The Collective (8 page)

“Right here.” Grey stopped where the branches hung low and
coverage was high, providing an ideal resting spot. “We’ll rest here awhile and
start again at daybreak.”

Abel sat down on the ground and removed his pack. He
reloaded his other gun and pulled the shaft. He offered water to Grey. They sat
in dark silence gulping down the liquid. “So how do you know so much about the
woods?”

“I’ve been in and out of here since I was young.” Grey said
focused on the darkness in front of him.

“How was it? You know. Before the Collective.” Abel liked
to ask that question of older people. It was his way of piecing together the
history that was lost to him. His father had told him the story of the rise of
the Collective, but a new voice always added a different wrinkle to the tale.

Grey leaned back and read the stars in the sky
nostalgically as if they could tell the story.  “My father lived in the town of
Bourdain, but it was different from how you know it today.

It was a
thriving suburb. Before the Collective came, water was growing scarce. People
got by accessing creeks, finding wells and sharing the resources. If you
discovered a creek, folks would come from miles around to get a taste. Then,
someone got the bright idea to purchase the land and charge for the use of the
creek, pond or well. It was a cheap way to regulate overexposure to a water
source.  Few complained because the cost was low. It was just the beginning.
Some rich entrepreneurs decided to purchase the lakes, too polluted for human
consumption and the ocean fronts, not consumable due to the salt. At first no
one opposed the acquisitions. Many thought these men and women could find a way
to bring an affordable water source to the masses. Soon, the lawyers moved in
and expanded the waterfront property law to extend two-hundred miles from shore
as opposed to the previous law of two-hundred feet. Fences started going up
around the beaches and great lakes. Only people of status were allowed near the
water. Trespassers were being shot on sight. No water for washing and no fish.
Riots ensued; everyone realized their folly. By then it was too late. The
government and military collapsed under the economic strain.  The most powerful
families held a summit high in the Rocky Mountains, dreaming up the
Morphesizer. They promised this would be the answer to humanity’s prayers.  The
gates would be removed and water would flow again. Many were doubtful. Over a
one year period, with architects, engineers, scientists and craftsmen working
twenty-four hour days, the machine was built. It was held as the solution to
America’s problems and perhaps the world. It was to be unveiled on the west
coast as a gift to the human race. At the time, the Collective was a non-profit
organization, so water prices would fall back to the early twenty-first century
costs. The main philanthropists who spearheaded this dream met again to commune
and congratulate one another on their success. At the end of the gala, a jumbo
private jet left headed towards the west coast carrying the richest people in
the country along with their socially conscious peers. The two jets escorting
the aircraft dropped behind it and fired two missiles a piece. There were no
survivors. The pilots were eventually apprehended and executed, although they
maintained their innocence. The nation mourned, but was given hope as the
Morphesizer was commemorated.  Fronting the project was a man not known for his
generosity, Yual Mordal. He became the head of the House of Saran, the richest
man in the country and promoted the machine with Quitteri Croman and Victor
Xonox.  You know the rest. They monopolized water production and thrust us back
into the dark ages. My family retreated to these woods to live off the land.
They swore to defend it against intruders.

Abel was silent letting the story sink in before he spoke
up. “My father told me of the machine’s intention.  I never understood why the
terrorists destroyed that plane. Those people were the hope for our society.”

“The real question is not what group, but what men.” Grey
reminded.

“My father spoke of the Xonox rumors.” Abel said
retrospectively. “I guess I never cared enough to ask more questions.”

Grey was not surprised. “Few people speak of Xonox or the
rumors.”

“Until a few days ago, he seemed like something that
mothers dreamed up to scare their                  children.” Abel sat back
against a tree trunk. “But now, for the first time I understand how real a
threat he is. He’s why I’m here. I need to find a man named Tommie Gun.”

“Tommie Gun?  Strange name.” Grey said dully.

“He’s supposed to be in this forest. He used to work for
Xonox.” Abel revealed.

“Oh, I understand now.” Grey said, his voice growing lower.
“We’ll find him.”

“I appreciate your help Grey. You seem to know this forest
well. How can I repay you?”

Grey laughed, raising the bread in his hand. “You can
provide a real dinner next time.”

“That’s a deal.” Abel smiled as he put his hands behind his
head satisfied he was on the right path.

The forest was dark and still. It was impossible for Abel
to see his hands in front of him.  Only the dull glow from Grey’s small pocket
light penetrated the night. Abel slid down from the rock he was perched on,
closing his eyes as he put his hand over his weapon. Grateful as he was for
Grey’s assistance, he was still leery of the stranger. How did he manage to
take out the gang so effortlessly? He could make out an outline of Grey and
hear him nibbling on the bread they shared. Abel could see the white of Grey’s
eyes staring off into space it seemed unlikely that he had dispatched of three
gang members just a short time ago. His nature was docile or even harmless.
Abel faded off to sleep confident in his ability to thwart any trickery. He had
a long road ahead and rest was a necessity.

CHAPTER 8

KEERA

Two days had passed since Abel rode off in search of Tommie
Gun. There was no word from him or sign that he would be coming back. But Keera
knew in her heart that he would be back. He had to come back. She could not
imagine living out her days in this place. True to his word Warden was a host
of hosts. Food, wine and laughter flowed freely. Every night she and Isnor were
the guests of honor at Warden’s table. Isnor seemed to have made friends,
boasting, toasting and gambling with Warden’s inner circle. She was not sure if
he was displaying common courtesy or really admired how Warden lived. In the
mornings they would be summoned from their rooms for breakfast. The morning
meal consisted of the leftover meat from the night before. If Warden was not a
king, he surely lived like one. Warden and his cohorts would ramble on for
hours about distant battles, faded memories and the excitement of the last
tournament. Only his inner circle, who had battled at Warden’s side in the
gang’s infancy, could jest about Abel almost catching Warden with a solid
punch. They said he was a step slow. If Abel had not fought four combatants
prior, Abel would be sitting at the head of the table and Warden would be out
searching for Tommie Gun and fighting off killer bushes. Everyone got a great
laugh at Warden’s expense. Even Isnor joined in.

In the afternoons, Warden and his circle would venture over
to the arena for in-house battles and training. The contestants were mainly
disgruntled members of Warden’s army. This was the way disputes over money,
titles or pride was settled amongst Warden’s people. The battle that day was
between two of Warden’s Sergeants. A bet was wagered and lost, but someone had
refused to pay. No matter who was right or wrong the outcome was mediated in
the circle. The ring was the final decider. To the victor went the spoils.
Occasionally a rowdy person from the market would be brought in and taught the
error of his ways. Warden did not allow his followers to abuse their power. But
if a youngster wanted to test his mettle Warden would oblige from time to time,
usually to the young man’s detriment. In that instance, the fights were
normally stopped before they got out of hand. The rabble rouser would be
cleaned up, offered a couple bottles of water and sent on his way. Now he had a
story to tell his friends. He had ‘fought’ in the ‘tournament’. Nothing was
farther from the truth, but Warden loved the notoriety, another commoner with
his name on his tongue spreading his lore. Shortly after the in-house matches
concluded, Warden would strip down to his pants and ask for challengers to test
him. If no one volunteered he would get a couple of his guards to participate.
Unable to match Warden’s quickness and power, the bout often ended with them
strewn about the ring. On this day, Warden taunted the inner circle. He chastised
the group concerning his perceived ‘lost step’, inviting them to test the
validity of their statements.  He pointed at Isnor to step into the circle.
Isnor stood up on the bench with a defiant look.  The group around him grew
silent. Isnor took a swig of his drink and laughed. “No thanks. I think I’ll
wait for Abel!”

Laughter erupted around him, Warden even chuckled slightly.
Then, quickly composing himself he breathed in deeply with his hands close to
his body. His legs were set apart even with his shoulders. His left leg slid
out as he stretched into a low position with his arms extended.  Slowly he
pushed his hands in and out as if collecting power.  In the blink of an eye, he
flipped backwards, kicked upwards; leg swept, spun around and came up blocking
and parrying an invisible foe. His speed and precision belied any lost step.
The people in the complex looked on and marveled as Warden continued to fight
his intangible opponent. Warden rolled forward, popped up, started running and
performed a flying kick across the ring. Stopping near the edge of the circle,
he brought his hands back together and calmed his breathing before bowing to
the audience. Everyone clapped in recognition of Warden’s display of skills.
Keera wondered, did the clapping come from awe or fear? No doubt Warden was
impressive, but how many times had he done this same routine and his people
fell over themselves with praise? Maybe they did revere Warden. Or was it
something else?

At dinner, Keera was the sole woman allowed to dine at Warden’s
table. Women came in and out to serve the table, but ate in a separate area
with the children. She had not noticed the arrangement until the second night
and was appalled by the situation. She sat in her seat fuming, refusing to eat
or drink. Isnor leaned over and lifted his cup towards her, motioning for her
to eat. Keera kept her mouth taut. Warden noticed she was not partaking of the
meal. “Keera, is the food not to your liking?” Warden addressed Keera in a soft
tone. But Keera did not return the gesture in kind. Her reply was acidic.

“No! This place...You’re a tyrant! Why do these people bow
to you? You’re nothing but a mercenary!”

Before anyone at the table could react to the severity of
the comments, Warden sat back in his chair and bellowed a throaty laugh. “You
see why I like her.” Warden spoke to no one in particular, lifting his hand
toward Keera. He called out to one of the women serving food.  “Naomi!”

“Yes Warden?” The woman quickly answered.

“Please escort Miss Keera to the women’s table. I think she
has had enough of us for one night.”

Naomi motioned to Keera. “If you please Keera.”

Keera stood up without a word, her eyes burning red and
fixed on Warden. She followed Naomi out of the room. Isnor watched her leave
the room. He continued to drink, but was concerned for Keera’s safety. If he
could find a chance to step away, he would check on her. For now he sought to
smooth over her words. “She just misses the boy. That’s all.”

“They say the butterfly that brushes against thorns will
tear its wings.” The smile was gone from Warden’s face. “Still...Her spunk
intrigues me.”

Isnor gulped down his wine. It had only been two days since
Abel’s departure. Isnor felt he and Keera had another a week before Warden’s
hospitality would wear thin. At any moment Warden could decide to dispatch of
them both. Or worse, keep Keera as his prize. Isnor shuddered at the thought.
Forcing a grin, he lifted his cup again. He thought about Abel and a speedy
return. Don’t fail us now
boy, he thought.

Isnor knew how dangerous the Grazen Woods were. He had
ventured there once a few years ago. Five of his associates had gone in to hunt
game despite the warnings from the villagers. Only he and another survived.
They swore never to speak of that day. He rarely thought about those
encounters. He just remembered the trees having eyes, the shaking of the tress
and the chaos that ensued. Isnor took a drink to dull the memory. Abel was
tough, but even he could not fight a forest. He took another sip and told
himself that Abel would be back any day now. That was the hope he held onto
until Abel’s return.  Since Abel’s departure, Isnor had not stepped foot
outside of the warehouse or felt the direct sun. It was eat, drink and be merry
all hours of the day. Though Isnor knew, anytime your movements are restricted
you are imprisoned. There was no question that he and Keera were Warden’s
prisoners, to be released when Abel came back with the right person and the
right information. Isnor was a gambler, so having the odds stacked against him
did not sit well. If Abel did not hold the wild card this situation could turn
bleak for the duo. Isnor summoned a laugh at one of the men’s jokes and his
eyes caught Warden. It was as if Warden was reading his mind. Warden raised his
cup to him, confirming Isnor’s fears. Isnor returned the gesture, but neither
man smiled. Time was standing still and running out at the same time. Isnor
hoped he would not have to do anything drastic. He was getting too old to fight
young men’s battles.

Keera followed Naomi to a small room near the back of the
remodeled warehouse as they walked past the dining area. The room was small,
but spacious with a large piece of mirror hung on the wall. Secured by crude
brackets, it was surprisingly intact except for the broken edges. Below the
mirror was a makeshift desk with a purple cloth over it. On the cloth sat
brushes, combs and other vanity items. Naomi pulled out the chair and motioned
for Keera to take a seat.  Keera stepped slowly to the desk, she had never seen
such a large mirror or hand carved hair styling tools. Keera thought back to
her childhood, sitting in her mother’s lap staring out the bedroom window as
she combed her hair. The comb was old, missing half of its teeth.  Her mother
always said she would trade for a new one, but the time was never right. Keera
sat down and Naomi picked up the brush. Standing behind Keera she began to
softly glide the bristles through Keera’s curly hair. Keera felt herself relax
as she looked at their reflection. Glancing up at Naomi she began to see her
for the first time. She was petite, but her eyes had an inner strength. Keera
had viewed her only as a servant, thinking her life was miserable. It seemed
she was wrong.  The gentleness of Naomi’s hands told the story of a woman who avoided
the ruggedness that this world possessed. 

“How does that feel Keera?” Naomi asked as she worked to
straighten her curls.

“Good.” Keera said. “I didn’t know all this was back here.”

“We have access to more than you think.” Naomi smiled as
she placed her hand on Keera’s shoulder. “You are a pretty woman Keera. You
know it is dangerous to travel alone. Or are you and Abel...”

“I’m alone.” Keera corrected. “Abel is just....a friend”

“I see.” She continued combing her hair.

‘We grew up in Gravope together. But I hadn’t seen him for
years.” Keera said, her voice trailing off.

“Oh?” Naomi continued stroking Keera’s curly locks.

“Yes. He saved me...Well, helped me with that biker gang in
Bourdain.”

“He is quite a fighter.” Naomi acknowledged.

“You should have seen him. He was so quick. So fearless,
not at all how I remember him.” Her eyes widened in excitement as she
remembered how Abel had come to her aid. Naomi smiled as Keera spoke. Keera saw
her and began to blush. “Anyway, I was glad he was there.”

Naomi felt the tension drift from Keera and she knew she
could probe for more information. “Is that why you accompanied him here?”

“I guess.” Keera fumbled through her words. “It was all
happening so fast. I don’t know.”

Keera
stopped talking and contemplated Naomi’s question. She never asked herself why
she had come. First she was just afraid. But then. She stopped her mind from
drifting. Her only concern should be Abel’s safe return. “So tell me Naomi.”

“Yes Keera.” The two woman chuckled.

“Why do you serve a tyrant?”

Naomi stopped combing, smiled and bent down to look at
Keera. “Is that what you think?”

Keera turned to look at her new friend. “Yes. He separates
the men and women, lords over everyone like a king and takes unsuspecting
travelers hostage.”

“You are the best treated hostages that I have ever seen.”
Naomi pointed out.

Keera had to laugh. “You know what I mean.”

Naomi proceeded to tell Keera the story of Warden’s
arrival. 

“Before Warden came, this area was very similar to small
towns on the outskirts of the city. Small amounts of water or food and overrun
by gangs. This warehouse was abandoned and very rundown. Townspeople came from
all over seeking refuge. Soon the gangs followed. They began to harass and
extort the inhabitants until they practically ran the town. The biggest bike
gang, the Scorpions, was headed by a man named Diablo. They began to grow in
power and their ability to terrorize. They looted, demanded protection pay and
had their run of the area from here to the Grazen Woods. More young men and
women fell into their ranks, opting to side with the people in control instead
of rebelling against them. The alternative was a life of desperation as all we
had was taken from us. All that was left were the old and the weak, too tired
to fight a small army. The herd had been culled and with it any future hopes. I
remember when I was younger, how my father tried to protect my brother and me
from the mercenaries. Many times he was forced to give up what small rations he
had. Often he would comfort us, while we shared a bit of food and a few ounces
of water, telling us things would get better. He would rarely eat saying that
he was not hungry. But as I got older I realized there was very little to go
around.”  Naomi paused as the emotions welled in her.

Keera put her hand over Naomi’s wrist. “I’m sorry.”

Naomi composed herself. “Thank you. Where was I?”

“You were saying things were getting worse.”
            Naomi continued. “Yes. Then one day a man came to this area. He was
unlike any we had seen. Traveling alone is rare now, but especially in those
days. No one knew where he came from. Carving a small spot near the warehouse,
he hunted and traded for what he needed. All was well, until the Scorpions
pulled into town for their weekly pillage. The masses were so accustomed to the
routine they collected the bulk of their food, water and offered it with little
resistance. The Scorpions collected everything in large sacks worn on their
backs.  There were only three bikers, but more could easily descend on the town.
It was a typical raid until they spotted the man we know today as Warden.”