Cathedral of Dreams

by Terry Persun

  As the road lulled some of them to sleep, Keith planned his escape. He wanted nothing to do with killing anyone. He figured that they would have to stop somewhere to regroup. They couldn't drive up to Newcity and announce why they were there, although that might be what Sam and the others expected him to do. But it was not something he was prepared to engage in. He'd wait until they were in the city before he ran off. Not that he'd be safer there, but with knowledge of more places to hide, escape would be easier. He had no idea what he would do after that.

  They passed through farmlands where Keith saw people on tractors in fields of green and gold. Sam drove up and over hills, trees on either side of the road, wires strung on poles and placed near the road. As they crested one hill the scene opened to a hundred squat buildings as a small town opened in the distance before them. More cars had entered the road, increasing in number as they approached the town. Maysville, a sign said.

  The tallest building, as they came into town, stood five stories high. The rest were shorter, most two-story or single-story homes. He must have passed through some of these same towns two days earlier on his way from the city, but he had slept then. Now, before him was the world he had missed. Traffic lights forced them to stop and go, as Sam maneuvered the van through crowded streets. The people on the sidewalks, young and old, dressed in suits as well as casual clothes, all appeared to be on task, rushing to unknown destinations to perform unknown jobs. Storefronts displayed clothing, tools, flower arrangements.

  “Lock the doors,” Stacy said.

  A loud clunking dropped into the interior of the van.

  “What is it?” Sam asked while glancing into the rearview mirror.

  “They're staring. It's our clothes. We're all dressed the same,” she said.

  Keith looked out the window in the direction Stacy indicated with her own stare. A small group of young men huddled around a corner. Each dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. The shirts had writing on them and were different colors. They watched as the van crept along in the congestive traffic of Maysville. One man pointed and the others nodded. They didn't appear to be dangerous or fearful of danger, as far as Keith could tell. “Maybe they're curious,” he said.

  Stacy stirred and took a deep breath. She glanced around. “I don't know.”

  “Sam,” Keith said, “have you ever lived out here? In one of these towns? Is there anything for us to worry about?”

  “I have. I grew up on a small government-owned farm. The locals can be suspicious of people they don't know. A full van of strangers might make them nervous. We'll get out of town as soon as we can.”

  “What did you do where you grew up?” Keith asked.

  “Farm work. Then I got tired of slaving in the fields and put in for a reassignment.” He glanced into the rearview mirror as he talked to Keith. “I worked at the sewage plant for several years – which was even more labor intensive – until I met Bradley. I'd never go back,” he said. There was a pause before he added, “But I don't agree with Bradley either.”

  “Didn't machines do a lot of the work for you?” Keith said, recalling how he lived inside Newcity.

  Sam scoffed. “Technological advances stopped dead once Newcity and places like it went up. In fact, the outside world went backwards in time for all practical purposes. Originally, people out here were the ones who rejected the way technology was leading us. All those advances, and others I suspect, are inside there now. It was supposed to be nirvana, you know: no worries, jobs for everyone, comfortable living space, no disease, no violence. A cathedral of dreams you might say. That's what it was supposed to be. That's how they advertised it. But ask any of these guys and they'll tell you that even with the advances in technology, when you're stripped of your most important right as a human being, emotions, it's a living hell.”

  “It doesn't sound much better out here. Government farming, sewage plants. I mean, I don't want to go back into Newcity, but what is there here?”

  “Nothing right now. But with the people from Newcity, we could share the labor and begin to live normal lives again. My dad used to tell me that there were enough people to work that they got days off sometimes.” Sam turned in his seat to face fully forward. They were at the edge of town and he passed through the last traffic light and speeded up considerably. “Most of the people you see here are working to keep Newcity going. Most of the food produced goes there, the sewage plants all over this area are filled with Newcity shit, and the clothing, the furniture, you name it, come from out here. We work for you. And the more of you there are the more you work for you as well. It's a growing blemish on the surface of the earth. All it does is feed itself and rob us of our lives.”

  Molly, who Keith had never heard a word from since they began their trip, reached out and took Sam's hand. “It was terrible in there, but I didn't know it until I got out.”

  Ultimately, Keith agreed with her. Since he'd been outside, the world had assaulted him with heights of emotion he had never felt before. The clarity of thought was enough to make him want to stay, even if he worked in a sewage plant. “She's right,” Keith said. “We worked every day. We were allowed time in the evenings, but always felt slow now that I look back. The monotony couldn't have been handled without the chips.” He contemplated the differences. They had terminals in each residence and television and meals, yet there was nothing really to say to anyone. Television offered a world so unlike how he lived that it was nothing more than an abstract escape, and the food had become nothing but nourishment. That's how he remembered it now.

  Outside of town, Sam pulled into a gas station. He asked if anyone needed to use the bathrooms and there were several takers. “Hurry,” he said. “We need to be on our way.”

  Keith, Robert, and Will entered the bathroom, which protruded from the side of the building like an afterthought. The urinals were filthy and damp, and the floor sticky with what appeared to be dried piss. Keith almost threw up from the odor alone. “I don't know if I can do this,” he said.

  “This isn't the worst I've seen,” Robert said. “Try not to breathe.”

  Keith obeyed the suggestion and washed his hands thoroughly afterwards. Robert held the door for him as they left. Shivers ran down his spine when he smelled the clean outside air. The air felt warmer in the sun than it did inside the van. A slight breeze took some loose leaves for a walk across the parking lot. A flag at the front of the gas station flopped and fluttered in the wind. The sound of cars shushed past, riding the same air they stirred into excitement.

  The girls were still missing, so the men stood and waited for Sam to fill up the gas tank. After replacing the nozzle, he pulled a wallet from his pocket and removed some bills.

  “Hold on,” Keith said. “I've never seen money.”

  Sam handed him the cash. “We can't use terminals out here. Especially us. They're traceable. Like I told you, people went backward in time out here, by choice. But that was a long time ago. My great-grand parents returned to using cash.”

  The girls walked out from the side of the building, and Keith handed the cash back to Sam who walked toward the cashier's window.

  “In the car,” Stacy said in a nervous tone. “Come on, it's them. Sam!”

  She was right. Three of the men they'd seen grouped in town had pulled into the station and parked near the building. They jumped from the car and were headed toward the van.

  Sam shoved the cash toward the cashier and rushed back to the driver's side door of the van.

  One of the three men stopped in front of the van to prevent Sam from pulling away. The other two men approached the sliding door. “Not from around here?” one of them said.

  “Passing through,” Brent said while ushering Stacy into the van first. Only he and Keith were outside.

  Keith read the t-shirt of the man closest to him. It said Morning Light under a picture of the sun rising over a hill. He had seen that image before and recognized it immediately. “You provide produce to Newcity,” he said.
>
  Brent reached for Keith's shoulder. “Get in.”

  The young man with the Morning Light shirt knocked Brent's hand away and grabbed Keith's wrist. He pulled Keith's arm forward and turned it. The stitches puffed above the normal smoothness of his skin. “You're newly escaped,” he said with a mixture of question and answer in his voice. “What are you doing heading toward Newcity?”

  Until that moment, Keith had sensed no danger whatsoever. Now, the tension spiked in an instant and he didn't know what to do, so he searched the parking lot and station's drive-through for the boy with the bullet hole in his forehead.

  “What the fuck you looking for?” the Morning Light man said. “Harry, get the jeep.” His cohort took off for their vehicle in a slow jog.

  Brent's energy changed too as he ripped Keith's arm from the man and swung Keith toward the van door. “In the van,” Brent ordered. Then he swung around and stepped closer to the Morning Light man, who had been left standing alone, with one of his crew in front of the van and the other one retrieving their jeep.

  Morning Light snatched Brent's wrist before Brent could pull away. “Another one? The whole van is filled with ex-Newcityers,” he yelled to the man in front of the van. “You're going the wrong way,” he said to the van's passengers. “You'll get caught.”

  While Brent and Morning Light exchanged shoves and tugs, the man in front of the van opened Sam's door and slammed him into the space between the front seats. “Get out of the way.”

  Keith sat next to Stacy, but poised himself so that he could rush out at any moment. The anger he felt blinded other sensations, yet it wasn't him in danger at the moment.

  Morning Light reached up and gripped Brent by the neck. The man from the jeep leaped out, a knife in his hand. “You're coming with us,” he said, and the two of them dragged Brent toward the jeep and forced him inside. “Let's go,” Morning Light said as he dragged the van door closed. Then he jumped into the driver's side of the jeep and drove onto the road.

  The new driver of the van yelled back to everyone, “Try anything and I run this van off the fucking road and most of you are dead meat. Got it?”

  Some of them nodded. Keith steamed at the arrival of emotion, not understanding where it had come from and why it escalated so quickly.

  They followed the jeep off to the right and down a few side streets where there were fewer and fewer houses. The road became bumpy and they bounced in the back as they sped along, turning sharply without warning. When they came to a two-story farmhouse they pulled close to the porch. Several other men and women exited the house and stood on the porch. Two of the men had rifles.

  “What's going on?” Keith said.

  “Shut up,” the driver said. He jumped from the van.

  Several men came to the side of the vehicle and slid the door wide. “Out,” Morning Light said, Harry standing next to him, the knife pulled and ready. Brent stood between tow other men, his arms pinned to his sides.

  The men who came from the house were older than the three young men who had apprehended the van and the escapees. One of them looked at Sam once everyone was out of the van and cracked him in the jaw with the butt of the rifle. Sam went down hard, sliding over the gravel of the drive, his hand and arm out to break the fall. “You thought you'd get away with this?” The man looked at the others. “Get 'em into the house.”

  Chapter 15

  Sam's mouth bled down his shirt as he stood next to Keith. Molly tried to attend to him, but one of the women pulled her away and shoved her onto a couch with the other girls. Robert, Brent, and Will were told to sit on the floor with their backs together. One of the rifles had been handed over to the man who had driven the van, and he sat in a chair and pointed the gun at them.

  Keith's emotions swirled like a tornado, angry and natural at the same time. The men and women in the room pulsed fear and fury, aggravation and angst at levels that practically produced pain for Keith.

  The man who appeared to be the leader acted surprised that Sam would be with the escapees. They stood face to face. “Sam,” he said.

  “John,” Sam said, mocking the other man's delivery.

  “You are no longer needed, you know,” John said.

  “This is almost over,” Sam said.

  John's eyes narrowed and Keith experienced a foreboding feeling creep inside him. To break the confrontation, he said, “What are you going to do with us?”

  John turned to Keith and drove his face even closer than he had with Sam. “You don't look so special to me.”

  John's breath smelled thick with rotted food and stale air. Keith turned from the words. But the man didn't appear to know why. He scoffed and stepped away.

  The room was large and filled with odd pieces of furniture, including the couch where the four girls had been forced to sit; three chairs, one occupied by Robert, Brent, and Will's guard; and several hard-backed wooden chairs that looked as though they'd been dragged in from somewhere else. Some of the other men and women sat on those chairs. Then there were side tables near the couch, desks pushed against the walls, chests of drawers. None of the furniture matched. In the corner of the room, one of the desks held electronic equipment similar to the equipment Keith had seen in Bradley's tent.

  “Anybody hungry?” A woman's voice came from behind John.

  When John turned to answer, Keith saw around him. It was his mother. “My god,” he said. “You're here? Mom?”

  “Your mother's dead,” Sam said. “That woman's a fake meant to lure you…” But he didn't get to finish his sentence before John backhanded him to the floor.

  Molly sucked in a breath and began to get up. One of the women standing behind her slapped her shoulders and Molly collapsed into the cushions.

  “Kill him,” John said.

  “No,” Molly attempted to get up again, but this time the woman grabbed her hair to drag her back into the seat. Molly let out a screech and reached for her head.

  Sam scrambled to get up as one of the bigger men lumbered over and grabbed him by the arm and lifted. He half dragged, half carried Sam outside, shoving him through the doorway. Keith heard Sam fall onto the floor of the porch, then the sound of rustling feet and footsteps on gravel.

  John was just turning back to look into Keith's eyes when a shot was heard.

  Molly began to cry.

  Stacy and Rebecca turned toward her, both of them with tears in their eyes. Amanda sat petrified, staring at nothing.

  “Anyone else want to get smart with us?” John said.

  The man watching the other three men shook the barrel of his gun at them. “How about you guys?” All three of the escapees lowered their heads in answer.

  Keith felt pain in his neck and shoulders. His muscles stretched like rubber bands near the breaking point. His head swam and his stomach churned. He liked Sam, even if he didn't agree with their plan. And now Sam was gone. But he didn't feel gone, only changed, as though Sam had not died, but shifted his energy into something else. Keith looked over at the woman he had thought was his mom, knowing that Sam was right about her. That was the reason he had felt no closeness to her when they first met. He should have paid attention to his feelings.

  She shrugged her shoulders to dismiss Keith's glare. “Well, anyone hungry?” she asked again, as though nothing had happened.

  No one spoke up. Not even their captors. So the woman left the room.

  John wandered to the equipment in the corner and picked up a microphone. “Bradley, come in.” A crackling sound came through the speakers and a voice that was too low to hear. “Got your loner. What you want me to do with him?” Bradley responded. Another muffled sound came through. “Roger.” John dropped the microphone and turned back around. “I don't know why we need any of you. Least of all you.” He pointed a dirty finger at Keith and strolled back into the center of the group. “Link or no link. I say we do the job and get this shit over with. We're ready.” He strolled the length of the couch, offering each of the others a look of
authority and satisfaction.

  Keith closed his eyes and tried to calm his emotions, the torrent that ripped through his veins, the undecipherable currents. If he could relax, the boy with the bullet hole in his forehead would return, the angel with one wing would tell him what to do, or the spirit of his father would help somehow. But there was too much going on. A man had been killed. The presence of violence lay thick in the air. Even the furniture provided a place for hatred and futility to collect.

  A jerk came to Keith's chest as someone shoved him. He stumbled backward onto the floor and fell on his elbow, cracking it against the hardwood.

  “Didn't want you to fall asleep standing up,” Morning Light said from above Keith.

  The urge to strike back arrived without much fanfare at first. It was just a thought that concerned rolling to his side and kicking Morning Light's knee. Then, not a moment later he realized that Bradley must have told John not to harm them, which led to his decision and the impulse to go through with the attack. He rolled to place both hands flat against the floor so that he could push to his hands and knees. He leaned back, lifted his leg, and smoothly shot it toward Morning Light's knee. It hit squarely.