’s bullpen, Slayter fills in the gaps that are foggy. It’s not that Neil asked to be reminded. Instead, Slayter relays the events of the day to the other Collectors – Cecil, Dale, Raymond, and Garrison – much like he always does, in elaborate detail and boisterous flair in a way that only Slayter can do.

  The Collectors hang on every word as Slayter describes his and Neil’s silent approach to the rear door of the RV, adding embellishments and humor such as Neil’s sweat-ridden brow and the look on his face as if he would vomit. Neil pretends to laugh it off, except for once Slayter isn’t embellishing.

  He describes Leon’s shock as Slayter kicked in the door and Neil leapt inside. He makes sure to emphasize the fact that Neil clumsily tripped and smacked his face as he hopped over the seat to give chase while Leon fled out the driver’s door.

  “Damn, Neil. First day on the job?” Raymond quips, patting Neil on the back.

  The Collectors chuckle again.

  Slayter spends a few moments on the brief details of rescuing Adrianne and untying her from the backside of the RV’s bathroom toilet, instead more interested in telling the others about the Brigade’s mobile command center. While Neil was out doing the legwork pursuing Leon, Slayter remained back and discovered dozens of documents including blueprints of the Wall, floor plans of Agency Headquarters and other Agency-owned buildings, and an intricate map of the city outlining the web of underground transfer tunnels. He explains how he figured out that the red stars and circles on the map indicated both past and presumably future attack sites, many of them linked to fresh stacks of folders containing files on upcoming Collection Due Dates. Neil cringes when Slayter blames Adrianne for willingly giving up this information while under interrogation, and he tells the Collectors he hopes she is dealt with accordingly.

  Slayter nears the end of his story by describing the loud gunsh
ot that echoed throughout the abandoned docks near the bay. He applauds Neil for his decisive action to eliminate Leon once Leon pulled a weapon on him. The compliment from Slayter draws compliments from the other Collectors.

  Neil, however, barely registers a smile as he recalls a much different series of events. The beginning of Slayter’s story is correct – Neil’s overly sweaty palms, the look on Neil’s face as if he would vomit – but since Slayter remained back at the Brigade’s mobile command center, Slayter wasn’t there as Neil sprinted after Leon and chased him throughout the abandoned facilities. Slayter wasn’t there to hear that once cornered at a wooden wharf sinking into the bay and held at gunpoint, how Leon and Neil had a brief discussion. Slayter is unaware of Leon’s multiple threats to expose Neil’s betrayal on every digital billboard screen not just in Downtown, but the entire city.

  As Leon drew his PDA from his pocket, not a weapon as Neil reported, the only thing Slayter was right about is that Neil took decisive action as he decisively shot Leon in cold blood, the loud gunshot echoing throughout the docks. Knowing he had only moments to tie up loose ends before Slayter and the Reinforcement SEOs arrived, Neil crushed Leon’s PDA with his boot and kicked it to the depths of the polluted bay, then scrambled for any sort of object in sight he could plant on Leon as a weapon. In the short time he had, the best Neil could come up with was a bent lead pipe, staging it in Leon’s limp fingers. As Neil positioned the body, his entire life as a Collector flashed before his eyes. He has transported so many volunteers and Breachers to their death over the years, the number too numerous to count, but this was the first time he has ever taken a life himself. Damian was a close call, but he didn’t kill him. He can’t say the same thing about Leon.

  Neil remembers his shoulders being more tense than usual, his eyes most assuredly wider than a volunteer who sees the transfer tunnels for the first time, when Slayter approached the wharf. Even now he can almost taste the vomit still lingering in his throat, much like he could back at the wharf, as he waited for Slayter’s reaction to the bloody scene. As Neil saw it there were only two possibilities: Slayter would buy it and believe Neil acted in self-defense, or he would suspect that Neil was covering something up. It turns out Slayter had a much different reaction. As he eyed the lead pipe, which both of them recognized wasn’t the most threatening weapon, and noted Leon’s body position, cornered at the end of a sinking wharf with nowhere to run, Slayter concluded that Neil didn’t have to shoot Leon. He figured it out that Neil could’ve disarmed Leon, apprehended him, and brought him in for further interrogation per Agency protocol for high-valued targets. However, even knowing all this Slayter continued to place his hand on Neil’s shoulder and proudly say, “It’s exactly what I would’ve done.” He then shook Neil’s hand and lumbered away from the wharf, sending chills down Neil’s spine.

  “It’s exactly what I would’ve done...” That’s the part that still replays through Neil’s mind. It’s unnerving. He isn’t like Slayter and he never wanted to become more like him. He isn’t proud of what he’s done. It was an act of desperation; an act of self preservation; an act of survival – like those that steal water rations from others knowing that person will die of dehydration. It’s not the heroic choice, but at the end of the day it was either Leon or Neil, and Neil, much like anyone else if they found themselves in such a position, naturally chose himself.

  “Go ahead, Neil,” Raymond says to interrupt Neil’s thoughts. “You earned it.”

  Raymond and the other Collectors nod towards the bulletin board, motioning for Neil to tear down Leon’s headshot, the last photo of the four Brigade Leaders.

  “That’s not all he earned,” Mazer announces as he enters with a slim metal case, sleek with a decorative Agency emblem embossed on the top. He opens it to present Neil with his reward – a brand new 4-Stripe Arm Badge.

  “Lunch on Neil!” Raymond shouts.

  Many of the Collectors laugh, while others hoot and holler. It’s a career milestone and everyone knows it as Neil is now the highest-ranked Collector besides Slayter.

  “I haven’t been on assignment in weeks,” Neil refutes the honor as he closes the case, remaining stoic.

  “This was your assignment,” Mazer says as he takes Leon’s headshot from him. “Good work...,” he continues, then turns to address everyone, “to all of you. The Agency appreciates your loyalty.”

  After a career spanning over a decade, from the Academy to the Agency and all the trials and tribulations that come along with it, Neil has propelled himself to an elite class – a 4-Stripe Collector – one of the best to ever perform the job.

  An Agency infomercial sounds from the television on the twenty-second floor.

  Inna tinkers with the virtual fish tank, disassembled into pieces on the coffee table.

  “I can’t fix it,” she says giving up. “And the fish are dying.” The touchscreen is still unresponsive as the virtual fish float in place, on the brink of digital death.

  She looks to Neil next to her on the couch, collapsed from exhaustion. She notices bruises and needle marks on the underside of his forearm. He’s been testing his own blood faster than his forearm can heal. His PDA is still in hand with Inna’s profile again loaded: COLLECTION COMPLETE.

  As she touches one of the needle marks with the tip of her finger, Neil jolts to life, swatting her away and grabbing her by the wrist, pure instinct driven by paranoia. His face turns to horror once he realizes his aggressive actions.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he says as he caresses her, then rubs his eyes with his palms, still disoriented.

  “What are those?” She points to the needle marks.

  “They’re old.”

  “So now your blood takes days to clot?” she asks rhetorically, knowing full well that the specks of red indicate the pricks are fresh needle marks.

  “I was verifying. The Agency prides itself on verification.”

  “How many times do I have to say it? You are not the Agency!” she growls. She shifts to the edge of the couch in concern. “You said it was over. That there was nothing more to worry about.”

  Neil touches the side of her face to calm her, “Hey...”

  She turns away, but he directs her back. She takes his hand, then leans her head forward to rest on his. “How did we ever think we could do this?” she asks.

  He presses his lips to her forehead, then her nose. “It’s over. I swear. You know me. I was just being silly.”

  She returns the gesture, their lips meeting. She notices the scratch wounds on his neck from Chelsea’s flailing claws, but he diverts her focus back to his eyes. As their skin continues to touch, the heat of the moment sneaks up and takes them both by surprise. He unbuttons her shirt and slides off her pants, then reclines her backwards on the couch. Her breaths become long and heavy as her legs part, welcoming him into her. It’s sensual. Slow. Passionate. Only as two lovers can do. Inna’s eyes flutter as the air escapes her lungs.

  But for as intimate a moment it is, Neil allows outside stresses to penetrate his mind. The image of Slayter dragging Brock’s wife and child into the interrogation room is the first to arrive, followed by the images of Neil breaking Damian’s ribs and then shattering Jace’s knee with the shock baton.

  Inna grabs Neil’s face in concern, recognizing he’s troubled as he scrunches his brow, attempting to brush the thoughts away while sliding inside her. He begins to thrust faster. Harder. His hips gaining intensity. She winces in a moment of discomfort, but ignores it.

  Neil, however, can’t ignore his memories as the haunting images flood in quicker, synchronized with the pace of his body. He recalls Kerra latching her arms around him before he sent her away to the transfer tunnels in Inna’s place. He sees Jimmy running in circles while pretending the black flag is a cape. He squeezes his eyes shut tight when he sees himself tilting the chemical bottle over Chelsea’s face, threatening to deform her while she reaches desperately for her bab
y.

  Neil’s breathing intensifies as he remembers the porch door falling off its hinges as he and Slayter drag Loraine, Jimmy, and Jimmy’s two brothers from the house while sick Ben remains bed-ridden on the cot, tearing the family apart. He can almost feel Quado’s parrot’s beautiful rainbow feathers between his fingers as he remembers its thin neck at the mercy of his grip.

  Neil shifts Inna’s legs over to one side, pressing her thighs together, upon the memory of Jimmy sitting on his mother’s lap across from him and Wade, all smiles as he proudly states he gets to see his father while his father’s sacrificial black flag is displayed prominently on the living room wall.

  Neil grunts with each thrust as Wade takes shape in his mind, he and Paiton sharing secret glances back in the diner on the morning Wade first quoted Quado’s poem and spoke about love.

  Neil’s mental downfall spirals out of control as he can almost hear Wade beg for Neil to stop Slayter as Slayter brutally assaults Paiton in her bungalow, with both he and Wade forced to standby and helplessly watch.

  Neil nearly suffocates Inna with a deep kiss in an effort to purge his mind of the self-inflicted torture and guilt, but the image of Cassi clutching her teddy bear takes hold as he and Wade drag her father Sean, dressed in his Sunday’s best, away against his will.

  Neil’s shoulders tighten when he recalls Howard Marlow at the Wall with the three bloody needle marks in his chest from an underground blood transfusion aimed to beat the Agency’s final checkpoint to exit the city.

  Inna grows uncomfortable as Neil continues to grunt, sweat, and square his clinched jaw with noticeable vigor, the sensual act devolving into something far more animalistic. Inna’s fingers squeeze his new 4-stripe arm badge stitched to his uniform, her arms attempting to push Neil away while her hips lust for their raw passion to continue.

  The memory of Abby and Elijah both caressing Abby’s pregnant stomach, too demoralized to bring their child into this world, causes Neil to lose it. He gasps for air as he breaks away from the extended suffocating kiss, then flips Inna to her stomach and rams her from behind while reliving the memory of the burning trees and dying shrieks ravaging the Bayou Sector.