The bus slowly came to a stop; it jolted slightly as the air brakes discharged. The door opened as the driver grabbed the mechanical handle and pulled. “End of the line, folks,” he announced. “Everybody out.”
The passengers peered out of the bus, through the dirty windows. Rural highway surrounded a solitary “city limits” sign in both directions. The scrubby brush and low trees continued unbroken as far as the eye could see. In the hazy distance, there were some hints of outbuildings, but nothing definite.
“Really?” one passenger snorted. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. You can’t take us closer?”
“I have no authorization to cross into the city,” the driver declared. “You’ll have to walk from here.” The driver looked the pudgy complainant up and down. “It’ll do you some good,” he suggested. “I mean, it’ll get your blood flowing again, after that long trip.”
Uncertainly, the passengers slowly disembarked. The patina of dust on the windows no longer dulled the sunlight; they blinked at its unexpected ferocity. Nearby, they could see other exiles, from the other two buses in the caravan, milling about.
The doors closed with a crash; the backup alarms squealed their warning. Further down the highway, the buses made a coordinated Y-turn, then drove off, fading into the distance.
Gladys turned angrily to Terry. “Well? You said you wanted to protect your family. What do we do now?”
Terry shrugged. “I guess we walk.” He turned toward the city; the others began ambling in that direction.
Gladys glared at him. “That’s all you have to say?”
Terry glanced back, eyes flaring. “What do you want me to do…carry you?” He turned away and picked up his pace.
“I’ll walk with you, mama,” offered Tremain.
“Thanks, baby,” she cooed as she took his hand.
As they drew closer to the city, the outbuildings revealed themselves to be derelict gas stations and strip malls. After a brief search, no signs of life, or items of value, could be found in any of them. Even the faucets were dry. They continued trundling down the highway.
Between two decrepit buildings, in an alleyway, they spotted a lone human figure. The old man had long gray hair, a full bushy beard, leathery sunburnt skin, and filthy, tattered clothing. He sat near a shopping cart, staring forward, his blue eyes piercing the emptiness. “Hey, buddy,” Leroy opened. “Do you know where we can get any food? Water? Maybe some shade?”
The old man didn’t respond. “Hey, buddy, I’m talking to you,” Leroy repeated. “Can you hear me?”
Still no response. Leroy tapped him on the shoulder. “You OK, pal?”
Slowly, the old man listed to the left, gently rolling onto his side, his head slamming firmly against the pavement. His facial expression remained unchanged. Leroy reared back.
He turned around to face the gawking onlookers. “Let’s just keep moving.”
Before long, they found a few more homeless men, pushing their shopping carts through a decayed parking lot, just off the road. Leroy called out to them. “Hey there! Know where we can get some water?” At the sound of his voice, three of them turned away and picked up their pace.
Leroy frowned, and quickly caught up with one. “Hey! We just want some water! Can you…” The vagrant turned quickly to face Leroy, a burning look in his eyes. In one hand he held a fragment of rusty metal, artlessly scraped to a jagged edge, a tightly-wrapped piece of old cloth serving as a hilt. He began to breathe evenly, baring his nearly-toothless mouth behind cracked lips.
Leroy threw his hands in the air and backed away slowly. “Hey, it’s all good, it’s all good…sorry I asked.” Once Leroy was about ten feet away, the dead-ender turned away and left as quickly as he could.
Leroy slowly approached the only indigent that hadn’t run off. He continued to push his cart forward, shuffling toward no discernible destination. “Hi there, pal,” Leroy opened. “We’re just looking for some water. Know where we can find some?”
The homeless man stopped walking, continuing to stare forward. Leroy crept up alongside him and stopped. The beggar turned slowly to look at him; his eyes were nearly swollen shut, the area mottled in greens and yellows, probable signs of an infection. His lower lip trembled uncontrollably. His raspy voice was almost unintelligible.
“Help me,” he pleaded listlessly.
Leroy rejoined the others. “There’s nothing here,” he announced. “We need to keep going.”
“How do these people live here?” Sylvia demanded. Her faded clothing and scattering of gray hair heralded the obsolescence of her style and the approach of middle age.
Leroy looked glum. “I’m not sure they do.”
The group continued in silence.
The indigents slowly grew in number and variety as the ensemble left the outskirts. Rows of shabby tents lined the sidewalks in front of abandoned businesses. Some may have been dressed in nicer clothes, but there was little difference in the expressions on their faces. Bleary eyes, mouths hanging open, each with skin tones more ashen than the next. The ones trying to walk mostly stumbled, stopping frequently to catch their balance. Most simply lay on the ground, either curled up on their sides, or with their backs against the rigid cinder block walls.
Gladys chose one resident and walked up to him. “Excuse me, sir,” she pleaded, “can you tell us where we can get some water?”
The gutter-dweller turned around, and looked Gladys up and down with a leering expression. “Sure, I got some water for you,” he catcalled. “But you’ll have to close your eyes and drink it out of a hose.”
“You sleaze!” Gladys snapped. She looked back at Terry; she caught a glimpse of his uncouth grin before he quickly turned away.
Dwayne spotted a faucet between two tents. He walked up to it, as the occupants of those two tents eyed him warily. “Don’t mind me, gents,” Dwayne greeted. “I just want to get some water.”
“What, for free?” one snorted. The others began guffawing disrespectfully. “No way, man. We control this faucet. We want a dollar.” He looked at the group of newcomers, who stared back pensively. “Each.”
“What?!” Dwayne retorted. “There’s no way we’re paying that much.”
The lout swayed menacingly as the others stood up. “Well, then, you ain’t gettin’ no water!”
“But we were invited here by your city!” Dwayne pleaded. “They agreed to take us!”
The faucet gatekeepers threw their hands in the air in taunting surprise. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” mocked the lout. “We didn’t know we had royalty here!” The others laughed as he bowed with overly elaborate hand flourishes. “Pardon us, yer majesties!” As he rose to eye level, he punctuated the event with a loud fart.
Dwayne shook his head. “Never mind.” He rejoined the group of new arrivals on the street, and they moved to leave the area. The guardians of the faucet continued to make rude comments and obscene gestures. None of the other homeless people in the area reacted to this, or otherwise acknowledged the presence of others.
They drew close to an intersection. The sound of a vehicle approached them from behind; a lone patrol car crept by. Sylvia broke out in a beaming smile. “Thank goodness! Please, help us!” The officers returned her gaze with abject fear in their eyes. Suddenly, the motor raced as the car jumped forward, tires peeling briefly. A handful of jaywalkers had to dive out of the way as the police tried to thread their way past the obstacles. Sylvia gaped as the squad car disappeared into the distance.
“What’s with this place?” Sylvia demanded. “It’s like we’ve been delivered to the mouth of Hell itself.”
They reached the intersection and peered down each side street hesitantly. “Don’t look like it matters none,” Darrell observed. “May as well try one.” He started to plod towards the right.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” called out a voice. They turned to see a smirking lad, lounging on the sidewalk, ballcap worn sideways, clutching a bottle in a brown paper bag. Despite his distressed appearance and the deep lines in his face, his eyes showed the spark of youth; he couldn’t have been older than nineteen.
“Why not?” Darrell mumbled.
“Because that way lies the territory of ‘El Jefe’, he whose will must not be defied,” the layabout crowed. “If he finds you there without permission, he and his fanatical soldiers will kill you five times before you hit the ground.”
“My word.” Darrell swallowed nervously. He then turned to point to the other side of the street. “How ’bout that way?”
The indolent lad clucked his tongue. “Man, that’s even worse. That’s the undisputed domain of ‘Number One’, the lord of the zombie army. They’ll infect you and make you one of their own. It’s said that the living envy the dead.”
“The hell you say,” Darrell spat.
The sidewalk potato crossed his arms and looked askance. “Fine, don’t listen to me. Go ahead and take your chances. I don’t care either way.”
Darrell stared morosely for several seconds. “Then where can we go?” he whined.
The sluggard pointed into the distance. “The main drag here is one of the few neutral zones in the city. On either side, warlord territory extends as far as the eye can see.”
“Warlords?” Tremain whispered, his voice stuck in his throat. “Why don’t the police stop them?”
“What are you, blind?” the sluggard scoffed. “You just saw the police; they only look out for themselves. They just like the free ammo and the functioning cars. They’re in it for what they can get out of it. And the less they have to do for it, the better, as far as they’re concerned.”
Tremain said nothing as he trembled. The derelict sourly looked him up and down. “You don’t belong here,” he declared. “Go try your luck elsewhere. Maybe on the other side of the city government complex.”
“Where is that?” Gladys suddenly piped up.
The cadger annoyingly gestured down the street. “That way. Far away from here. What am I, the tour guide? Go figure it out yourself. I have to get back to work.”
“Is that what you call this?” Leroy snickered.
The wastrel puffed up his chest. “I’m a street poet! I tell the stories of those who have no one to speak for them! I show city life as it really is!”
“To who?” Leroy disparaged.
The vagrant was unbowed. “My audience is online! My followers number in the hundreds! I bring in enough money from my patrons to live comfortably!” He doffed his ballcap and proffered it forward. “And from donations for my advice.”
“The hell with you,” Leroy snarled as he turned to leave. The others followed him down the street.
“Suit yourself!” screamed the pauper, donning his hat once more. “You ungrateful parasites! Can’t even lift a finger for the less fortunate!” He looked at his phone. “I guess I’ll have to tell the story of the several dozen super-soft out-of-towners, sauntering blithely into the valley of shadows.” His thumbs flailed furiously as he typed. “Oooh, that’s a good one!”
They continued for half a dozen blocks. They slowly became aware of noises around them — creaking metal, glass bottles getting kicked, some scattered footsteps. Suddenly, several people jumped out from the darkness and surrounded them. They brandished knives, axes, machetes, spiked baseball bats, and other improvised weapons. They all wore black, though most sported pastel-dyed hair bursting from under their hats and knit caps. The out-of-towners all froze and raised their hands in the air.
One of the attackers pulled away from the others, and began strutting. “Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! Just stand there and bask in our mighty presence!” He got in Dwayne’s face. “Or else we’ll straight-up fillet you!” He backed off and stood proudly. “Welcome to our teppanyaki grill of death!”
“Your what?” Leroy derided.
The young thug turned to face Leroy. “You know, those big metal tables where they cook food,” he answered sullenly.
“Never heard of it,” Leroy spat.
“Shut up!” the ruffian screamed. “You will show respect to the Ferret, your new lord and master!”
Dwayne burst with laughter. “I’m sorry…what?” In a flash, he found someone at his back, holding a knife to his throat.
Ferret was unbowed. “Hey, ferrets can be pretty scary. Ever been bitten by one?”
“My neighbor had a ferret once,” Terry remembered. “One of the most playful and adorable creatures I’ve ever met. Smelled like the devil, though.”
“The hell with you!” Ferret shot back. “OK, everyone, search them. Whatever they have is ours!” Hesitantly, the thugs rifled through the pockets of the newcomers; all reported finding nothing.
“Really?” Ferret snorted. “Not even a cell phone? How do you live without a cell phone? You must be the poorest people in the whole city. And what kind of faction goes around unarmed?”
“We’re not with a faction,” Sylvia announced. “We’re new in town.”
Ferret leered at her. “Fresh meat, huh?”
“They didn’t give us back any of our stuff,” explained Sylvia. “We just got off the bus from Millenniaburg.”
“Never heard of it,” Ferret spat. He looked around uncertainly. “Well…if you do get something…you need to give it to us immediately.”
“Some criminals you are,” Leroy growled.
Ferret reared back. “Is that what you think we are? A bunch of conformist warlord goons or something?” He puffed his chest up. “We are revolutionaries! You’re looking at the Defenders Of Peaceful Coexistence! And we rule all that we survey.” He looked up and down the street. “This city is our proudest achievement! People of all races and creeds, living together in harmony!”
“Are you nuts?” spewed Gladys. “They live in brutal poverty!”
Ferret shrugged. “At least they’re equal.”
Gladys looked the revolutionaries up and down. “You don’t look like you’re doing too badly. Those clothes look pretty new.”
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Ferret was at a loss of words for a moment. Then one of the other street soldiers spoke up. “Our parents bought us these clothes. Most of us still live at home.”
“Are you kidding me?” Terry sneered.
“Hey, don’t fault us for having brains!” Ferret retorted. “It’s not our fault everyone else is too dumb to think of that!”
“But I am the parent!” Gladys boomed. Tremain clutched her side.
Ferret sneered. “Well, sucks to be you, then.”
“I don’t believe this,” Terry guffawed. “A bunch of spoiled-rotten middle-class kids, play-acting at revolution.” No one responded. “If you think you’re so tough, why don’t you grow up, leave home, and live on your own? Stop bleeding your parents dry.”
A lone voice piped up. “Well, we tried to start an anarchist commune, but no one would follow the rules, so most of us went home.”
“This is stupid,” Leroy jeered. “I almost feel sorry for you.”
“You mock us at your own peril!” Ferret asserted. “Remember, we’re the ones with the weapons.”
“I’ll bet your parents paid for those, too,” Leroy insinuated.
“And so what if they did?” Ferret blustered. “Living at home is great! Our parents let us do our own thing, and don’t get on our case about responsibilities, or getting a job, or whatever. We have all the time in the world to fight for a better future. And now it’s here! Isn’t it great?”
No one answered. Ferret’s face slowly twisted into a sullen look. “Well? Aren’t you going to thank us?”
A terrified squeal shattered the silence. All turned to look at Dwayne, who had managed to get the drop on his captor. Now Dwayne held the knife to the youth’s throat. “I’ve had enough of your crap!” Dwayne shouted. “All of you, throw down your weapons, or this twerp gets it!”
But before the words had even left Dwayne’s mouth, the rebels had taken off running, scattering into several doorways and alleyways, quickly disappearing from sight.
Dwayne tightened his grip on the back of his prisoner’s shirt and drew his head closer. “How about that?” Dwayne sneered, as the stricken subversive stared back at him, wild-eyed. “Your friends left you here…with me…all alone.”
The juvenile shivered. Dwayne slowly became aware of something warm and wet. He jumped back. “What the…?” Looking down, he realized the adolescent had peed his pants.
Disgusted, Dwayne launched the kid forward. “Get the hell out of here!” The youth cursed in terror, tripping once to fall flat on his face, then scampered off quickly.
“Freaking kids these days,” Dwayne snorted. “At least now we have a weapon.” He looked at the knife closely, then frowned. “Seriously? This is barely a knife; it’s more like a toy.” He turned it over in his hands. “Looks more like a souvenir. Completely useless.” He flung it across the street; it hit the wall and shattered into several pieces. Dwayne groaned and then continued walking; the others followed suit.
The scene remained unchanged as they walked for several more blocks. After a while, the street widened into an open area, to what might have been a park at one point. There, the tents were arranged in irregular rows; piles of garbage formed ruinous mountains. To the left was a large building, its facade displaying a faded city logo, the stonework chipped from abuse and weathered by the elements. With great relief, they strode up to entrance and walked inside.
There was no one at the front desk in the spacious foyer; trash and piles of rubble were strewn randomly across the floor. Frequent gaping holes in the walls revealed active rodent infestations. They looked at each other with confusion, then walked as a group through the distressed wooden doors, each hanging clumsily by their one remaining intact hinge.
In the yawning silence, a quiet shuffling sound stirred. They looked around uncertainly; the direction from which the sound came was unclear. Without warning, an older lady appeared in the hallway, staring at her phone. She looked up with a start, gasped loudly, and after a few seconds of fumbling, managed to produce an old revolver pistol. She pointed it at the group, her arms shaking, her fist-like grip entirely wrong.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed.
“Don’t shoot!” pleaded Sylvia. “We’re not armed!”
The older lady continued to stare at them for several tense seconds. Her name badge read Maribel, and identified her as being with the Department Of Welfare. Finally, her face grew sullen, and she lowered her pistol and put it back into her pocket. The group sighed and relaxed.
“Who are you?” Maribel demanded. “What the hell do you want?”
“We need help,” Sylvia begged. “We want to apply for public assistance.”
Maribel snorted, and motioned towards the building’s gutted interior. “Why don’t you help yourself? Oh, too late, everyone else already did. And the little that’s left is mine! Not yours!”
Gladys looked around with alarm. “What happened here?”
Maribel shot her a surly look. “Where have you been? You new here or something?”
Gladys’ head drooped. “We just got off the bus from Millenniaburg.”
Maribel rolled her eyes. “Oh…that place,” she jeered. “I heard they rounded up their unwanted and disposed of them. So you escaped the shipping-container drones, huh? Lucky you.” No one responded; Maribel frowned. “Well, you’ve served your purpose here, so why don’t you go home?”
“We’re not allowed to,” Darrell blubbered.
Maribel sighed derisively. “Sucks to be you, then.” She began to walk away.
“But what happened here?” Gladys implored.
Maribel stopped walking, turned around, and stared furiously, arms akimbo. “Isn’t it obvious? No one wants to work anymore! The few that were willing got tired of being robbed and looted, and moved away. The city ran out of money, and had to pull back.” She whipped out her pistol and began waving it around, causing a few to duck. “Do you know how hard it is to get ammo? I had to scrounge for what I have! I even found a few of these bullets on the sidewalk!” She suddenly put away her firearm.
“So there’s nothing for us here,” Darrell murmured.
“You have a firm grasp of the obvious,” Maribel retorted. “The city can’t afford to do anything for the people. You’re on your own.”
“Can we speak to someone in charge?” Sylvia pleaded.
Maribel winced as she pressed her hand to her forehead. “Good luck with that. They’re locked up in their compound. No one goes in, no one goes out…not without permission. And don’t try to break in…the police will shoot to kill.”
“Is that where all the police are?” Leroy asked.
“The lucky ones,” explained Maribel. “Those who have fallen out of favor have to patrol the city. Not that they do much of that. They’re not stupid enough to tangle with the warlords.”
“Where is this compound?” Tremain’s voice cracked.
Maribel groaned and marched back into the lobby; the others followed. She pointed out through the entrance, to a faraway verdant hillside. “That’s their compound. You’re not likely to get anything there, either, but knock yourselves out. Now, good day.” She turned around and went back to the office area. The group meandered toward the entrance.
“Who the…?! What is this today, Grand Central? No! Back off!”
They whirled around to see Maribel getting accosted by two thugs. She pulled back quickly, managing to raise her firearm. She fired, hitting one thug. She took aim at the other thug and pulled the trigger; suddenly, the pistol exploded, shrapnel flying in all directions. Maribel screamed and collapsed to the floor. Both thugs, though wounded, managed to lumber away.
The group stared in horror at Maribel. Where her hands had been was nothing more than shredded flesh, blood dripping heavily. Several metallic shards jutted from her torso. She looked at them with wide eyes. “Help me!”
Leroy stared at her for several cold, hard seconds. Then he motioned to the others, and they all walked past Maribel, going through the wooden doors into the office. Behind them, they could hear her screaming. “Hey! I said help me! I’m hurt! Aren’t you even human?!” A moment later, they had moved out of her sight. She continued to scream. “You can’t have any of that! It’s mine! Are you even listening to me?”
Deeper within the building, they finally found a kitchen and a gym, both with working water. They gratefully drank their fill, and showered without getting undressed, washing both themselves and their clothes using some old dish soap found under the kitchen sink. They split a few packets of dry, stale ramen noodles between them.
Tremain eyed the noodles warily. “What exactly is shrimp flavor?” Gladys gave him an angry look. “Just shut up and eat it,” she barked. “It might be the only food we see today.” Tremain nibbled on the noodles unenthusiastically, washing them down with copious amounts of tap water. “I wonder why these were left behind,” he mumbled.
A commotion outside the kitchen caught their attention. The diners left their tables and rushed toward the sound. They found Terry in the hallway, wrestling with Darrell. “Stop it!” he shouted. “No! It’s mine! I found it!” Darrell barked sullenly. Terry managed to yank a bottle from Darrell’s hands; Darrell moved to follow, then slumped.
“What the hell’s going on?” Gladys demanded.
“I found him drinking this.” Terry held up a bottle of hand sanitizer.
Gladys looked horrified. “Oh, Darrell, don’t you know? This is no good for you!”
Darrell’s head hung low. “But I really wanted a drink. And it’s seventy percent alcohol.”
“But this stuff will kill you!” Gladys exclaimed. “There are all sorts of toxic ingredients.”
Tears started to run from Darrell’s eyes. “I was desperate. The tremors are really getting to me.”
Gladys held Darrell’s hand and looked at him sympathetically. “You could get really sick from drinking that. And we don’t even know where a hospital is! Or if there are any left.”
Darrell looked up at Gladys with unguarded eyes. “I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“That—” Gladys began. She paused to behold Darrell, and smiled sadly. “I believe you. I know you didn’t mean it.” Terry shrugged incredulously.
They finally left the building, exiting through the front entrance. They passed Maribel, lying on the floor, not moving. Blood no longer flowed from her hands.
As they passed the derelict park, Tremain eyed the piles of garbage. “Won’t the garbage attract rats?” he asked Gladys. Overhearing him, one of the residents shouted back. “Those are our rats! You can’t have any! Go find your own food!” Tremain gagged slightly, then turned away quickly.
They headed toward the green hillside in the distance. After several blocks, it was clear that the buildings were becoming less distressed. Finally, they began to pass some houses; the yards were either bare dirt or patches of dead plants, but the windows looked intact, and there was no sign of homeless camps. A few kids, riding bicycles in the street, stopped to stare at the slowly-moving caravan, then rode away.
They heard a chugging sound behind them. Turning to look, they spotted a security drone, passing behind them laterally, not moving towards them. They traversed a few more blocks. Without warning, they found themselves surrounded by wheeled security robots; two drones hovered in the air near them. A voice burst from one. “State your business!” It was difficult to make out what it said, over the sound of its internal combustion engine; together with the buzzing of its rotors, it sounded like an angry lawnmower. Also, unlike the security drones they were familiar with, the voice wasn’t synthetic: it was obviously coming from a real human.
Dwayne walked forward to face the hovering drone. “We’re exiles from Millenniaburg; we were invited here by the mayor. We just want to talk to him.”
“To her, you mean,” blared the drone’s overdriven bullhorn-like voice. The robots continued to surround the group. They noticed the wheeled drones sported several types of weapons. Each had a rifle barrel, a tear-gas cannon, and what looked like a water nozzle, though conceivably it could spray any fluid. The weapons continued to wave slowly across the crowd, keeping them all covered. Several dozen tense seconds passed.
The drone’s voice finally spoke again. “The mayor has nothing to say to you. Go back where you came from.” The flying drones dipped one side and flew away quickly. The wheeled robots spun around and headed off.
Dwayne strode forward. “Let’s go, people.” After several steps, he turned around to notice that only a few had followed. The rest stood there, moping. “What are you doing?” he called. “If they want to stop us, they can send the drones back. I, for one, am going to confront the mayor! She brought us here, and she has a responsibility to help us! Where’s your righteous indignation?”
He was met with silence. Then most of the crowd turned around and slowly began walking back toward the city center. Dwayne saw that only six had elected to stay with him.
“Fine!” he yelled. “Where are you going, anyway? You know there’s nothing there for you! At the compound, we at least have a chance!” But they continued to leave.
Dwayne sighed heavily as he beheld the few that chose to join him. “I’m glad some of you have guts,” he declared. “Let’s take our case to the mayor.”
As they walked, they encountered a few spectators, standing in their yards, eyeing them cautiously. A few brandished firearms, but didn’t point them at the group.
A half dozen blocks later, still far away from the hillside, they spotted a formidable fence, topped with a shielded catwalk, where several police officers watched them approach. As they drew closer, they could see houses on the other side, stretching for several blocks. They appeared to be in much better condition than the houses they’d seen so far. Peering into the distance, they could make out a second fence inside, one closer to the base of the hillside. As they neared the outer fence, they noticed the police officers visibly stiffen.
Suddenly, the police drew their firearms. The one nearest the center of the catwalk held a bullhorn; the metallic voice grated in their ears. “Come no further.”
The group stopped walking. “We’re exiles from Millenniaburg!” Dwayne called out.
“I know,” came the reply. “I was the voice of the drone.”
“We just want to speak to the mayor!” Sylvia cried.
“And I told you, she’s not taking any visitors,” the policeman barked.
“But she invited us here!” Sylvia pleaded.
The trooper snorted. “Then consider yourselves welcomed,” he sniped. “Now go away. You’re on your own.”
“But we need help!” Gladys whimpered.
“So?” came the overdriven voice. “Why is that our problem?”
“Isn’t that what the government does?” Gladys asked.
The police officer let out a hollow laugh. “Really?” He turned to his fellow constables. “These people are like children, aren’t they.” Scattered laughter passed through the guards. The one with the bullhorn shook his head and continued speaking. “The government used to help people, back when it needed people to stay in power. Now it can get that through armed guards and security fences.” A large drone flew past the small crowd and over the fence, entering the compound; he looked up at it briefly. “And air delivery provides the rest.”
“Then why did she invite us here?” demanded Leroy.
The policeman glared. “She got her photo-op and her positive publicity. The mayor doesn’t need you anymore. No one is going to follow up to find out what happened to you. You’re yesterday’s news.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “So unless you can afford to live in the secured part of the city, you’d best be moving on.”
“You know we can’t,” admitted Terry.
“And why is that?” the officer demanded. He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. “It’s because you’re all drains on resources. You’re either criminals or parasites, otherwise you wouldn’t have been exiled. Every last one of you believes in tearing the system down, whether out of selfishness, or because you think you’re revolutionaries. But the system needs people to build it, and when that doesn’t happen, it falls apart. There’s nothing magic about this; if you stop creating the system, it will cease to exist. And behind you lays the inevitable result of your own broken thinking.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s very simple; if something cannot possibly go on…it won’t.”
No one from the crowd spoke. The trooper continued. “Now, you need to go away. Go back to the city center. Live in the hell of your own making.” The police officers continued to point their firearms in the small crowd’s direction.
Disconsolately, they turn around to leave.
It was a few blocks before anyone spoke. “How can he blame us for this?” complained Darrell. “We didn’t cause this problem.”
“No, but people like us did,” admitted Gladys. Darrell didn’t respond. “We did the same thing to Millenniaburg,” Gladys reminded them. “Remember that? Darrell?”
“I don’t feel good,” he blubbered. Gladys turned to see him collapse onto the ground.
“Darrell!” Gladys called out as she rushed up to him. “What’s wrong?”
Darrell winced as he clutched his sides. “My stomach is on fire.”
“That’d be the hand sanitizer,” Terry mumbled.
Gladys silenced him with a sharp look, then turned back to Darrell. “We’ll help you walk,” she offered. She glared at the gawking men. “Well, why are you just standing there? Help him to his feet!”
They sighed and tried to lift Darrell, but the strain was too great. They only managed to move him to the side of the road, where he collapsed onto the curb. With great effort, they got him to sit up. He continued to groan as he doubled over in pain.
Gladys looked up to the nearest house. In the yard stood three children, gawking at them. An older man stood there too, holding a shotgun. Gladys called out to them. “Someone call an ambulance! This man needs medical attention!” They continued to glare sullenly. “Please!” she cried. “He needs help!” The three kids looked up at the older man; he met their gaze, and jerked his head back slightly. All three slowly walked toward the house and went inside. The older man continued to watch them for a few more seconds, then followed the kids.
“Are they gonna call an ambulance?” Darrell pleaded, looking at Gladys with innocent eyes.
No one spoke for several seconds. “They—” Gladys began. She looked at Darrell’s guileless expression, and smiled sadly. “Yes, Darrell,” she answered, “they are.”
“Really?” Darrell trilled.
“Yes, really,” Gladys declared. “They’re good people, and they care about you very much, just like we do.” Darrell smiled vacantly, tears forming in his eyes.
Gladys patted his hand and stood up. “Now you stay right here,” she ordered. “We’re going to go find the hospital, and tell them to get ready for you. The ambulance will be here as soon as it can.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Darrell cried. “God bless you.”
Gladys smiled sadly and turned to leave, catching a glimpse of the haunted looks in the others’ eyes.
After walking only a few yards, they heard Darrell groan. “I think I need to lie down.” They turned in time to see Darrell roll gently onto his side, his pleading eyes looking in their direction.
“You do that,” Gladys agreed. “This will all be over very soon.” Darrell’s vacant smile returned.
They turned away and left him there, tormented expressions on their faces.
Dwayne peered into the distance, toward the chaos of the city center. “You want to know what happened here?” His expression became grim. “We happened.”
“I couldn’t help but notice,” Sylvia offered. “The compound inside that fence reminded me of Millenniaburg. So, in the end, it’s not that different from other cities. We acted like it was new and unprecedented, but it turns out what they were doing isn’t really that unusual.”
She stared into the distance. “Except here, our death will be much more painful and drawn out. They wouldn’t do this to a dog.”
The rest of the trip was spent in silence.