2042: An American 1984-Dystopian Thriller

by Leigh Holland

  They exhaled in relief. Standing together, they all clasped hands and stared at the path ahead of them. Rachel felt the tension leave her body. Tears welled up in her eyes and fell down her cheeks as she laughed with joy. Was this what the freedom Esther described to her felt like?

  They walked along an old dirt path in the woods, silent, listening to the sound of the Autumn leaves crunch under their feet, and taking in the nature around them. Crimson clouds flowed across a periwinkle sky as the sun began to set in the west. Some of the trees were living, but others had died the permanent death of the natural warming cycle of the planet. As such, they were blackened, twisted, their limbs reaching out as though they had choked to death and begged for help, to no avail. The wind blew leaves over their boots.

  “We can determine east by the rising of the sun, west by its setting, and north by the north star at night.” Rachel told them. “This will help us keep our bearings as we head due north to The Leaf.”

  “You have no idea where we’re going, do you?” Temperance asked.

  Rachel glanced at her defensively. “I have some idea. We’ll get there.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Rachel sighed. “Because I have to be. We have to have hope in something. That’s my hope. That we can make it to our destination.”

  “What does it mean, anyway?” Temperance asked. “The ‘Humanist Outpost’. What is it like? Why are we trying to get there?”

  “It’s our best hope for perpetual freedom and self-determination.” Paul said. “That’s what it represents to us, and that’s why we’re going in that direction. We hope it’s a place where we can all be free, unafraid, equal, and work together for a better tomorrow.”

  Rachel reflected on how history had been altered by the Weavers. Had any of what they wrote been true? Could she trust any of it? Perhaps some semblance of truth lay in it, but not enough for her to pull the threads out from amidst the lies. She wondered how many times in human history people had gone on a quest for their own Humanist Outpost. How many had failed? How many had succeeded? Had anyone? Had anyone ever truly been set free? If not, why not?

  “We also need to perform a bit of surgery.” Paul said slowly, holding up his wrist.

  “Oh,” Temperance objected, “you’ve got to be kidding me. I am not letting you cut on my skin.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, but don’t complain to me when they find you and drag you away screaming.”

  “But,” she said, “I’ve had this chip inside me since I was a baby.” “That’s a disturbing thought.” Paul shuddered.

  “Gee, how old are you anyway? Owww!” she yelled as he inserted a hooked end on a needle into her wrist and yanked in one fluid motion. “Psycho!” she screamed at him, furious. “That hurt like Hell!”

  “It’s over with very little tearing, see? Now, wrap this bandage around it and it should heal nicely in a day or two. The bandage has antiseptic ointment inside it and is time released.” he told her, then repeated the procedure on himself and Rachel.

  Over the next few days, they enjoyed each other’s company, living off rations Paul had packed, bathing in creeks, and sleeping in makeshift tents. At night, they could see the sky through the gaps in the tent ‘roof’. They would try to remember the names of constellations. When they couldn’t, Temperance made them up.

  “See that one over there? I dub it the Devil’s Pitchfork. And that one, we’ll just call the Baby’s Buttocks.”

  Rachel and Temperance made love whenever there was a free moment and privacy afforded it. Paul told jokes, sang songs they’d never heard of, and taught them both how to whistle and to whittle wood. They knew happiness in those initial days in the wilderness. Things went well enough until the rations ran out and the weather turned cold.

  Temperance bent down to gather water to wash with from the creek bed. She made an exasperated sound. “This water is freezing! At least back in the Gates we had heated water.” She made a face and turned to Rachel. “And we have no soap for washing. I smell like a dung heap! No toilets to relieve ourselves, we’re living like...like beasts!” She turned to Paul, saying, “We had slop to eat, but at least it was prepared for us. We knew we’d get fed and didn’t have to hunt down game. And we had heat and shelter in the winter. I blame you for talking us into this! We never should have left the Gates!”

  Rachel stood between her and Paul. “It’s not his fault. I wanted to escape. I needed to escape. I’m a murderer, remember? So, if you’re unhappy and want to blame someone, blame me.”

  “Fine.” Temperance said, pouting. “It’s your fault, then. Fine mess you’ve gotten us into. Why did you have to protect that stupid little boy anyway? He was just one of many others you cannot help, Rachel! I mean, who do you think you are? It accomplishes nothing! Foolish.” Temperance walked away, weeping.

  Rachel watched helplessly as she walked away from her. She had nothing to say to her that could comfort her. Their situation was, in Rachel’s mind, Rachel’s fault. Her actions, which she believed had been the right thing to do at the time, had led to their current predicament.

  Paul placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. “Let her blow off some steam. She’ll come around soon. She’s just having trouble adjusting.”

  “She’s right.”

  “No,” he insisted, “we had all those things provided for us so we would be so dependent on the Profit that we could never fathom any other kind of life, and if they could, they would believe that resistance is futile given their powerless state. They were part of the mechanism of our servitude. Being away from the Kingdom removes everything that kept us enslaved to the Profit. But being self-sufficient is never easy. It’s a lot of work.”

  “Like being one of the Convicted.” Rachel offered glumly. “If we had enough ‘faith’ maybe the King would provide for our needs for us, even out here.”

  “Rachel,” Paul insisted, “don’t tell me you buy into that nonsense about social strata being based on how much one is favored by the Divine?”

  She sighed. “No, of course I don’t. It’s just...I want to set the Convicted free one day. And to do that, I would need to open their eyes, break their belief in the false Profit, and bring them here, where they can learn to provide for themselves, without relying on the state to do so for them. But...”

  “But what?”

  “It will never work. Something deep within tells me this has been tried time and again in human history. But it has always failed in the end.”

  “Why does it have to fail?”

  “Because they will need to cooperate to survive. And through their cooperation, they will form a body of leadership that will eventually find a way to strip the people it governs of their freedom, starting the cycle all over again.” Rachel explained. “I don’t know how to set them free permanently. Besides, they don’t want to be set free. Look at Temperance. That’s how they would react.”

  “Maybe you need to focus on our freedom, survival, and happiness, and save the greater mission for another day.” Paul said. “Or not at all. You don’t have to save the world, you know. Saving your own corner of it is noble in and of itself. Indeed, I doubt that anyone can save the world.”

  “Not even the rebels?”

  Temperance raced down the hill. Breathlessly, she told them, “There are homes in the valley between the two mountains, over the hill! Come see!”

  As they walked down the opposite side of the hill, they took in the scene. There were several homes on either side of the dirt road, a well from which they drew water, gas barrels, and trucks. Rachel found this odd, since gas was made from oil, and the oil had mostly dried up several years prior, causing prices to rise to ludicrously high levels. Of course, the corporations still made their money; indeed, they were wealthier than ever before. Cars and trucks had since fallen into disuse by the majority, owned and used solely by those with the means to pay the high gas prices. Perhaps, she considered, the fuel was from an alternative source. Women dressed in blue slac
ks and cotton shirts sat around on their porches, telling stories about ghosts, and singing and clapping. One of the men was working under the hood of his truck. Some boys were gathering water from the well. The smaller boy dropped the water and ran back to the wooden frame house, shouting “Pa! Pa! Strangers!”

  They collectively slowed their approach. Temperance’s exuberance was replaced with caution. This may be civilization, but it was comprised of strangers who may not be pleased by company.

  The man who was working under the hood of the truck dropped his wrench and approached them, his hands on his hips. His hair was sandy blond, his eyes were blue. He had five o’clock shadow and an uneven haircut.

  He wore denim jeans and a wool lined coat with leather work gloves.

  “I’m Tim Simmons.” he introduced himself. “Who are you folks?”

  “I’m Paul Hemingway, and these are my sisters,” Paul said, lying about his surname, “Temperance and Rachel.”

  He looked the women up and down, though not in a sensual manner.

  “You lost?”

  “No, we’re on a journey.”

  “Really?” he asked. “Where to?”

  The trio looked at each other, uncertain how much to reveal.

  Temperance said, “The Leaf.”

  He chuckled. “What’s there?”

  “Family.” Rachel offered. “My grandmother.”

  “I thought you all were siblings.”

  “Yes, our grandmother, of course.” she corrected herself.

  A couple of men came out from the other houses as the children looked on. “Any trouble, Tim?”

  “Nah,” he said, “just some wanderers looking for The Leaf.”

  “Oh...” they nodded knowingly. Rachel had the idea they were the butt of joke they didn’t get.

  “Well,” Tim told them, “The Leaf is still many days away. And with the large snowfall rolling in overnight, it may take quite a bit longer than that to get where you’re going. I’d be happy for you three to have dinner with my wife and children, clean up, and get some sleep before heading back out.”

  The way the men behind him were standing, Rachel felt that they didn’t have much choice but to accept the offer. Her instincts told her this was a dangerous situation, but her mind reminded her these people hadn’t done anything amiss. She decided she was overreacting. Paul accepted their invitation.

  Inside, the women showed them to their rooms, gave them robes, and took their clothing for a wash while they bathed. Temperance was happy for the first time in days, having access to the creature comforts she was accustomed to in the Gates. Rachel looked out the window. They had generators for their electricity, fueled by gasoline. Where did they get the fuel from?

  “Rachel,” Temperance remarked, “I see that look. Quit thinking all the time. Really. Just enjoy the moment.”

  She leaned in to kiss Rachel, who turned away. “Are you still mad about my little tizzy down by the creek earlier? I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. Well, at least not the way it came out.”

  “It’s not that. I forgive you for that. I can’t blame you for feeling that way, especially since we left in such haste without a plan.”

  “Then what is it?”

  The door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Simmons came in with their dried dresses. Rachel thanked her for her hospitality and began dressing, as did Temperance.

  “That’s why.” Rachel answered. “These people probably won’t understand our love.”

  Temperance sighed. “Isn’t that why we ran away? To be together without being judged? To love as we choose?”

  “That’s part of it, certainly.” Rachel agreed. “But we don’t know these people, Temperance, and we are outnumbered. I think they are armed, too. I saw gun racks on the way in. They have gasoline, enough to run their generator for weeks.” Rachel paused meaningfully and sighed. “I suspect these people may be part of the Kingdom, even if they live freely outside the Gates.”

  Once dressed, Rachel pulled back the white lace curtain. It had begun to snow in soft small flakes, lazily floating down. Tim was speaking to the other men behind the generator. Rachel urged Temperance to be silent, then opened the window a small crack to eavesdrop.

  “We need to call the Preacher in.” Tim said. “He can take custody of them and decide what to do with them himself.”

  “Hey,” another said, “they’ll probably die out in this cold if you let them go in the morning any way. I don’t see why we’re frettin’ over them.”

  “Billy,” Tim said, “we have strict instructions to guard the path against escape. Now, I sent Jerry up to the Preacher’s place. With this snow, it may take longer for them to get back down the mountain than expected. Especially if they bring the Fishers with them.”

  Rachel’s eyes became wide as saucers. She remembered the Fishers of Men who slaughtered her innocent mother. She tried to remain calm and continued to listen.

  “How we supposed to keep ‘em here then?” Billy asked, lighting an ‘illegal’ cigarette.

  “My Betsy says she knows a way to get ‘em to sleep for a bit without killin’ ‘em.” Tim told him. “I told her to give ‘em it in their drink at dinner. Afterwards, we tie them up in their rooms and wait for the Preacher.”

  The men nodded in agreement and began discussing their trucks. Rachel slowly and quietly closed the window.

  “Rachel,” Temperance said, “What are we going to do now? They will turn us over to the Preacher, whoever the hell that is. Probably some backwards freak.” Temperance said, pacing nervously.

  “Calm down and lower your voice.” Rachel ordered her. “I have a plan.”

  At dinner, they were given seats of honor reserved for guests near the man of the house. They thanked them profusely for their hospitality and kindness.

  “Hospitality has always been important among our people. In this world, it’s not common to find those who would show such kindness or trust to strangers in need.” Rachel told Tim.

  He nodded, displaying no hint of guilt over his ensuing betrayal of his guests. “Would you like some wine from my special stock?” He asked, beginning to pour wine into Paul’s glass from a decanter.

  “No,” Rachel said, “I’m sorry, but it’s against our personal beliefs to drink wine.”

  Paul looked at the napkin in his lap, betraying no emotion. Rachel could sense he understood not to drink the wine.

  “Oh,” Tim said, “but we will be offended if you don’t have at least a glass.”

  “Well,” Temperance replied, “we don’t want to offend such gracious hosts. Please, pour the wine, and we will have a bit of it.”

  Tim Simmons poured the wine, as his wife served the food and tended to the children.

  “A toast.” Temperance said, holding the glass aloft. “May you always receive the same hospitality as you show us.”

  “So,” Mrs. Simmons asked, “how long you been outside the Gates?”

  Paul responded, “Not long. Have you met many people from the Gates?”

  She smiled knowingly. “Of course not. The people who live inside the Gates are mostly former deviants.”

  “Woman.” Tim said harshly. “I won’t have you talk that way to the guests.”

  “Sorry.” she said, turning her attention back to the children.

  “Yeah,” the boy from the well chimed in, “you all are lied to so they can keep ya’ and reform ya’. Because you’re bad people. You come from bad people.”

  “Boy!” Tim chided, standing and throwing his napkin onto the table. “Stop that, or I’ll get my belt.”

  He pouted and went back to eating.

  “Sorry.” Tim told them. “My family just doesn’t trust city people is all.”

  “It’s alright.” Paul offered.

  Throughout the meal, each of them pretended to sip their wine, while merely touching it to their lips. Halfway through the meal, Temperance said she needed to use the bathroom and excused herself. Rachel distracted Tim with discussion abou
t things that seemed to interest him.

  “I saw you working on that truck outside earlier. Does it work?” she asked.

  “Why you wanna know that?” he asked defensively. “Seems a strange question to ask. Obviously, if I’m workin’ on it, it isn’t running.”

  “Just curious.” she shrugged. “I noticed you have gasoline? Or is that alternative fuel?”

  “Gasoline.” he answered, chewing his steak. “We get gas rations.”

  “We small areas are the heart of the Kingdom.” Mrs. Simmons remarked. “We’re the backbone of it, its strength. Right, honey?”

  Rachel reached across the table for the salt, knocking the wine over onto Paul. She scrambled to help him, apologizing for her clumsiness. Paul went to freshen up. Rachel continued chatting with the Simmons family for a bit, then yawned.

  “I am so tired, suddenly.” she remarked. “If you will excuse me, I think I’ll just go lie down. Thanks for a lovely dinner.”

  Rachel went upstairs and climbed down the sheets she had tied together earlier and hidden under the bed. Temperance and Paul awaited below.

  “You were supposed to go ahead without me.” she scolded them quietly.

  They raced ahead on foot, taking a forest path, heading due north as always. The snow was falling in greater measure than before with no sign of letting up. A few minutes later they heard commotion in the home below, but didn’t stop to see what was happening.

  “We ought to leave the path.” Paul said.

  “Then we can get easily lost.” Temperance protested.

  “We don’t really know where we’re going anyway.” Rachel pointed out.

  Temperance sighed. “Alright. If we can lose them, that’s a good plan I guess.”

  They veered off the path, and refused to use a light source to light their way, fearful of giving away their position. After a couple of hours, Paul pulled out the flashlight and turned it on. The light was dim.