False providence, p.28
False Providence, page 28
I beg the Holy Man, I still can't stomach to look at him, for the feelings for him are all that remain and I'm not prepared for the loneliness it offers.
Emile walks ahead as is natural now for him to do, I walk with a horse beside me, his hooves crush the gravel beneath us then clap upon the broken asphalt. The road goes past many signs long out of use, corners of business are now open spaces of refuge. A shanty town of barns and trailer homes that were never sold to their current owners.
“The Spike is what they called it, the economy boomed but with that came inflation…With everything, Food, gas, care, living, everything. It started a housing crisis, the last ever act Congress brought to bear was the Foothold Act.
Whatever can make a home will be, so many came to places like this” My Pathetic hood does little to shield me from the elements, I sigh as I watch his resignation. I feel a little ashamed for now the priest is as broken as everyone else.
A building ahead of us looms large, the dark Stenciled sign above read Inner Space Lots, it’s an odd thing to me to see that people once had so much they would need publicly-run storage spaces.
Now? Now they were just pods, rectangular living spaces ten feet wide, some packing up to eight people a unit.
Some were families, some were friends, some were rented as travel space or hub hostels. Life was more sensibly set outside except when it was time to sleep. A large Canopy was erected beside the storage lot, people were lining up for food and watching the rain beside grill fires. Several saw us coming to the area and took out guns and rifles.
“Jimmies – why doesn't that surprise me?” I groan
“Do you see any guards around?” Emile replied crossly
“I don't want us to get shot at simply because of the clothes we’re wearing!” I galled back, disarray was still in the moment and I was making a bad situation worse but I was failing to care about it.
A redhead with furrowed brows and a thick mustache greeted us first, Dryly and warily and anyone would expect.
“Night Travelers, lefty night travelers at that – what can I do for you” The rifleman said, his reply made me die a little but as hard as it was I kept my mouth shut and sharply gestured the Haitian to do was he now was, lead.
“I am sorry but we were ambushed and in need of rest and supplies, do any of your people know carpentry? We’re uh…We’re in need of a coffin” Emile was humble, there was no forcefulness in his voice but at a time like this leadership needed subtlety.
The word coffin comes like a stab to the heart and I jerked back a little but I remain silent and cross my arms in quiet if dour repose.
“My God, what happened to you all?” The Morganite reeled as he clutched at the Winchester like a comfort nobody should really ever need.
“A car crash, a m-man died, he’s the only victim I’d like for things to be swift in honor to be…respectful” All at once I have a stutter, all at once a desert is in my mouth and my throat is choked by the words that hurt most, Man and victim.
“Where were you headed?” The man persisted with stern eyes
“West of The Republic” I test our host but he’s not convinced and I would be a fool to think otherwise.
“You’re not Texans, you’re them lowlife heathens from New Rome, I know that uniform and I know an army vehicle when I see one”
He looks disgusted and I find myself losing the will to live and demonstrate so by stomping forward. The rifle jabs at my stomach and I couldn't care less, the man knows and adores the second amendment and I couldn't care less.
I feel the tip of the barrel dig at the plump curve of my tummy and it hurts but it’s a suicidal act without much thought. For I now live in a world on the brink of more war.
It was a Dystopia with the General, it was just pure hell without him. Even if the Priest’s affections were a saving grace, how far would it really save me – He belonged to the Church, not to me.
“A man has died; do you understand a man has died? You think the Reaper is a conservative or liberal? You think the afterlife cares that much, you think Charon demands extra from a former Republican?!” I roar at him, viciously staring at the rifle, taunting Death to just get on with it for I couldn't stand it anymore.
Somebody grabs at my shoulder to stop, my resolve withers as Damascus stares at me in panic, I see he has his collar on again and for now.
Our paths start to separate. The Jimmy pulls away the rifle in embarrassment but etiquette not shame makes him put the gun down.
“We travel far, we have far yet to go, I am a stranger here, I am from Resurrection – a God-fearing town in Antioch, is there no compassion beyond it’s borders? You are a shepherd tending your flock, Yes?” I am no wolf, sir”
Damascus speaks softly, he is being commanding but only those that know the language can really tell. I smile in awe and wonder though I'm not meant to.
“You're not, Father, but they are – pagans from the West, muddied souls they are!” He barks back, though he tries to plead with the priest I already see prejudice by the way he stares at Emile.
“You have your flock; these people are mine – God believes no soul is ever truly lost so I must believe that also. A man lost his life in…A very cruel way, I ask for privacy, mercy and kindness - Let them build a coffin.” Damascus’s humanity shines like a torch in the rainy night air and I admit freely that I am beguiled by it, but then I am saddened for this is his calling and nothing should interfere with it, nothing.
The bear of a man hesitated then lost himself in a swarm of people that congregated outside the storage lot entrance.
The priest stole a moment to look at me with those eyes again, with all that was happening around us, I had no real idea what he was thinking.
“Cristobelle, you lost your only family today, or so you think. Don't let your grief determine everyone else’s fate, that is not who we are or what we do!” I hear the Haitian chastise me from behind.
“You're a soldier by choice, I was a soldier by design, by the decision of a Sergeant at the time who climbed to General who was shot dead before my very eyes! Right now? I don't have a single clue what I'm doing and I don't much care!”
My outburst was hushed but livid at first but when it came to admitting how I was really feeling the frog came back in my throat and so did the tears. I stopped almost immediately Emile reached for me but I just shrank away.
The rifleman marched back to our tense soirée, he flustered over the emotions he sensed but noted his decision to the priest.
“A man of God is probably the only reason for you to be with these anarchists, these nation killers. I will give them rest and the raw materials but only because I was raised to respect the dead” The man balked squarely at me and added
“What were you raised by?”
He was in his sixties so was most likely in his teens when Craven came to power, from his poisoned words he most likely ate the President’s vitriol as part of a daily, nutritious diet!
“I'm an orphan, I was raised by hippies and occultists and dangerous progressives” I grumble sarcastically, Damascus steps in front of me and the Jimmy takes his leave by guiding us inside.
Emile walks ahead and silently chooses the fallen Father as a wingman, which suits me just fine. I have absolutely no desire to intercept, take on or man anything ever again. The soldiers park the armored vehicle and take the wrapped body into the far entrance of the building.
The lobby is wide and the hall itself is labyrinthine, with row after row of units housing dozens and dozens of people. They’re as rag tag and desperate as the Forgotten are expected to bee. Tatty hand me down clothes and possessions from years gone by. Some wear the garb of Antioch; some are runaways but they all look so lost and so defeated.
My repugnance for our host’s ignorance vanishes the moment I see his hub of a hamlet, the institute much like the Last President swore to never leave the people behind again.
But here was a storage unit in lieu of an apartment complex. I realize in great shame that not all Antioch is my enemy.
Just Marr, always, always Marr – She disregarded her own people, her own people and now I'm convinced that she needs to be stopped.
There are coughs and splutters every few minutes, a crying baby here and there – Children line up for a steaming stew pot of chicken soup it smells like. I notice my group are still deathly silent and realize there are just as shocked as I am, worse still is the notion that my beloved General had his prejudices like everyone else.
But the reason like everything else, was because of his daughters, the day when disarray and protest turned deadly.
The day innocent teenagers were treated as criminals, it was the most dreadful catalyst that he wished never happened. He was strategic and fair, always but his hate never waned but only I could tell that. But because he was the man who took me in I let so many things pass, too many things.
We were led down a large corridor where the residents watched our every move, a guttural cough distracted us, this time the brigade’s medic Amina Choudhry stepped forward.
There really was no mistaking her district of origin, for she was smart in her burgundy red and black fatigues, her hair pinned up. Her face fresh of make-up, not that she needed it, Indian women were known for their beauty.
“That cough sounds nasty, may be something bronchial, may I take a look?” The medic looked over at a boy no more than three years old. She patted his head then felt his face before she knelt down.
“We have our own docs thank you” Spoke a middle-aged woman, curt and abrupt and it didn't take a genius why.
“We don't need no Scorpions looking after our young” Hollered another.
“This woman is a New Roman, her parents were Americans, legal Americans but that was never the issue was it? I don't see your doctor around, if she wants to help you let her help you” Emile tried to sound more confused than irate, my own remarks were less patient.
“What’s more important, the hate of a stranger or the love of a child? Your grievance is old, your hate is old, let the damn thing die!” I seethe, the lad leads by example by pawing at the stethoscope Amina puts around her neck.
The conversation turns cordial, the kind it used to be when it was just doctor and Patient, no I.D cards, no travel threats, no scapegoating just a professional being a professional.
The young mother was wary but she answered questions and engaged in the small talk all practices used to before the war, before the likes of President Craven.
I spend the next hour in relative reflection and deep melancholy as I watch a basic rectangular coffin being made around the body of a man who was living and breathing twelve hours ago.
I watch carpenters smooth down the edge of the plywood. I watch them hammer nails and joiners and the edges of this pauper’s tomb.
It’s all too much as the final nails go in at the lid, I turn away but break at every thud of the hammer, there are eight in all.
Thud- thud thud-thud
Thud, thud, thud-thud.
✽ ✽ ✽
Meanwhile in his suite at the Hawking Tower, the Prefect of Galilee looked upon his evident rage. Tables were turned over and chairs were smashed against double-glazed windows and papers were strewn everywhere.
He just received word on his old compatriot Glenn Wyatt and An Lin barely remember a future so uncertain, he would have no choice now but to address the people and reopen West Point as the stronghold it always was.
Maybe there was slight cowardice in rationale, maybe an equation could only solve so much? Whatever intelligence Man craved, sought and muddled through no amount of degrees could tell what the Book of Fate had in it’s pages.
It was arrogant to think we were Masters of any of it. The Chinese-American doubted himself in ways he rarely had before, he hated it and he hated Glenn Wyatt for it.
Even dying the way that he did Wyatt was making a point, An Lin had to take up the gauntlet sooner rather than later.
Upon a screen thinner and lighter than glass the professor looked into a blue square that was really a camera lens.
He issued an emergency meeting and alerted the press of an imminent briefing for the masses - he was disheveled and in shock but that was the least of his worries.
He fixed his check blazer then stood straight as he talked firmly into the camera.
“Free Thinkers of Galilei, this is Prefect Lin with the gravest of news. Despite our efforts to stay neutral we can no longer ignore the growing threat of all we hold dear from those who do not care nor understand the grand foundry of this great district. Ignorance once again drags us into war but not just ignorance but the call of justice.” He announced like the eloquent leader he was.
The staff of Hawking Tower gather around screens and plate plasma sets that dotted all about the city including the famous Square where such technology was first set up. Nikolans huddled in bunches and stared up at the huge projection of their leader above them.
“This afternoon as he rode home after a dubious mission General Glenn Wyatt as Assassinated by a lone gunman, he died at the scene. While I will not comment on the culprit or the possibility of a guilty third party, I will say that such an act of treachery can only be answered by War. As of midnight, tonight Galilei is at War with Antioch. Be with loved ones tonight, my people – For tomorrow we have work to do”
The screen darkened and the live feed was completed, A man with a serious expression on his face stood stark and solemn next to a shaken secretary.
“Few numbers still live in the Highland Hills, they must be warned, West Point will be operational by the end of the week” The Steward ordered quietly.
He had not one stitch of military clothing on him but the Chinese-American had a grimace of stone that soldiers tend to wear from time to time.
The man nodded and left, leaving the Prefect’s PR to wither away by herself. A question came to mind like a ball and chain to her soul, the sheer weight crushing her conscious like some debilitating migraine.
“I assume the draft will return, young men and women forced to fight?” She squirmed as she straightened her spectacles.
“History remembers a time when that was both courageous and dubious, this time it is as necessary as anything I have ever known. Civil war forced people to make a choice, now there isn't one - It's this or our destruction, Miss Roan”
He quivered in defeat.
“Is it really that bad? The Commissioner is a tyrant, tyrants were toppled once weren't they?” Elizabeth started to sob yet she never broke so easily before but then she had never witnessed her mild-mannered employer smash his office up either.
“I'm afraid it is my dear, the people of Antioch are proud and steadfast in their belief in her, for belief in her means belief in God. Even if there were pockets of doubters they are outnumbered and mostly likely outgunned”
He cooed, the man of science was so meek and grave that it broke her heart, it was a shock she didn't need or want.
“…So what happens now?” The young woman croaked, she watched him lean far into the table then stretch his hand out to smooth his hair.
“We make for West Point” He muttered with a heart as heavy as he ever felt.
✽ ✽ ✽
I wake to the dark, it's relative dark for the lamp lights are dimmed down and the hubs are all partially shut. There are coughs and snores in the air, people are lain out on the cold floor with their knapsacks and blankets.
I myself am lying on my army jacket while using my backpack as an uncomfortable pillow, a metal table leg is inches from me, 3 feet above is the completed plywood coffin and the dead body of my beloved guardian inside.
Sleep can only dull my memory for so long, all the last day wrought upon me and mine comes veering into my mind’s eye and I sob quietly to myself. In the weak light I see Emile on one side of me and Damascus on the other, both men fell asleep while sitting up it would seem.
I try not to imagine a talking corpse peering down at me, complete with bullet wound to the liver. I shudder at what he would say to me, how ashamed he would be? how h
e died because of my stupid choices. There is no need for nightmares now for I live in one, accompanied forever by guilt with every breath I take.
Imagination distracts me with an echo of whirring that starts low but gets louder and louder, the narrow Windows that line the outer ceiling of the storage building shine a white light in that strays from side to side.
“A chinook. Here? The new Haitian commander cleared his throat as he woke up with a start, as several other people followed suit, I knew then I wasn't dreaming.
