It Was 2052 (8 page)

He sat back down and started to make a list of some fresh produce and things he wanted Son to bring from the farm.  “To continue, I want you to keep an eye on Anissa.  That street thug that works for the Sheriff has the brain of a gnat.  Actually, the Sheriff couldn't pour piss out of a boot, as they used to say at the University. Crude but true.”

“Yes-sir,” Son stood and accurately lobbed the beer bottle into a trash can about ten feet away. He reached out for the list.

“One more thing, I want you to watch the woman but hands off,” said the doctor. He only received an expressionless stare from his son.

“We don't need to be breeding defiance. If we had to eliminate the woman and her father, the boy would have to be sent to the farm. Though his father was a soldier, I doubt we would be able to train his mother's rebellion out of him.  If you have needs, get in the mood, there's that number ten female soldier.  She is quite beautiful, the two of you would make a good match.”

Still no expression from Son, “She's a bit young, isn't she?”

“Sixteen. She's quite competent, I promise.” One last unreturned smile from the old man.

A wide hand reached out and made the bones crunch in his father's, “Later, Sir.  I'll be reporting.” The door closed and left Pendelton rubbing his shoulder from the vigorous goodbye shake.

***

The slick, low slung motorcycle zoomed along the road that led south out of the Villages, it was heavy with large saddlebags on the back.  The 600 cc corn alcohol fueled machine was not small but appeared so beneath the bulky rider, who hunkered down and wore dark goggles. The figure in the shabby clothes and hat had just climbed in the faded green car when he saw the bike and rider flash by. “I'll be damned---it's the Frankenstein soldier
.
Where the hell is he headed in such a rush?” He pulled out from the side road, determined to keep the road rocket in site.

The rural road was hilly, sometimes the bike and rider would disappear in a deep valley or around a corner. The long old car just kept rumbling along, a good distance behind.  The driver stopped and took his scruffy hat off, squinted into the distance. He thought he had somehow lost the cycle, then he spotted a puff of dust moving between fields of crops and towards several buildings and barns. Beyond the buildings, dots of cattle could be seen grazing in wide open meadows. The car approached a dirt road that twisted between the crop fields. There was a heavy gate at the entrance, with chains and a padlock. 

Not a good idea to just go cruising down the entry road anyway,
thought the government man.  He
rolled on, past the crops and fields, found a stand of trees to somewhat secret the car in.  Checking to insure that his .45 and a second pistol were secure beneath his loose shirt and in his boot, he added some extra ammo, put the hat back on and headed out on foot.

The corn grew well above his head, drooping long leaves and ears of corn crowded the row that he carefully made his way along. There was no noise of workers or equipment in the field but he could hear voices and the sounds of crops being gathered farther ahead of him. He counted on the rustle of moving through the tall stalks being covered by the distant clamor.  For a moment he paused, sweat trailed down his brow, he debated whether to move on toward the busy field. He took a deep breath. It wasn't a good trait for a man that often needed to move with stealth, hide out and spy but he detested tight places.  The rows of corn were stifling, blocked out light and air. 

His decision was made, he would move sideways across the rows until he reached the dirt entry road. When it was clear, he would dash across and into the corn field on the opposite side. From what he had observed when the farm came into view, the buildings and barns were on that side of property. He safely navigated across and into the other field, squatted down near the edge of the stalks and took in what he could view.

Only about a hundred feet from his vantage point was a large barn.  Beyond the barn lay stables and two more buildings with tall walls and roofs.  Then stretched a metal roof, no walls just pole supports. Under the roof bales of hay stacked and a couple of large tractors, some other assorted farming equipment was stored.  A distance behind the field he had stopped short of, where he now could see dozens of workers gathering crops was a sprawling low building with a sparse number of entrances and windows. 
Is it housing? Maybe a dining hall?
  No activity there at the moment.

Armed guards on horseback patrolled the workers and he noticed more at various positions around the farm encampment.  A large tractor trailer truck was backed up to one of the buildings. He could see corn filled about half the trailer space and crates of jars and cans were being loaded in the remaining space, also some crates of fresh vegetables. 
LUCIANO'S
was printed on the truck door. His scan spotted the silenced motorcycle parked under a large tree. Though the fields and meadows of the farm were clear and wide open, several hardwood trees towered among the structures, cast a welcome shade on the area. 

Having somewhat a lay of the land, his organized mind began to take stock of the people, the workers and the guards. One thing was already certain, these were not paid employees, this was a slave labor farm. People were scattered across the area, obviously working in the buildings as well as the fields. Two mounted guards circled the field where the large number of workers toiled.  He could see at least eight more around the area, a couple where the truck was being loaded, others at the various structures.  So far, he hadn't spied the super soldier,
must be in one of the buildings.
No one had gone in or out of the big barn, while he had been observing.

His raggedy clothes might allow him to blend in, he was going to try to ease over to the barn. He stepped out into the open and the sunshine.  He had covered about half the distance to the barn, when he felt the hot snort of breath behind him and a rifle butt in his back, “Where the hell you think you're going?”

The government man didn't turn, just looked down under the crumpled hat, “Uh, I'm going to the barn for some tools, sir. I had t'piss, stepped into the corn.”
Sh-t! I hope the barn is where they keep the tools.

The horse danced around and pawed at the ground, “Well, git the hell in there and back to the field.”

“Yes-sir,” he walked toward the barn, never turning to look at the guard.

Inside, his eyes adjusted, he saw the hoes and shovels and other tools lined up against one wall.  He didn't see any other way out of the big barn,
surely there is another entrance besides the big double doors.
He took a shovel and started searching for another exit.  The sound of the wide door sliding open stopped him. 

“You better get out of there, you lazy slacker!” the shout filled the cavernous space.

Damnit, going to have to take this guy out.  Can't afford a shot fired. 
He stumbled, looked down at a large rusty metal ring under the scattered hay.  Pulling on the ring, he lifted the wooden door. Narrow steps led down to a root or storm cellar. Judging by the smell, it possibly had been used to isolate and punish people.  Every step down was forced, a hole was not where he enjoyed being. The heavy door closed behind him and the light was gone.
A frickin tomb. 
He felt like the dirt walls were inches from him. The small flashlight from his pocket showed the room to be a bit roomier, perhaps ten foot square. The walls were dank soil and there was a row of shelves down one side. In the corner, some bones and nothing else more than the claustrophobic stink. He still held the shovel, he leaned it against the shelf and waited.

The stomping of the guards boots echoed around the barn.  “I know you're in here, peon---” The steps were closer, “Ah-hah! What a stupid place to hide.” The heavy door cracked open and the guard stood peering down in the hole.  “That's going to be the perfect place for you to stay, done my work for me.”

Two strong hands grabbed onto each of the guard's ears and his sneering face bounced down the wooden steps, making contact with most of them. On the floor of the cellar, a boot in his back, the shovel came down hard and swift on the back of his head, twice.  The government man climbed out of the cellar and closed the heavy door, scattered the hay back over it.

He needed to move fast now. The horse was tied at the open door. He pulled it inside and tried to look around some more from the crack of the wide door.  The loaded tractor trailer pulled away down the dirt road.  He saw the soldier putting some vegetables and jars, a couple of other packages into the saddlebags of the cycle. It appeared he had just come shopping.  He assumed that the tall buildings were processing and preserving factories for the food crops. Another building a little farther from the main compound appeared to be a meat processing plant and also there were chicken houses.

The more he watched the residents of the farm, the more he noticed how many seemed to be not very healthy and many had handicaps, limps and twisted limbs. He saw that one poor guy who was slapped and told to get back to work, seemed to barely have the mind of a child.   Entering the low building that he thought might be housing, was a line of about ten women. All of them were in various stages of pregnancy. His thoughts turned dark,
These unfortunates are Dr. Pendelton's failures, his culls. The women are probably his breeders, unwillingly birthing his prized super soldiers of the future. What a nightmare of a place.  The Network is pure evil, they can't be allowed to take over this country.

The motorcycle sped away in the same cloud of dust it had arrived in. It was time for him to get out, before someone missed the guard.  He crept back through the corn fields to the old military auto, back tracked the way he had followed the bike and soldier.  As the rusted gates of the secreted base slid open, he tried to organize his thoughts and remember all the intel he had to pass along to the General. She would be very interested in the information that he gathered on the operations of the Network.

***

On the fourth floor of the Luciano Village, the large fan whirred in the small rooms of Anissa, her father and son. The steamy smoke from the rice dish she cooked drifted out the square of screen high on their one window. She smiled, her father was always very smart and inventive. Of course, the windows in high rise buildings are stationary, they don't open if it's above the first floor. She and her father both hated the stuffy feeling of no outside air. Very carefully, he taped off, scored and slowly worked on breaking out a square of the window glass. It was high enough for the boy not to reach it and they kept a piece of screen taped over the opening. In the colder season, they taped plastic over the screen.  At least, some fresh air could enter and the fumes of their cooking could exit. 

There was a tapping at the door, Lee's short plump legs pumped up and down, “Chel-ly, Momma, Chelly is here!” 

Anissa had to laugh, “Yes, Shelly is here. Come in.”

The door opened and the young cocoa skinned woman stepped in and swung the toddler up and around, “Oh-h, there's my sweet boy.” The toddler's arms encircled her neck and he giggled as he laid his head on her shoulder.

“Smells good, I'm starved,” she said as she sat down in a chair with the baby.

As Anissa put some plates of the rice dish on the small table, the father went over and locked the door. He had noticed the bandage on his daughter's hand but asked no questions. There was no
point in asking about things he had no control over.  He was old, he was weary, he already had seen and knew much more than he ever wished.  Shelly fed the boy a bite of the rice mixture and they all laughed as he said
yum,yum.

“Would you like to go to the park with Momma tomorrow?” Anissa said to Lee. The father and the friend
both got a worried look but didn't comment. 

“Yea! The park. Can I see the ducks?”

“Sure, we'll see the ducks,” smiled Anissa.

They finished the meal and a little later, the father carried the toddler down the hall to the bathroom to clean him up for bed.   Shelly looked at the calender on the wall that Anissa's father so carefully created and kept up. “Tomorrow is Thursday. Are you sure that you want to go to the park?” she said.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

The grandfather returned and took his towel wrapped grandson into the small bedroom to get him to sleep.

Shelly and Anissa sat at the small table, cleared of supper. The friend whispered, “You are going to get him hurt.”

The mother gave her a stricken look, “I would never endanger Lee, never. I promise you, I am not---will not, do anything that puts him at risk.”

With a look of remorse and a soft pat to the bandage on her friend's hand, Shelly said, “Of course not. That was a crappy thing for me to say.  Just be careful, please.”

The next afternoon, the sky displayed it's usual haze of yellow light over the blue and the milky water slowly gurgled along side the park. Jackson sat on the shaded bench near the water's edge. He watched with regret as Anissa and her son, Lee walked along the shore and the boy gleefully threw pieces of crackers at the half a dozen ducks or so that floated along. Once again, she was being watched and there would be no contact with her. The ducks floated closer to his location and he was pleased that at least he could see her pretty face better.  The boy bumped and jumped as children do, laughing and excited about the ducks.  Then he dashed toward Jackson, with his mother shouting, “No---Lee! Come here Lee, right now.”