It Was 2052 (9 page)

The child had already reached the man who sat in the shadow of the tree. His tiny hands on Jackson's knees, he said, “Look mister, ducks!”

Anissa breathlessly caught up to the boy and scolded, “Lee, I told you to stop. You must not bother the man.” As she bent to lift him up, she slid a folded note under the hand that Jackson had resting on his leg.

He dared not look up at her but smiled at the boy, “No bother. The ducks are great, aren't they?”

He leaned back in the shadows and tucked the note in his shirt pocket.  Anissa mumbled, “Sorry,” and walked away with the Lee in her arms.  The street thug was not a long distance behind and the super soldier watched from a nearby shelter.

Chapter Six

The Brave Few

Eric's whistle echoed down the hall and Jackson came to a halt, turned toward the friend and raised his hand. 
Damn
.  He had hustled away from the park, had resisted the urge to run back to Brewer's Village and his room so that he could read the note in private.
Have to wait.
He walked toward the friend.

“Hey man, where ya been?” Before he could answer, Eric said, “The mayor wants us to do some work in his private quarters.” He laughed as they moved back toward the maintenance area, “I think his own closet rods finally fell. He mentioned some more shelves and another repair or two. Thought I better have you along.” The afternoon was busy but seemed to be dragging to Jackson.  Finally, the work was finished and he was back in his room.

The note with the neat handwriting that Anissa had passed to him lay on the small table in front of him. He looked out the window at the city.  The tall village buildings rose with the upper stories eerily dark against a twilight sky, broken windows. Vines twisted up and around, some brown and dying from being trimmed and lopped off to keep the lower floor windows clear. Some were oddly green and alive, their snaking limbs finding a place to root all the way down at ground level.  Dots of light emanated from the lower stories of the buildings and cast shadows of the stream of people that ebbed and flowed along the cracked sidewalks. Very few scenes of interaction between the pedestrians, just constant movement. The assorted jerking vehicles on the street actually provided the majority of the noise and energy,
honk!
and
schree-ech!
the curses of the reckless taxi drivers. The dim headlights cast twin tunnels of light that crossed and darted and created a wild light show between the buildings.

His eyes strained to see the huge screen above the street where he had first spotted the tempting lips of Anissa.  The screen faced the street, a couple of blocks away, his view of it was from the side. The changing images cast out a wide light and he could only see flickers and flashes of color. He got a cool beer from the small refrigerator, sat at the table to read the letter again.

My sweet Jackson,

I don't know when or even IF I will get this letter to you but I'm holding out a hope that I will. I know we've had very limited contact, my heart and intuition tells me that you are a good man. I have come to realize that my fear has kept me trapped in this horrible situation that is my life.  Seeing you, even from afar and not being able to talk to you or touch you, is so very painful.

The truth is that I still must be extremely careful and protect my son at all cost. Perhaps, I'm mistaken, I think that you might care for me or could care for me.  I've made this hard and maybe selfish decision, a decision that could very well be dangerous for myself and for you.  I would not blame you if you took my original advice and stayed as far away as possible from me and the world that surrounds me.

It is obvious, those that watch me will never give us opportunity to meet in the park. In addition to the street scum that is my constant shadow, I seem to have acquired a new bulky and totally unfamiliar escort.  There has to be more going on in the Luciano Village than just the everyday sleazy activities.  I hear bits and pieces and see many strangers coming in and out. I've made up my mind to try and learn some more.  I will tell you this, the Sheriff is not a person to be trusted and Dr. Pendelton is a man to fear.  

While I'm not sure exactly what I'm asking of you and what you can do, I can't resist the possibility of seeing you and talking to you.  If by some chance your heart makes you also reckless, please consider this plan. I will continue to go to the park on Thursdays but I'm asking you to please no longer be there. There is a small brick building behind the Luciano, abandoned and unused. It sets beside a larger metal building that is now used for vehicle and other maintenance storage.  I believe we could meet in the deserted building with some safety. Enter in the back door of the building. The only time that I could possibly slip out from my rooms would be after midnight, about 1:00. I will try to be there Thursday night.

Please, be careful and trust no one.  Whether we can be together or not, you already live in my heart.  Anissa

Reading the letter for the second time caused Jackson not one ounce less anxiety. There was nothing he wanted more than to be with this woman. If he went along with her plan, would he put her in more danger?  The fact was, he knew a lot more than she, even being on the inside, about the growing menace at Luciano's, about the Network. From the standpoint of the government alliance, which he had unintentionally become a part of, she could possibly be an invaluable asset.  From a personal place, his desire to rescue her and have her consumed him.

As often was the case, the words of his plain spoken grandmother came back to him, “Son, don't ever make decisions with your britches.” she had looked over her glasses directly at his crotch and made him squirm in discomfort.  Then thumping her finger on his head, “You use your head.” After a moment, she smiled at him and put the arthritic hand on his chest, “Never deny the heart, though.”

So, where did that leave him?  He wished he could talk to Eric,
better not.
Of course, he could talk to John, even with Anissa's warning, he knew he could trust him.  In the hall, he heard muffled voices. It was Mamie, leaving John's room with her usual
Night, my love. 
He could hear the jangle of her bracelets and recognized the honeyed drawl.
Mamie.
Maybe a woman would be the one to talk to.

Quietly, he pulled his door closed and saw the swish of her robe through her door as it closed.  He tapped with his knuckles, “Mamie, it's Jackson. Can I speak to you a minute?”

The door opened a crack,  “Hi honey, what is it. Are you okay?”

“Don't want to bother you but, could I talk to you for a minute?” he looked around, his voice uncertain.

The door opened wider, “Sure, come on in.”

He unfolded the letter and handed it to her. “Sit down,” she said, swirled to the opposite chair and put her glasses on.  After she finished she spread the letter in front of her, “Crap. This is trouble, Jack. I smell trouble.”

He said, “She could be an asset.”

“True. What if it got her hurt or killed, or you or even worse, the boy?”

“I need to get them away from there,” his voice was tinged with uncertainty and pain.

Mamie paced around the small room, then sat on the edge of her bed that had a spread with bright flowers covering it. When her eyes met his, they were moist. “When I came here, when this all began for me, I have to say that it seemed a bit of a game, a little exciting. I knew the country and the world was struggling to rebuild. I was aware there's plenty of bad guys. It seemed to me though that the good guys were winning, things were beginning to grow again.  I mean---my god, no little group of hoodlums was going to take over America. These last few weeks I've began to understand that this is no small bad group. This is an organized, growing and massive threat to us.  I believe that we have to do whatever we can, at whatever risk. We have to join with our government and fight to save this country.”

“You think that I should meet with Anissa, let her know what we know?”

She sighed, “I think that you and all of us will protect her as much as possible but she can be a valuable source of information, right where she is for now.  I will talk to John and Bud. You always stay cautious, Jack, stay armed. And if you get in a situation with one of her constant watchers, don't hesitate to take them out, understand?”

He nodded and took her hand, “Thanks, Mamie.” He folded the note and slipped out and back to his own room. The paper smoked and burned over his small sink. Tomorrow was Thursday, he checked his guns and ammunition. Closer to morning, he finally slept.

***

“A slave farm?” Bud, again sat at the bar in the underground government bunker and shared a beer with his driver. 

He hadn't brought much information to Sharon, the Colonel, on this visit. He did tell her that it seemed that they would have an insider in the Luciano Village, hopefully give them some useful intel in the future. 

“We do have a mole on the inside of the Network. Can't have too much intel though. I'll let your driver fill you in on the latest. You'll probably enjoy the briefing much better over a drink.” Sharon smiled, stood and shook his hand. Dismissed.

“Yeah,” said the beer buddy. “Pretty nasty place actually. Looks like to me the unsuccessful prodigy of Dr. Pendelton end up there. Also, the whores that aren't very popular.”

Bud just stared at him for a moment and took another sip of brew. “You're the mole?”

The buddy laughed, “I've always told you that I'm a mole.”

“Thought you were just referring to living in this underground town,” he said. “I did spot you in the Villages the other day. Thought it best not to speak.”

“Good man. Anyways---” the mole continued to bring Bud up to date on the plans of the Network, the Sheriff, the super soldiers.

“Getting more serious all the time, it seems,” said Bud.

“It's some heavy sh-t, alright.  These people are growing stronger everyday. Think it'll be all out war eventually, probably starting in Dallas.”

Bud ordered another beer, “That certainly puts our latest ally in extreme peril. If she makes a wrong step, they'll kill her for sure.”

“What ally? Her, who?”

“You know, Anissa. She lives there at Luciano's.”

“That exotic beauty that manages the prostitutes, the madam?” said the driver.

Bud said, “Yes. She's not exactly willingly in that job, though. She has a little boy and elderly father. They live on the fourth floor. That slime Pendelton, keeps her in line with his threats to harm the boy. She wants out, she just recently offered to join our alliance. She has made contact with our friend, Jackson.”

As they shared the last drink of the night, the buddy said, “It's a shame but you're right. She's walking a thin line. If they find out she is spying on them, they will cut her up and feed her to the pigs at the farm, her son, too.”

He walked down the rather sterile bright hallway to his small bunk room. He knew there were busy bee workers and offices, there was the bar, the cafeteria, medical facilities and many more areas that he had never been invited into. This was a huge sprawling underground base. How well equipped and trained were the government forces?  How many other bases like this one?  They kept saying rather vague statements, like
we are building, we are gathering more information.
He had seen some aging tanks and equipment around. Were they even functional? Was there fuel for them? What kind of weapons did the armies have?

When the woman, Anissa crossed his mind, the beer turned over unpleasantly in his stomach. Thoughts of what could happen to her darkened his mind and he had never been able to stomach when children were in harm's way.  Jackson would be deeply wounded if something happened to her. There was John and Mamie. What a pathetic little alliance. He needed to believe that their loyalty and intel gathering would benefit their government's forces and that those armies were much better prepared for a battle than he had been privy to. The Network was mushrooming and it was going to take more than a brave few to defeat them.

***

The vintage tennis shoes kept his steps cushioned and quite, the stairway to the bottom of Brewer's Village was pitch black, devoid of light. He always liked wearing the shoes, found them still in their box,  in the back of a storeroom of the compound where he grew up. Either they were forgotten or didn't fit anyone that was interested. Just a half size too big, they were lightweight and comfortable.  Jackson turned on his small flashlight every few moments and quickly back off, mostly picked his way down the stairs. He rounded a corner and his body collided with another, a figure stumbled backward down a couple of steps. Deep curses spat out. The light showed the gleam of a knife. Then a familiar face, it was a resident of the fourth floor that he recognized. The knife jabbed.

“Wait---wait! It's me, Jackson,” he said in a loud whisper.

His beam showed the startled eyes of Jason and huddled right behind him, Larry. His fourth floor neighbor lowered the knife, “Cheez-us, Jack. What the hell are you doing?” said Jason in an exaggerated exhale.

Larry's arm was around his partners waist and he peered out around him, “You scared the plain  crap out of us, boy.”

He had to laugh, “You gave me quite a scare, yourselves. What are you guys doing out so late?”

Now, perfectly willing to be chatty, Jason said, “Oh my, you know that nice new bar down at the Midtown Village---well, we just had a few too many drinks.”

Larry broke in, “It was just so much fun, full of interesting folks and wild music. Where are you going?”

“Um—uh, I've got to check out something in the market that they need repaired before they open tomorrow.” It was thin, all he could come up with.

“You poor dear.  The night shift.” clucked Larry.

“You guys better get upstairs before you get in trouble.  I gotta go, Good Night.”