Armed guards on horseback patrolled the workers and he noticed more at various positions around the farm encampment. A large tractor trailer truck was backed up to one of the buildings. He could see corn filled about half the trailer space and crates of jars and cans were being loaded in the remaining space, also some crates of fresh vegetables. LUCIANO'S was printed on the truck door. His scan spotted the silenced motorcycle parked under a large tree. Though the fields and meadows of the farm were clear and wide open, several hardwood trees towered among the structures, cast a welcome shade on the area.
Having somewhat a lay of the land, his organized mind began to take stock of the people, the workers and the guards. One thing was already certain, these were not paid employees, this was a slave labor farm. People were scattered across the area, obviously working in the buildings as well as the fields. Two mounted guards circled the field where the large number of workers toiled. He could see at least eight more around the area, a couple where the truck was being loaded, others at the various structures. So far, he hadn't spied the super soldier, must be in one of the buildings. No one had gone in or out of the big barn, while he had been observing.
His raggedy clothes might allow him to blend in, he was going to try to ease over to the barn. He stepped out into the open and the sunshine. He had covered about half the distance to the barn, when he felt the hot snort of breath behind him and a rifle butt in his back, “Where the hell you think you're going?”
The government man didn't turn, just looked down under the crumpled hat, “Uh, I'm going to the barn for some tools, sir. I had t'piss, stepped into the corn.” Sh-t! I hope the barn is where they keep the tools.
The horse danced around and pawed at the ground, “Well, git the hell in there and back to the field.”
“Yes-sir,” he walked toward the barn, never turning to look at the guard.
Inside, his eyes adjusted, he saw the hoes and shovels and other tools lined up against one wall. He didn't see any other way out of the big barn, surely there is another entrance besides the big double doors. He took a shovel and started searching for another exit. The sound of the wide door sliding open stopped him.
“You better get out of there, you lazy slacker!” the shout filled the cavernous space.
Damnit, going to have to take this guy out. Can't afford a shot fired. He stumbled, looked down at a large rusty metal ring under the scattered hay. Pulling on the ring, he lifted the wooden door. Narrow steps led down to a root or storm cellar. Judging by the smell, it possibly had been used to isolate and punish people. Every step down was forced, a hole was not where he enjoyed being. The heavy door closed behind him and the light was gone. A frickin tomb. He felt like the dirt walls were inches from him. The small flashlight from his pocket showed the room to be a bit roomier, perhaps ten foot square. The walls were dank soil and there was a row of shelves down one side. In the corner, some bones and nothing else more than the claustrophobic stink. He still held the shovel, he leaned it against the shelf and waited.
The stomping of the guards boots echoed around the barn. “I know you're in here, peon---” The steps were closer, “Ah-hah! What a stupid place to hide.” The heavy door cracked open and the guard stood peering down in the hole. “That's going to be the perfect place for you to stay, done my work for me.”
Two strong hands grabbed onto each of the guard's ears and his sneering face bounced down the wooden steps, making contact with most of them. On the floor of the cellar, a boot in his back, the shovel came down hard and swift on the back of his head, twice. The government man climbed out of the cellar and closed the heavy door, scattered the hay back over it.
He needed to move fast now. The horse was tied at the open door. He pulled it inside and tried to look around some more from the crack of the wide door. The loaded tractor trailer pulled away down the dirt road. He saw the soldier putting some vegetables and jars, a couple of other packages into the saddlebags of the cycle. It appeared he had just come shopping. He assumed that the tall buildings were processing and preserving factories for the food crops. Another building a little farther from the main compound appeared to be a meat processing plant and also there were chicken houses.
The more he watched the residents of the farm, the more he noticed how many seemed to be not very healthy and many had handicaps, limps and twisted limbs. He saw that one poor guy who was slapped and told to get back to work, seemed to barely have the mind of a child. Entering the low building that he thought might be housing, was a line of about ten women. All of them were in various stages of pregnancy. His thoughts turned dark, These unfortunates are Dr. Pendelton's failures, his culls. The women are probably his breeders, unwillingly birthing his prized super soldiers of the future. What a nightmare of a place. The Network is pure evil, they can't be allowed to take over this country.
The motorcycle sped away in the same cloud of dust it had arrived in. It was time for him to get out, before someone missed the guard. He crept back through the corn fields to the old military auto, back tracked the way he had followed the bike and soldier. As the rusted gates of the secreted base slid open, he tried to organize his thoughts and remember all the intel he had to pass along to the General. She would be very interested in the information that he gathered on the operations of the Network.
***
On the fourth floor of the Luciano Village, the large fan whirred in the small rooms of Anissa, her father and son. The steamy smoke from the rice dish she cooked drifted out the square of screen high on their one window. She smiled, her father was always very smart and inventive. Of course, the windows in high rise buildings are stationary, they don't open if it's above the first floor. She and her father both hated the stuffy feeling of no outside air. Very carefully, he taped off, scored and slowly worked on breaking out a square of the window glass. It was high enough for the boy not to reach it and they kept a piece of screen taped over the opening. In the colder season, they taped plastic over the screen. At least, some fresh air could enter and the fumes of their cooking could exit.
There was a tapping at the door, Lee's short plump legs pumped up and down, “Chel-ly, Momma, Chelly is here!”
Anissa had to laugh, “Yes, Shelly is here. Come in.”
The door opened and the young cocoa skinned woman stepped in and swung the toddler up and around, “Oh-h, there's my sweet boy.” The toddler's arms encircled her neck and he giggled as he laid his head on her shoulder.
“Smells good, I'm starved,” she said as she sat down in a chair with the baby.
As Anissa put some plates of the rice dish on the small table, the father went over and locked the door. He had noticed the bandage on his daughter's hand but asked no questions. There was no
point in asking about things he had no control over. He was old, he was weary, he already had seen and knew much more than he ever wished. Shelly fed the boy a bite of the rice mixture and they all laughed as he said yum,yum.
“Would you like to go to the park with Momma tomorrow?” Anissa said to Lee. The father and the friend both got a worried look but didn't comment.
“Yea! The park. Can I see the ducks?”
“Sure, we'll see the ducks,” smiled Anissa.
They finished the meal and a little later, the father carried the toddler down the hall to the bathroom to clean him up for bed. Shelly looked at the calender on the wall that Anissa's father so carefully created and kept up. “Tomorrow is Thursday. Are you sure that you want to go to the park?” she said.
“Yes, I'm sure.”
The grandfather returned and took his towel wrapped grandson into the small bedroom to get him to sleep.
Shelly and Anissa sat at the small table, cleared of supper. The friend whispered, “You are going to get him hurt.”
The mother gave her a stricken look, “I would never endanger Lee, never. I promise you, I am not---will not, do anything that puts him at risk.”
With a look of remorse and a soft pat to the bandage on her f
riend's hand, Shelly said, “Of course not. That was a crappy thing for me to say. Just be careful, please.”
The next afternoon, the sky displayed it's usual haze of yellow light over the blue and the milky water slowly gurgled along side the park. Jackson sat on the shaded bench near the water's edge. He watched with regret as Anissa and her son, Lee walked along the shore and the boy gleefully threw pieces of crackers at the half a dozen ducks or so that floated along. Once again, she was being watched and there would be no contact with her. The ducks floated closer to his location and he was pleased that at least he could see her pretty face better. The boy bumped and jumped as children do, laughing and excited about the ducks. Then he dashed toward Jackson, with his mother shouting, “No---Lee! Come here Lee, right now.”
The child had already reached the man who sat in the shadow of the tree. His tiny hands on Jackson's knees, he said, “Look mister, ducks!”
Anissa breathlessly caught up to the boy and scolded, “Lee, I told you to stop. You must not bother the man.” As she bent to lift him up, she slid a folded note under the hand that Jackson had resting on his leg.
He dared not look up at her but smiled at the boy, “No bother. The ducks are great, aren't they?”
He leaned back in the shadows and tucked the note in his shirt pocket. Anissa mumbled, “Sorry,” and walked away with the Lee in her arms. The street thug was not a long distance behind and the super soldier watched from a nearby shelter.
Chapter Six
The Brave Few
Eric's whistle echoed down the hall and Jackson came to a halt, turned toward the friend and raised his hand. Damn. He had hustled away from the park, had resisted the urge to run back to Brewer's Village and his room so that he could read the note in private. Have to wait. He walked toward the friend.
“Hey man, where ya been?” Before he could answer, Eric said, “The mayor wants us to do some work in his private quarters.” He laughed as they moved back toward the maintenance area, “I think his own closet rods finally fell. He mentioned some more shelves and another repair or two. Thought I better have you along.” The afternoon was busy but seemed to be dragging to Jackson. Finally, the work was finished and he was back in his room.
The note with the neat handwriting that Anissa had passed to him lay on the small table in front of him. He looked out the window at the city. The tall village buildings rose with the upper stories eerily dark against a twilight sky, broken windows. Vines twisted up and around, some brown and dying from being trimmed and lopped off to keep the lower floor windows clear. Some were oddly green and alive, their snaking limbs finding a place to root all the way down at ground level. Dots of light emanated from the lower stories of the buildings and cast shadows of the stream of people that ebbed and flowed along the cracked sidewalks. Very few scenes of interaction between the pedestrians, just constant movement. The assorted jerking vehicles on the street actually provided the majority of the noise and energy, honk! and schree-ech! the curses of the reckless taxi drivers. The dim headlights cast twin tunnels of light that crossed and darted and created a wild light show between the buildings.
His eyes strained to see the huge screen above the street where he had first spotted the tempting lips of Anissa. The screen faced the street, a couple of blocks away, his view of it was from the side. The changing images cast out a wide light and he could only see flickers and flashes of color. He got a cool beer from the small refrigerator, sat at the table to read the letter again.
My sweet Jackson,
I don't know when or even IF I will get this letter to you but I'm holding out a hope that I will. I know we've had very limited contact, my heart and intuition tells me that you are a good man. I have come to realize that my fear has kept me trapped in this horrible situation that is my life. Seeing you, even from afar and not being able to talk to you or touch you, is so very painful.
The truth is that I still must be extremely careful and protect my son at all cost. Perhaps, I'm mistaken, I think that you might care for me or could care for me. I've made this hard and maybe selfish decision, a decision that could very well be dangerous for myself and for you. I would not blame you if you took my original advice and stayed as far away as possible from me and the world that surrounds me.
It is obvious, those that watch me will never give us opportunity to meet in the park. In addition to the street scum that is my constant shadow, I seem to have acquired a new bulky and totally unfamiliar escort. There has to be more going on in the Luciano Village than just the everyday sleazy activities. I hear bits and pieces and see many strangers coming in and out. I've made up my mind to try and learn some more. I will tell you this, the Sheriff is not a person to be trusted and Dr. Pendelton is a man to fear.
While I'm not sure exactly what I'm asking of you and what you can do, I can't resist the possibility of seeing you and talking to you. If by some chance your heart makes you also reckless, please consider this plan. I will continue to go to the park on Thursdays but I'm asking you to please no longer be there. There is a small brick building behind the Luciano, abandoned and unused. It sets beside a larger metal building that is now used for vehicle and other maintenance storage. I believe we could meet in the deserted building with some safety. Enter in the back door of the building. The only time that I could possibly slip out from my rooms would be after midnight, about 1:00. I will try to be there Thursday night.
Please, be careful and trust no one. Whether we can be together or not, you already live in my heart. Anissa
Reading the letter for the second time caused Jackson not one ounce less anxiety. There was nothing he wanted more than to be with this woman. If he went along with her plan, would he put her in more danger? The fact was, he knew a lot more than she, even being on the inside, about the growing menace at Luciano's, about the Network. From the standpoint of the government alliance, which he had unintentionally become a part of, she could possibly be an invaluable asset. From a personal place, his desire to rescue her and have her consumed him.
As often was the case, the words of his plain spoken grandmother came back to him, “Son, don't ever make decisions with your britches.” she had looked over her glasses directly at his crotch and made him squirm in discomfort. Then thumping her finger on his head, “You use your head.” After a moment, she smiled at him and put the arthritic hand on his chest, “Never deny the heart, though.”
So, where did that leave him? He wished he could talk to Eric, better not. Of course, he could talk to John, even with Anissa's warning, he knew he could trust him. In the hall, he heard muffled voices. It was Mamie, leaving John's room with her usual Night, my love. He could hear the jangle of her bracelets and recognized the honeyed drawl. Mamie. Maybe a woman would be the one to talk to.
Quietly, he pulled his door closed and saw the swish of her robe through her door as it closed. He tapped with his knuckles, “Mamie, it's Jackson. Can I speak to you a minute?”
The door opened a crack, “Hi honey, what is it. Are you okay?”
“Don't want to bother you but, could I talk to you for a minute?” he looked around, his voice uncertain.
The door opened wider, “Sure, come on in.”
He unfolded the letter and handed it to her. “Sit down,” she said, swirled to the opposite chair and put her glasses on. After she finished she spread the letter in front of her, “Crap. This is trouble, Jack. I smell trouble.”
He said, “She could be an asset.”
“True. What if it got her hurt or killed, or you or even worse, the boy?”
“I need to get them away from there,” his voice was tinged with uncertainty and pain.
Mamie paced around the small room, then sat on the edge of her bed that had a spread with bright flowers covering it. When her eyes met his, they were moist. “When I came here, when this all began for me, I have to say that it seemed a bit of a game, a little exciting. I knew the country and the world was struggling to rebuild. I was aware there's plenty of
bad guys. It seemed to me though that the good guys were winning, things were beginning to grow again. I mean---my god, no little group of hoodlums was going to take over America. These last few weeks I've began to understand that this is no small bad group. This is an organized, growing and massive threat to us. I believe that we have to do whatever we can, at whatever risk. We have to join with our government and fight to save this country.”
“You think that I should meet with Anissa, let her know what we know?”
She sighed, “I think that you and all of us will protect her as much as possible but she can be a valuable source of information, right where she is for now. I will talk to John and Bud. You always stay cautious, Jack, stay armed. And if you get in a situation with one of her constant watchers, don't hesitate to take them out, understand?”
He nodded and took her hand, “Thanks, Mamie.” He folded the note and slipped out and back to his own room. The paper smoked and burned over his small sink. Tomorrow was Thursday, he checked his guns and ammunition. Closer to morning, he finally slept.
***
“A slave farm?” Bud, again sat at the bar in the underground government bunker and shared a beer with his driver.
He hadn't brought much information to Sharon, the Colonel, on this visit. He did tell her that it seemed that they would have an insider in the Luciano Village, hopefully give them some useful intel in the future.
“We do have a mole on the inside of the Network. Can't have too much intel though. I'll let your driver fill you in on the latest. You'll probably enjoy the briefing much better over a drink.” Sharon smiled, stood and shook his hand. Dismissed.
“Yeah,” said the beer buddy. “Pretty nasty place actually. Looks like to me the unsuccessful prodigy of Dr. Pendelton end up there. Also, the whores that aren't very popular.”
Bud just stared at him for a moment and took another sip of brew. “You're the mole?”
It Was 2052 Page 8
