The Expedition

by Chris Babu

  “Dray,” Sidney said. “What was the gunshot? Did someone try and shoot Captain Lindrick?”

  Wait until they heard this. Especially Catrice. Her boyfriend had double-crossed them.

  “It was Eugene. He stabbed us in the back.”

  Catrice looked up, her eyes puffy and red, the shock apparent on her face.

  “What?” Sidney asked, her hands on her cheeks.

  Drayden recounted the tale of Eugene’s betrayal on the roof.

  “Sid, if you hadn’t pushed Lindrick into the pit, we were screwed. He would have shot Catrice, or you.”

  Glaring at Catrice, Sidney pushed closer to Drayden and locked her arm inside his. “How do you feel about picking Eugene over Drayden now?”

  Catrice wrinkled her forehead and wiped her tears. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “I didn’t pick Eugene over Drayden. I don’t know what you mean.”

  She seemed genuinely confused, Drayden noted.

  Catrice’s expression morphed to anger and her face flushed red. She looked at Drayden, then to Sidney, and back to him. “How could you?” she hissed.

  He cocked his head. “How could I? How could I?”

  She stared at the ground, shaking her head, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Hey!” Charlie shouted, having emerged from the office building with four rifles hung over his shoulder. He was guiding Eugene, whose arms were bound behind his back, forcefully shoving him along.

  Eugene’s face was a mess. His nose and lip dripped blood, as did his right ear.

  Charlie must have given him a beating.

  The Guardians periodically fired their guns from the pit and yelled for help.

  When the two boys reached the others on Granite Avenue by the edge of the marsh, Eugene refused eye contact with everyone. Charlie had used a T-shirt to bind Eugene’s hands.

  “You like that?” Charlie eyed the shirt. “Hey, Euge, thanks for teaching me the handcuff knot! Came in real handy, bud.”

  Drayden got right in Eugene’s face.

  Eugene stared through him.

  Drayden jutted his jaw. “Why?”

  Eugene finally looked into his eyes. “Seriously, Dray? You still don’t get it?”

  “No. Enlighten us.”

  He tilted his head. “What’s my name?”

  Drayden paused. “Eugene?”

  “My full name, dummy.”

  “Corporal Eugene Austin.”

  Eugene snickered. “Eugene Austin. That sound like a real name? Sounds like a movie star name. Plus, who has two first names anyway?”

  “I have two first names. Charlie Arnold.” Charlie shook his head. “Jerkoff,” he mumbled.

  “Austin is my middle name. Eugene Austin Lindrick.”

  “No way,” Charlie said.

  Drayden scratched the back of his neck. “So, wait. Did you change your mind when Charlie was going to shoot Capt…your father? Or were you against us the whole time?”

  “C’mon, Dray,” Eugene said. “Mister smart guy. Oooh, you and Catrice are so amazing; I’m in awe of you guys, blah blah blah.” He laughed. “You can’t figure this out?”

  Drayden stood tall. “It was all an act.”

  “You have no idea what this mission was really about. We lied about my name from the time we met, didn’t we? After we split from the Guardians, my job was to get you to Boston. Alive. No matter what.”

  “What about…you kept trying to convince us to kill the Guardians.”

  Eugene groaned. “Dude, try to keep up. I knew you were too weak to ever kill them, no matter how much I prodded you. But I needed you to trust me. I also needed to reconnect with them. Their assignment was to follow us, and protect themselves. If we attacked them, it wasn’t my responsibility. That was their duty, to fight us off. They failed. I did not. I did my job.”

  Catrice approached Eugene, her face pale and swollen. “Do you even like drawing?” she asked, barely a whisper.

  “I couldn’t draw a straight line. And I don’t know the first thing about stochastic calculus.”

  Sidney bit down on her lip and chuckled.

  Catrice shot eye daggers at her.

  Drayden felt terrible for Catrice in that moment. An emptiness swelled in his heart for her, because Eugene had made her a fool. She didn’t deserve that. The poor thing had opened herself up to two people, probably for the first time ever. Eugene had played her like a violin. Meanwhile, Drayden ditched her at the first sign of trouble, for her nemesis of all people. She’d trusted them both, in an innocent way.

  What have I done?

  Drayden gripped Eugene by the shirt with both hands. “I may never have muscles like yours, but I’m stronger than you’ll ever be. What a waste of talent you are. You and your buddies can talk about how weak I am in the mud pit together, while we enter Boston. You should have plenty of time to discuss it, you worthless piece of shkat.”

  Eugene spat in his face.

  Drayden’s face flushed hot. He wiped off the spit, pulled his Glock, and shoved it against Eugene’s forehead.

  Eugene didn’t even blink. “Do it. Do it, you coward!”

  “Drayden, no!” Catrice shrieked.

  He held the gun firm.

  Eugene pressed his head into the muzzle.

  He stared into Eugene’s piercing blue eyes, which revealed an evil Drayden didn’t know could exist. A masterful, cunning evil.

  Drayden lowered his weapon. “Nope. I’m not a killer. And you’re not worth the bullet.” He stepped back. “Charlie, drag him to the pit.”

  Charlie pushed him, steps at a time. “Hey, Euge. With your hands tied behind your back, you’re gonna eat a nice mud pie when you face plant in the pit. Enjoy, bud. Well deserved.”

  Eugene remained silent until they neared the pit.

  “Guardians, do not fire! It’s Corporal Eugene! Hold your fire!”

  “Get control of the situation, Corporal!” Captain Lindrick yelled.

  “I’ve lost, sir. Catch me when I fall, my hands are bound!”

  Charlie paused a few feet from the pit. “Any last words, Euge?”

  Before he could answer, Charlie shoved him with all his strength. Eugene tumbled into the mud pit, fighting to get his legs underneath him as he went down.

  Charlie grimaced. “That had to hurt.”

  The Guardians fired bullets out of the pit with reckless abandon.

  When they stopped, Drayden spoke. “Captain Lindrick, I’m a little confused. I was wondering if you and Lieutenant Duarte could help me figure out who’s in charge of the mission now.” Drayden couldn’t fight back a smile, wishing he could see their faces.

  Sidney patted him on the back.

  “Savor your moment, Private,” Lindrick said. “It won’t last. This isn’t the end.”

  “It could be, if we were soulless barbarians like you guys. We could have killed you. We could kill you now.”

  “Private, this mission didn’t go as planned.”

  “You think so, Captain Obvious?” Drayden was knowingly crossing the line. Lindrick must be fuming.

  “Listen up, son. If you let us out of here, we call a truce. We all enter Boston, together. You can’t enter alone, because you don’t understand the true purpose of this mission. If you go into Boston alone, you’ll embarrass yourself. This has nothing to do with what you believe it does. Most likely, the leaders of Boston will kick you out the second you arrive. Unless you have us with you.”

  Intriguing.

  Drayden tugged on his left ear. “If you tell me the true purpose, I’ll consider letting you out.”

  “No deal,” Lindrick said. “Only if you let us out first.”

  “Fine, have it your way,” Drayden said.

  Charlie and Sidney shook their heads at him.

>   He winked. “Have a good time in the mud pit!”

  “When I get my hands on you,” Lieutenant Duarte snarled, “you’re going to wish I would shoot you.”

  Drayden nodded. “Luckily you have plenty of time to polish that knife of yours now.” Even though he understood you should be gracious in both victory and defeat, he simply could not help himself. “Once we’re in Boston, we’ll send someone. To arrest you.”

  Drayden exited the marsh alongside his friends. It was mostly dark now, with a hint of violet light left in the sky. They marched up the exit ramp, back onto I-93, and headed north toward the city.

  The heart of the city lay about five miles away. Perhaps they had walls that started further out.

  Drayden walked alone, now unsure of the Sidney and Catrice situation. The Guardians’ comments about the true purpose of the mission still ate away at him. He’d suspected they were up to something, but he never did uncover their goal. It gave him an uneasiness as they approached Boston.

  I-93 was elevated above the streets below, which had become city-residential. Crowded houses, apartment buildings, and businesses lined the highway. After an hour of walking, a towering wall came into view.

  “We need a white flag to wave,” Drayden said, choking on his words from extreme thirst. “To show them we’re friendly. Charlie, you have your T-shirt?”

  “No, I used it to tie up Eugene.”

  Drayden felt a tinge of anxiety about removing his shirt in front of the girls, as if regarding his skinny torso would compel them both to lose interest in him. He shrugged it off. He was who he was. A skinny kid. He removed his Guardian camo shirt, and then his T-shirt, and put the camo shirt back on.

  “Everyone sling your rifles over your backs and raise your arms in the air.”

  When they did so, Drayden waved the T-shirt above his head.

  Although no guards were visible as they approached, a gate did exist in the wall where I-93 intersected it. Cameras, instead, cast a watchful eye at the highway.

  The privates stopped in front of the gate.

  “We made it to Boston,” Sidney said. “I can’t believe it. We actually made it.”

  Charlie searched around for a button or a handle. “Soooo, how do we get in?”

  The gate began to open.

  CHAPTER 33

  Drayden led the way.

  Maybe for the last time, he thought, coughing.

  The government in Boston would never admit him into the city with Aeru symptoms.

  In New America, no gates ever welcomed anyone from outside the city. This one, however, appeared designed to do just that. Rather than open to the highway on the other side as it did back home, it revealed a building similar to a garage. Inside, the ceiling rose two stories, and the cement floor was worn. A shiny white sign dangled from the ceiling. On the left it read, “Protective Suits,” with an arrow leading straight ahead, presumably through the green door. On the right, it read, “No Protective Suits” with an arrow pointing right, at a red door. The room featured cameras in each corner, focused on the center of the room.

  “I think the Guardians would have been stumped right here,” Charlie said.

  “Red it is.” Drayden walked through the red door.

  They entered a windowless, low-ceilinged room made entirely of metal. The same cameras existed in each corner. Cavernous boxes lined the walls.

  “Attention,” a man’s voice said over a speaker system. “Deposit all weapons in the boxes. Any weapons found beyond this point will lead to immediate expulsion.”

  The privates tossed their pistols, rifles, and knives into one of the empty boxes.

  Drayden noticed the adjacent box, which was open. It contained flashlights, some fishing rods, a shovel, and a few other guns.

  “Proceed through the red door,” the voice said.

  The privates entered yet another garage-like room, this one with high ceilings and a metal bench in the middle of the space. People milled around behind a glass-covered second story. They resembled the Guardians, albeit with navy blue uniforms.

  A voice boomed over the loudspeaker, “Have a seat on the bench.”

  The privates sat, with Drayden on one side, Sidney next to him, Charlie, and then Catrice.

  “Do you realize what’s going on?” Drayden asked with wide eyes. “They have a procedure for people to leave and reenter the city. They let people out here.”

  From a door beneath the glass, two men emerged and approached the privates. They wore full-body white protective suits, helmets with glass shields, and carried pistols. The taller one with a mustache spoke.

  “You kids lost? What can we do for you today?”

  “We’ve come from New America,” Drayden answered, “which you probably know as New York, to speak to your leader. The leader of New America sent us to seek help. Our city is in grave danger.”

  The two men exchanged a perplexed glance. The mustached man said, “Uh, is that right? That’s a little above my pay grade, but Immigration can sort all that grave danger stuff out for you. Either way, you gotta clear medical. Head through that red door and follow the signs. I’ll let Immigration know you’re coming.”

  How many times would they have to recite their story? The short version sounded preposterous coming out of Drayden’s mouth. The Guardians may have been right about getting laughed out of Boston.

  They entered a white corridor, reminiscent of a hospital. Staff paraded around in full-body protective gear. Others in plain clothes reinforced the notion that Boston allowed people to come and go. While some were clearly fishermen, the rest looked like miners. Covered in black dust, they wore hard yellow hats with miniature headlamps on them. Signs overhead separated the entrants by health status—whether they had symptoms of illness or not.

  Drayden’s anxiety grew. He’d be segregated from his friends here. “You guys, I guess this is it. I have to go right; you go left. I don’t know what’s next, but it’s possible, even likely, that I won’t see you again.” He sighed. “You guys have to bring this journey home. Tell our story. Don’t leave out the part about the Guardians and how they may have been on a different mission. The city should send someone to find them, although I don’t mind making them sit in the pit for a while. Make sure to talk to the most senior person you can, and then find a way to get back to New America. Ask the government of Boston for help.” Drayden paused to gather himself. “I’d appreciate if one of you guys could find my father and brother. Tell them I love them.”

  Sidney stepped up and embraced him. “Dray, this isn’t the end. We’re going to see you after this. If they put you by yourself, we’ll come back for you. We’re not leaving Boston without you, okay?”

  “Yeah, Dray,” Charlie said. “C’mon, bro. Even if we die too, we’re sticking together. We’ll break you out if we have to.”

  Catrice covered her mouth with both hands.

  “Enough of this nonsense.” Charlie corralled Sidney and Catrice. “We’ll see you in a little bit, Dray. Don’t worry.” He dragged both girls up a corridor to the left.

  Drayden’s heart beat in his ears. He took the corridor to the right, which led to a room containing many beds, three of which were occupied.

  A man in a white protective suit met him. “Hi, I’m James. I’m the nurse. Have a seat on that bed in the corner.”

  Drayden plopped down, shivering.

  “Before I take a blood sample, why don’t you tell me what your symptoms are.”

  He took a deep breath. “About three days ago, I developed a terrible cough, like thick, mucous-y. I had a sore throat and stuffy nose the first day or so, though they’ve gone away. I started running a fever on and off too.”

  “Follow me,” James said. He led Drayden out the door, down a corridor, and into a smaller room with one bed. “Lie down here.”

  He collapsed onto th
e bed, which was heavenly.

  James whipped out an alcohol swab, an elastic band, and a syringe. He drew two vials of blood from Drayden’s left arm. “The doctor will see you in a few minutes. Try to relax.”

  When Drayden started to doze off, the doctor entered, also wearing full protective gear. He thought he was hallucinating for a moment. She looked like his mother.

  The doctor was a short Korean woman. “Hi, what’s your name?”

  He sat up a bit. “Drayden Coulson.”

  “I’m Doctor Park. Let me explain what’s happening. You do have symptoms that are consistent with Aeru infection, which is why we put you in an isolated room. We’re running the blood test now. If it’s not Aeru, we can still likely identify what type of infection you have.”

  “How does that work?” Drayden could never escape his love of science. “How long does it take?”

  “Around an hour. Essentially, we read your immune system to determine what it’s reacting to. It’s a genetic test. Your genes tell us if you have an infection and whether it’s bacterial or viral. If bacterial, which one it is. If this test had existed before the Confluence, we never would have had the Aeru superbug issue. Doctors prescribed antibiotics for every illness in the old days, most of which were viral. Antibiotics are useless against viruses. Prescription abuse allowed bacteria to grow drug-resistant.”

  Drayden nodded. “Yeah, we learned all about that in school. What happens if I have Aeru?”

  Her eyes softened. “There’s no cure. We’re working on that. We have some treatments. Basically, we’ll make you comfortable, and then…well, we wait. We have a unit solely for handling Aeru patients. The same goes for pretty much any bacterial infection. Aeru isn’t necessarily deadlier than the others; it’s just so much easier to catch.”

  “Are people still catching it out there?”

  She checked her watch. “Yes, but much less frequently than, say, a decade ago. Sit tight, Drayden. I’ll be back soon.” Doctor Park patted him on the leg and left.

  He sank further into the bed, his eyelids growing heavy. His thoughts turned to his mother, and the remarkable chain reaction her exile had triggered. A month ago, he was like any other kid, leading a mediocre life in the Dorms. He’d been in such a hurry to figure out what happened to his mother that he’d never stopped to think about why it happened. He’d always thought she was perfect, but in the end discovered she was flawed like everyone else. Hopefully she’d never caught Aeru and was alive, because he really needed to talk to her. That was his final thought before closing his eyes.