Chapter 2
Congress Street was noticeably busier than usual and people filled the street as well as the sidewalk. They quickly walked around moving cars and ran across traffic – everyone seemed to be in a hurry. If you stood in one place and just listened it was easy to notice that the typical Maine accent was no longer part of the Portland human-scape. Outsiders and the passage of time had rendered it extinct. Fifty years ago, Maine had a hard working mostly white population. Over the years, there was an influx of immigrants, people of a races, creeds and colors from far off places. But when the world fell apart, Maine, for all its’ hard- working ethics, slid downhill with it and many people found themselves living well below the poverty line. In the downtown district - every hour on the hour - every person would stop, their eyes rising up to the Key Bank jumbotron. Congress Street would become frighteningly silent, save for the one voice that everyone wanted to hear. The news was not only broadcast around the clock but streamed live by satellite. Everybody watched in horror as the video played out on the immense screen. The images had been distributed to the entire world by Al Jazeera, an Arab television station with several broadcasting sub-stations scattered throughout the middle-east. They were always trying to make some grandiose statement that usually amounted to nothing more than a bit of saber rattling. But this time was different. This time, the country would be sent into a state of shock as the jumbotron displayed the scene of a small well somewhere in Yemen. It was surrounded by children as well as women clutching their infants – all had been shot on sight. The area was crowded with armed men wearing scarves around their faces and angrily babbling in Arabic. One held up a half-filled bottle of slightly sandy water and pointed a pistol at the camera lens while yelling threats to a, more or less, civilized world. He then turned back and fired on the dead women and children, as if words were somehow not enough.
Everyone was frozen in place as the horrific images and the sounds of gunfire deeply engraved themselves into the minds of all who watched. But as disturbing as it was to watch, many were unable to pull their eyes away. As the video came to a close and the news anchor tried desperately to maintain his composure, the silent air of Congress Street gradually became overshadowed by quiet weeping. Humanity had somehow managed to achieve a new low point that many saw as a portent of the future. One of those people was Edward Blake, who was standing near a hotdog stand when the video footage began. He watched with both amazement and horror as the images unfolded before his eyes. Tears slowly ran down his face and he became so involved in what he was seeing that, for a brief moment, he forgot where he was. Near the end of the video, he suddenly gasped as though he’d seen the devil himself. And perhaps he had, but now he realized with blinding clarity the direction the world was truly taking and what some people were willing to do for half a bottle of dirty water.
“Jesus Christ!” he said to himself. “What the fuck is wrong with these people?”
“I’ll tell ya what’s wrong!” a voice answered.
It was the hot dog vendor. He preferred to be called ‘Teddy’ and appeared to be about forty-five years old.
Teddy had worked this part of Congress Street for years, right across from what used to be the Portland Library. You wouldn’t have thought so, but he actually made a livable income from selling hot dogs, sausages, and soda. Bottled water was expensive so he didn’t usually stock it. Edward slowly looked over at Teddy – his thoughts still haunted by what he had just seen.
“What?” he replied. “Those people?” Teddy answered.
“They’re fuckin’ animals! If it were up to me, I’d go over there and kill every one of those motherfuckers!”
“I’m …. sure a lot of people feel the same way,” Edward commented.
“Goddamn right!” Teddy said as he pointed at Edward with a pair of hot dog tongs. “I mean …how much fuckin’ courage does it take to shoot a bunch of kids? That’s right…none! Those people are fuckin’ pussies.”
“Well, Teddy,” said Edward. “I’m glad that there’s someone around here with the balls to say what everyone else is thinking.”
“Hey!” Teddy replied. “Don’t I always tell it like it is?”
Edward now found himself looking at Teddy with a kind, patient face and nodding gently.
“You always do,” he said.
Edward began to walk away as Teddy made one more final angry proclamation.
“Fuckin’ right!” Teddy then turned back to his hot dog cart as Edward made his way up Congress Street.
He stopped at a local convenience store near the intersection of Congress and Forest Ave. to pick up a newspaper and a pack of ‘Blue Flames’. The manufacturing of tobacco had been outlawed about ten years earlier, so even cigarettes went digital. The insurance companies had organized their own lobbyists and were able to buy enough congressional votes to make the growing of tobacco illegal. With this new legislation, the insurance companies were able to save billions in healthcare payouts to doctors and hospitals. Naturally, they would not lower their premiums. As for the tobacco companies, the government replaced their plantations with marijuana fields. They would be funded by the government but managed by the executives who formerly ran the tobacco industry and would operate closely with pharmaceutical companies.
Continuing to watch the news on the LCD screen in the convenience store Edward commented to the clerk, “God, we are so fucked!” “Depressing, isn’t it?” the clerk said. “Imagine what things will be like in another fifty years.”
“Well,” Edward said. “I’m not so sure I wanna be around for that.”
“Ya know,” the clerk reacted. “Watchin’ this bullshit makes me think I’d be better off living in the woods somewhere livin’ off the land - just me and my own thoughts.” Edward turned to the clerk with a slight smile.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said.
He left the convenience store and got on the number four bus to the Rosemont district which now lay at the border between Westbrook and what was referred to as the ‘Portland war zone’. The buses now ran on ethanol and were constructed with heavy gauge steel and ballistic glass. The driver drove as quickly as he could so as to get through Portland without being fired on. Edward got off on the far side of the Rosemont district just a few blocks from Capisic Field. It was getting dark and he quickly made his way to his house, going in through the back door. Gang warfare and looters had begun to slowly encroach further into the Rosemont district. This prompted Edward to fortify their front and back doors as well as the first-floor windows. He had also recently purchased a gun. He always knocked on the back door first as it had been agreed that a specific tapping rhythm be used for safety. He would then unlock the door and walk in.