Chapter 9
I looked at Doug; a lost confused look on his face.
Now I could empathize.
Like innocent children suddenly realizing the world was totally different than the sheltered view from underneath their parents’ protection; we walked back towards the city without a sense of victory, without the gratification of a job well done. On the way back we looked cynically to the crumbled structures of the city, with more questions than when we had gone the other way--when we were confident in our mission.
In place of that confidence was just hollowness and confusion.
We headed back towards the opening of the tunnel. All of us wanted to retain our sense of direction, to maintain the orientation we had developed coming out of the tunnel. It was not too difficult to find. We just had to retrace our steps along the riverbank. As we walked along, a couple of children dressed in rags with wild long hair were running beside us, talking excitedly. They went by us quickly, in the same direction towards the city.
The city stretched out in front of us in all its horrific destruction. We could see it stretch up the rolling mountainside that it was built on many years earlier. I thought of the original settlers; who knows how many countless years earlier. I thought of the generations who had built this city throughout Earth history. I wondered how sad it would be for them to gaze at this landscape.
We went by the port again. I could see that here the river was littered with boats. It was only the larger ones that could be seen above the surface, but looking down into the water there were bits and pieces overgrown with green growth swaying in the water; ghosts of a noble past.
The tunnel was innocuous. We almost went right by it. You couldn’t see the actual tunnel from the street, but the building around the opening was a hangout for all kinds of people. I wondered why they would hang out there. None of them appeared to want to venture down the foreboding tunnel; maybe the location near the water was considered choice—maybe they were waiting for the messiah to come out from the hole, save them from this wretched place.
“Look, the boy from the tunnel,” Martina said. “The one who directed us to the terrorist camp.”
Lying near the entrance of the camp, his face swollen and bloody, tears welling up on his face, was the nervous boy.
“What happened to you?” I asked, staring at his pathetic state.
The boy looked up, squinting, the defensive reflex of one who is used to constantly accepting abuse. “Leave me alone. I wanta be alone.”
“What happened to you?” Martina said.
“I done whachya told me, I told ya the truth—ya know it—and look at me.”
“Did you let your friend out of the utility room?” she asked.
“That’s what I did. That’s why I got da beating. He said I betrayed da cause. He said I would go to hell for dis.” He paused. “Hell can’t be worse than here.”
His abused face fell into his hands. You could see his head trembling as tears rolled between his fingers. “Is dere really a hell?” the boy asked me. “Is dere really a heaven?”
“I think so, but it’s not like they told you.”
“Why?”
I didn’t know what to say. I looked around at the others. Doug moved forward, kneeling down before the boy, looking sympathetically at his bruised face. The boy looked up at Doug. “I don’t know all the details, my little boy. I don’t want to lie to you—and if someone tells you they do have all the answers, don’t trust them. We are all simple human beings, and your question is too vast for our tiny minds to fully understand. There are more questions than answers for us on our voyage.”
“What voyage do ya mean?”
“I mean life, my dear boy. I mean life. Just remember one thing.”
“What's dat?”
“You can never understand the complexity of heaven and hell with your mind, even as an adult.”
“What hope do I have?”
“Patience, you can understand it, but only with your heart and with your emotions; and you know what my heart tells me?”
“What does it tell ya?”
“That the entrance to heaven can not be reached through anger, through bloodshed. It can’t be. You must search to unify, through love, to become whole, part of the whole.”
"Jesus," Andy looked at me, "Lloyd's getting crazier by the minute. He's turning into a guru."
The boy was looking down, thinking hard. The boy got to his feet, starting to walk off quickly.
“Where are you going?” I said.
He turned around, apparently surprised I still wanted to talk. “I have an uncle who used to live on da other side of da city. I wanta go see him if he’s still alive.”
“If he’s still alive,” I muttered to myself.
We looked up the mountainside. The daytime sun shone down on the city, revealing the sordid details of a less-than-perfect city.
"Look at this place," I said, turning around to get a full panorama of our environment.
"What about it?" Andy said.
"I don't know Stoneman--nothing I guess--same crap--but every person I meet, every moment I spend here--the city seems to look a little different."
"Very deep Jonz, very deep--but where the hell do we go from here?"
"This city may be a mess," Martina said, "but it's the only place we'll get any real answers."
"--or real dangers," I said.
"Do you want to head back in the tunnel--wander the woods again?" she said.
"No, not really."
We all looked at our surroundings. Sloping up from the port the grandeur and ruins of the city rose up a mountain side.
"There seems to be a lot of activity up there," Andy said.
"How do you think they're going to react to us?" I said.
"I don't know," Martina said, "but I don't feel like waiting on my hands for a government rescue team that may never come."
We started heading up the mountainside.
**
“Do you hear that?” Martina said.
There was a roar of a vehicle, something with a powerful engine. We looked towards the sound and saw dust clouds rising in the distance, towards the top of the mountain. I could hear the dull sound of shots coming over the growling of the engine.
“Well, whoever that is, it proves someone is living here,” I said.
"But what kinda maniac?" Andy said.
We walked up the hill. It was similar to climbing the mountains in the wild, rough and uneven. As we moved up the mountain, towards the vast majority of buildings, we could see people looking out from broken windows. At first, we wanted to run after each one, thinking they were a rare sight; but soon we realized that this city was more populated than we realized; citizens were everywhere in this downtrodden metropolis—but they trod wearily. They didn't gather in large numbers out in the open. They knew more about their environment than we did.
They saw us walking with our uniforms and guns, and they gave us a wide berth, avoided us. Around one corner there was an open area with several people lying on the ground. They did not run from us. They lay and moaned painfully. It was not the panicked cry of someone unused to pain. It was the moan of people who wore their pain as a fact of life, as a daily routine. They called us over with waving arms, pleading for us to do something, but we didn't know what to do. They were deformed and horrible to look at, but I felt helpless. I don’t even think they knew what they wanted us to do, so we walked on.
I was shocked as a woman walked by me. Her skin was a dark brown and she had strange tight curly dark hair. Was she another deformed person? --or part of the primitive people who wandered Earth? She appeared to be perfectly able to walk and move normally. Like all the others, she looked at us with fear and scurried off into one of the buildings. Her eyes looked so white in contrast to her dark skin, it was very strange. We walked on like this for about an hour, our mouths open in awe, our hands gripping our guns, not knowing where to go—where to start.
It was then that we saw someone coming towards us on some leg-powered vehicle. As he got closer to us, I could see it was a young boy. He struggled to travel through the street and all its obstructions. It was difficult because his leg-powered vehicle pulled a trailer behind it. It was a two wheeled vehicle that looked flimsy and made of tubes. The trailer also had two wheels and it made loud creaking noises from the bar that connected it to the vehicle. It was full of an odd collection of junk. The boy came right up to us.
“You people aren’t from around here.”
“No,” I said, “we’re from out of town. You're not afraid?”
“Why? I gotta make a living. I can tell you're not from here. I know everyone here. Do you wanta buy anything? Do you have gas to trade?”
“Who’s running this place?”
“Who’s running the place? Big Simon runs it I guess. Are you sure you don’t have any gas? I know lots of people. You can get what you want if you have gas. Are you sure you don’t have any?”
He looked directly at me. This boy too had strange features. Olive skin with dark eyes and thick, black shiny hair; yet he couldn’t be the victim of some nuclear mutation, he looked so healthy.
“Who do you know?” I asked. “Where can I get what I want?”
“Wow, you guys really are new to town. I work in the market. Everyone trades there. What do you want?”
“What can I get?”
“Like I said, whatever you want. The out-of-towners come in with meat and vegetables. They trade us for whatever we scavenge in town—whatever you want. But gas, that’s harder—are you sure you guys don’t have any?”
“No, we don’t. Show me this market.”
“Follow me.”
He bounded along the streets. Fortunately for us, he had a hard time negotiating the boulders with his vehicle and cumbersome trailer, or he would've left us far behind. Whenever we ran into a clear patch of road, we had to run to keep up. We arrived at a long wide building that was still mostly intact. The far end was collapsed, but apart from that it was quite serviceable. The boy led us in and there was the constant sound of activity resonating through the interior. The entire interior of the building was a wide open space with merchants selling diverse wares from makeshift stands.
The interior of the building was long and narrow. You came in one end; there were stands and collections of wares to sell cluttering both sides. In the middle was a pathway that led out to the other side. When we entered, the merchants near us stopped their bartering and looked at us. The boy walked up to one of the merchants nearest the door.
“I brought new customers,” he said.
The old man at the stand smiled at us and whispered something into the young boy’s ear. The boy looked perturbed and went off.
“We have already paid Big Simon’s men. We don't have any more money,” he said, looking at our guns.
“We’re not here for your money,” I said.
Andy pushed me aside. “I’ll handle this. Who’s Big Simon?”
The man looked confused. He turned to the woman that was beside him listening and asked her something. They both shrugged their shoulders while looking at each other. “Look, we don’t want any trouble, but we can’t give things to everyone with a gun. We’re poor people.”
“Who’s Big Simon?”
The man became flustered. He started offering us everything that was on his rickety table; everything from a steering wheel to a dusty collection of old paper books.
“That’s okay,” I said. “We don’t want anything from you. We just want information.”
“I… I don’t want trouble. I’m just a simple merchant. You go see Big Simon’s people or the holy warriors. I’m just a simple man.”
A loud crashing came from the other side of the market. A table and all its wares came loudly thudding to the ground as two large young men laughed and berated an old merchant couple. The woman screamed in shock and this irritated one of the large men. This man wore a scruffy jacket with cut off arms, showing his large muscles. He raised his hand to strike her and she recoiled in fear. This made the two goons laugh even harder.
We walked to the end of the market. Strange fat birds in cages squawked and items fell to the ground. On either side of the market, there were gaping holes which were filled with more wares that spilled out into the surrounding areas. The only clear path was the main path down the middle of the building. The customers who had occupied this space were all trying to retreat to the merchant areas behind their stands.
All trading had stopped. Everyone was looking back and forth between us and the commotion with the two ruffians. I yelled at the two men and they looked over at us quizzically, sizing up the four of us. They seemed less confident and joyful in their sadism when they noticed our guns; though they were still defiant.
“Who are you people?” one of them barked.
“We’re business travelers from out of town,” Martina quipped. “What’s going on here?”
“None of your business,” the other one spewed, slightly smaller but just as muscular. He too, wore a jacket with cut off sleeves.
The two goons looked at each other and one began reaching into a pocket inside his jacket.
“None of our—" Andy started, lunging at the one who just spoke. He ran up to him, his gun displayed, cross-checking the goon across his chest with his weapon. The goon fell over backwards, landing on his butt. There was a large crack from his handgun going off as he pulled it out of his jacket. The gun spun away from him on the market floor.
Andy moved forward and pointed his gun at the larger goon: "you gotta gun too asshole!"
"Naw, not me," the larger goon said, raising his hands in the air. Andy went over and picked up the handgun.
Lying prone on the ground, the goon who was knocked down looked around at the merchants, who quickly stifled any smirks or guffaws that were starting to come out.
“That’ll teach you to threaten old ladies.”
There was a gasp from the crowd.
“You can’t do this,” the bruised ruffian said, standing up and dusting off his filthy clothing. “We’re just collecting our dues. Big Simon won't take this sort of thing.”
There was a muted chuckle from the crowd.
“Watch your mouths,” the other goon said. The crowd quieted.
“Get the hell out!” I yelled, and we advanced towards them. They gathered themselves, turned and fled. I caught one with a kick in the backside as he was leaving, sending him forward more quickly. He looked back, but kept fleeing none the less.
“That’s right, run back to mama,” Andy said.
While we were confronting the goons, Doug had been showing a photograph to many of the people in the market.
“Do you know this woman,” he asked. No one seemed to know her.
“What’s that picture Doug?” Martina asked.
He tried to hide it, but Martina had hold of his arm and looked at it.
“Where did you get it?” she interrogated Doug, but he just walked away.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“I think he got the picture from one of the dead soldiers—maybe a relative.”
The people in the market were still wary of us, but the recent display of chivalry had them looking at us with more positive interest. I remembered one man in particular that stared at me. He was another of those dark brown people, with a shiny bald head. His eyes stared as if he were trying to interrogate me with his gaze, trying to gauge my character from afar.
“Thank you, thank you,” this little old lady said, holding on to my arm.
“No problem,” I said to her, then I turned to the crowd that was now staring at us and said: “We are from far away, a very foreign land from this town. What happened here? Why is the town in ruins?”
They looked at each other, no one knowing what to say or who should answer; then the man we first saw when we came in moved forward. Like the others, he was shabbily dressed and smoothed the few long straggly hairs that were still on his bald head--maybe trying to look more presentable. He said, “The town has always been like this. What can you expect, under these conditions? Where you come from—it’s not like this? We see people coming from different lands, but it's always a long journey, looking for something better. Where you come from, it is better?”
Different people started crowding around us and excitedly asking the same type of question. Men, women, children; they had lost their initial fear and were now filled with curiosity.
"I can't understand what you're saying," I said to no one in particular, "you're all talking at once."
“Yes, where we come from is better than this,” Martina said loudly, attracting attention and silencing them.
“But, your town, why is it like this?” I asked.
“What do you expect under these conditions?” the man repeated.
“What conditions?” I continued.
There was silence, until one man piped up, “Because of the bombs.”
Everyone shrugged or laughed, as if that was obvious.
“Well, of course, the bombs every few years, what do you expect under these conditions,” the man said. “We try to rebuild, but the bombs take everything away, destroy all our work. Only the war mongers can thrive in this atmosphere.”
“There are bombs here?” Andy said.
“Why, where you are from there are no bombs?” a woman said. Again, the crowd clamoured around us, heightened anticipation about our response filled the market.
“There are bombs where we are from too, but we are protected.” I said.
“Protected? How?” the woman said.
“By the dome around our Earth base,” I said.
They all recoiled, gasping slightly. Everyone looked at us in fear, as if we were suddenly transformed into hideous monsters. They went back to their stands, tried to continue like normal, as if nothing had happened; but it was an act, they were suddenly afraid of us.
“Death to the Great Satan!” one youth screamed defiantly from the back of the hall, bolting out the side seconds later, fumbling across a pile of merchandise, spreading it around the ground. The merchant shouted after the fleeing child.
Everyone looked at us for a reaction. They tried continuing their normal activities; busying themselves with their market, but all the while, each kept one fearful eye on us, suddenly filled with horror at our presence yet trying not to let it show. This was a crowd that was used to this; continuing with daily life, busying themselves, yet always insecure and waiting for something to happen. Our presence was new, but if anything, worse than the usual. Only the bald dark man continued to stare at us, unblinking; yet even he fumbled with some fruit on a stand, making airs that he was otherwise preoccupied. The bald dark man furrowed his brow, seemed puzzled that we did not chase after the obstinate youth.
“Why do you react this way?” I said to the crowd.
No one looked my way, they all looked down, busy, busy, constantly busy. I glared one way, then the other, but no one would look at me.
“What the hell's going on?” Andy said. He grabbed one of the men by his scruffy shirt. “Speak, what’s going on here?”
“Let go of him, Stoneman. You’re only making things worse. People, people, we mean you no harm!” But now they were no longer convinced, no one wanted to speak to us, until one little man, skinny and slouched, crept up beside me and said slyly:
“I believe you sir. I know a noble soul when I see one.” He grabbed me by the elbow, to lead me aside. I knew this man was trouble, but we were desperate for information, for someone to talk to us. “I know that you are obviously noble warriors; against the crude likes of Big Simon and his henchman. This town has been under his control for too long. Are you—are you lot with the holy warriors?”
“No—the World Government” I said, "besides holy warriors are controlled by Big Simon."
“The World Government?” he laughed. “And the holy warriors controlled by Big Simon?! Very funny sir, World Government! The story about being from the big dome, that’s good strategy, have them in fear, eating from the palm of your hand.”
I ripped my arm from his grasp. “Look you, I don’t know what your game is, but I'm telling you the truth.”
"This guy knows less than us," Martina said, "forget about him."
“Sorry, sorry,” the man said. “But look at you. The uniforms are clean, makes you look important, but the guns are not very modern, typical of what the thugs around here would have. It looks to me like you’re trying to appear like something you’re not.”
“I don’t care what you think,” I said, walking away from him.
“Please sir, please,” he grabbed my arm again. I raised my arm to slap him and he recoiled. “We’re all friends here,” he said. “I'd like to discuss something to our mutual benefit.”
“I don’t like the sound of this guy,” Martina said.
“Well, I guess we’re not getting anything out of this bunch here,” Andy said, waving an arm towards the crowd. “Let’s listen to what he's got to say.”
“Now there’s an intelligent man,” the skinny man said, a smile growing across his dirty face. “I know someplace we can talk.”
“Are we gonna follow him?” Martina asked.
We followed him as the wary eyes of the crowd watched us leave. The bald dark man walked out at the same time as us. Some other people entered the market as we were leaving. They were on two-wheeled leg-powered vehicles like the boy who brought us in. They had huge baskets of differing products on their backs as they rode in. I suddenly realized how hungry I was. The man who we were following saw me eying a basket of vegetables.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We can have something to eat where we’re heading.”
**
The man led us down a particularly narrow street. Trees grew over top of it, lending ambiance and soothing shade. It was much hotter in the city than when we were in the mountains, and the shade was welcome. He actually had a door to his establishment--or maybe it was his house; I wasn't sure. We walked into an open dark room; the only light coming through the open windows. Throughout the city, from what I could see, there was rarely any glass in windows--apart from broken shards lying on the ground. The room was divided up by rickety tables, and there was a bar in the corner. It certainly felt like a makeshift bar or restaurant, but it didn't look like it was used too much, so it was hard to tell.
“Would you like something to drink?” the man inquired, going behind the bar. We all looked at each other, the answer was obvious. The man laughed and poured out four glasses of brownish liquid.
“It’s aged for six months, an excellent vintage,” he said.
I was so thirsty that I recklessly drank half the glass without even tasting it. The others looked at me for my reaction. I’m sure I wasn't very helpful, because the booze tasted awful, but I needed to have something, so I knocked the rest of the glass back.
"Well, he's still alive," Martina said.
The others soon followed suit. Within a few minutes, the dark bald man from the market wandered into the bar. He sat in the corner; the bar man who led us in eyed him suspiciously, then asked what he wanted.
“An ale please, barkeep,” he said.
“What do you have to pay?” the bartender asked.
“I have fresh tomatoes,” the bald dark man said, showing an open bag.
The bartender walked over and looked in the bag. “I’ll give you a drink for the bag.”
“Come now, barkeep, you can spare two.”
“Okay, two.” The bartender went and got the dark man a drink, then turned to us, his broad smile returning. I trusted him even less now.
“Do you want bread? I have fresh bread and tomatoes.”
“Yes,” Andy said.
The bartender prepared us a tray of bread and tomatoes and we dug in, eating his food, drinking his booze.
“As I was saying,” the bartender said. “We have mutual interests. We all want this tyrannical rule of Big Simon to end. We can work together.”
“First of all, we don’t really know who Big Simon is, and second of all, how could you possibly help us,” Martina said.
“Okay, okay. If you still want to continue with the charade that's fine with me. You're from the dome city, with your old 21st century guns; that’s fine. Now let’s discuss how we can work together.”
“No offence friend,” Andy added, “but you don’t look like you would be much help in a fight.”
“Me, no, of course not; but I have friends, friends that can help you gain power.”
“Look,” I said. “We’re not interested in becoming the new warlords of this God-forsaken city. Replacing one nut job with one of your friends, who is probably another nut job. No interest to us. We want to make things better around here.”
“Of course, of course, that is what I want too. Don’t get me wrong. We have the same interests, the same desire for these poor, downtrodden citizens. Simon, he’s not good, not good at all for this town. I have friends, friends that are interested in change also. But we need numbers, like Simon.”
“Like Simon,” I said. “Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of—like Simon. What makes your bunch so different from the rest?”
The bartender laughed. “I suppose we’re all the same, in a way. But you will meet my friends. They come here every afternoon. We've been looking for people to join forces with us, to help implement a change.
We ate his food and drank his raunchy booze.
"I'm so hungry," Andy said, "that this meal tastes a lot better than it should."
"Especially the booze," Martina said and we laughed. I thought I saw a frown creep in on our host's plastic smile.
I was just about to start talking to the bald dark man when our host's friends arrived.
“Ah—here they come now.”
In walked a man, followed by two others, who did not look very much different from the two we had dealt with in the market. They had more guns though, I don’t know if that made them better, but certainly more dangerous. The one in front was obviously the leader, smaller than the other two, but walking with his back completely straight and his arms held wide from his body--as if trying to amplify his tiny frame. The three eyed us suspiciously.
“Who are dem?” the leader said to the bartender.
“They're friends, Dan, friends I met at the market. They had an altercation with Simon’s men, sent them packing rather nicely. You would've enjoyed it immensely.”
“Nobody would send me packing so quickly, right boys?”
The two followers chimed in their approval. Dan turned a chair around backwards and pushed it close to me. He sat down, his arms on the top, a handgun hanging in one hand, looked straight at me, perhaps a foot from my face. “So, you think you’re tough enough for this town. I haven’t seen you around. Did ya get run out of your last town? A girl—what she here for—pleasure?”
Martina jumped at the provocation. She used one arm to hold Dan’s gun hand down, and held her rifle to his forehead. “I don’t approve of that sorta talk.”
Dan laughed. “Easy little lady, easy.”
His tone changed, mellowed. “I’m just playing, seeing what I’m dealing with. Good choice Ralphy.” He said to the bartender. “We need people like youse in dis town, to free it from da grips of Simon.”
“And maybe put it right in yours,” I said.
“We're all the same, I reckon. We all want what we don’t have, now don’t we? But its time for change, time for Simon ta go. He getting fat and lazy, living on the mountaintop. He been dere since de last attacks. He was lucky to get to de top of de hill—he’s had his run—time for someone to gut de pig—right boys?”
His henchmen laughed. They were two barrel shaped goons.
“Maybe he is an animal that needs gutting,” I said, “but maybe there are others too.”
Dan and I looked at each other long and hard, waiting for the other to flinch. Martina had removed her gun from Dan’s forehead, but she was still holding it at the ready, not aimed directly at him, but that could have changed quickly.
Dan turned to the bartender Ralphy and ordered some food and booze. They took a table not far from the bald dark man. They ate like ravenous animals, wiping their hands on their dirty rag clothing. They did not give anything to pay; yet were treated much more politely than the bald dark man. They held tight to their guns, like they were the only things of value in the world. The meal was over and they were wiping their faces with their greasy forearms.
Just then, shadows of other figures darkened the doorway.
"Those guys look familiar," Martina said, recognizing the pair staring in the open window.
"From the market," Andy said.
"Place's getting a little too busy today Ralphie," Dan said. His two henchmen began to rise.
"Youse looking for something?" Dan said to the two curious newcomers.
“There they are,” the voice said from outside the bar, looking in on us and ignoring Dan