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“And I’ll be calling your mother, you’re done for the day.”

“I bet you will Mr. Steele. You have her cell. Let me know when you find her.”

CHAPTER FOUR

May 12, 2024

1. JACOB

Turning off the computer, my entry done for the day, I swivel in the chair and glance around my office. Out the window, clouds drift in the soft sky and a gleam in my eye says I need to get out of here. Put a sign on the front door and get some fresh air. Most everyone will be in the fields working on the harvest. Nobody will wander in looking for an epic tale today. Filling my skull are the pulsing lapis waves, the crashing of the ocean against the rock strewn beaches. I can hear her calling to me and the pull is overwhelming.

The bell rings downstairs and I hear the front door fly open, a violent push and clatter, not the easy entrance of a housewife seeking romance. Boot steps clomp across the hardwood floor as the rustle and slap of books falling drifts to my ears. There is a pounding up the stairs, picture frames falling, the crack and shatter of glass. They’re here.

Jumping out of my chair I don’t even make it to the door. The room fills with the black fabric that is the Enforcers. E-Men. The Darkness. Doesn’t matter what you call them. I’ve never seen them in the daylight. The office goes dim as their presence sucks all the light out of the room and I’m shoved back inside. Spinning around my hip catches the corner of the desk and I fall to the floor amid papers and panic. Not a word. Not a grunt or an accusation. A blur of tightly coiled muscles lurks under denim and canvas. The uniform is one with their flesh, not an inch of it exposed, hidden under black studded gloves and spiked helmets. There are no badge numbers, no introductions but to pain. They are the same size. Big. Linebackers that move like ballet dancers, a blur of motion, efficient and precise. They know what they want and they have no time for emotion or hesitation.

The one closest to me grabs me by the shirt collar and pulls my face up to meet his flying fist. In rapid fire succession I am pummeled into a daze, blood splattering in all directions, limp defenseless hands dangling by my sides. I’ve gone from cocky shop owner to a bag of flesh in the time it took the second one to kick in the closet door. The cheap wood splinters and is ripped off the hinges, clattering to the corner, a fraction of its former self. He reaches into the closet and pulls out the telescope. Holding it up they both pause for a moment as I whimper in my hazy recline, fading as they finish.

You can almost see the grins behind their visors, the subtle glowing where eyes would have been. And as quickly as that, he snaps it over his knee, shattering the glass lens, breaking it in two. He pulls a knapsack out of his pocket, unfolding it in a flurry, snapping it open. He throws the pieces into the bag, and then reaches back inside for the stand. He bends the metal frame in half, and half again, as if it is a paper clip.

The whole time his partner is watching, enjoying the show no doubt, as a pool of blood collects beneath me, my face torn open, lips split in two. His clenched fist is the only thing keeping me up. After glancing back at me, he simply releases the cloth, letting me crumple to the ground. My head smacks the wood with a hollow thud. The room fades and I pray they will leave me now, to suffer in the silence and anguish of a man busted in his private addiction, his deviant joy. Just like that they are gone, the room quiet, not a sound to be heard. A wheezing drifts to my ears, fighting the buzzing in my head, a humming all around. It is my own labored breath and I don’t recognize it. Downstairs a gentle jingle as the exit the shop.

2. MARCY

//

ID: MarcyDescartes

MEMBER: #298631

PASSWORD: Fellatio

DIARY ENTRY: 2148 - 05122024:1251

begin transmission

REPORT:

The mail room continues to function on a

rudimentary level. Luckily we have a handful

of talented artists that can pull off most

any con. Under my watchful eye the synthesis

of old behavior and current state of the

“world” is flawless. Herbal issues are still

prevalent, but what can you do. Lock them

up? HAHAHAHAHA. Sorry, LOL’d there. Village

behavior has been moderate. The usual

drunken escapades, and revolving door

whores, but that’s nothing new. Thank god

they’re all sterile, or we really might have

some population issues. HA. New “citizen”

arrived today. Checked him out, and he seems

fairly worthless, but that’s the quality of

the stock you get today. When I left he was

being retro-fitted, but you know those

monkeys down at water’s edge, he’ll be lucky

to have functioning limbs when they’re done

with him. Crops are on schedule, and as long

as there is no more water loss, we should

meet or exceed expectations. Corn especially

looks good, which is fantastic news, since

its multifunctionality is so essential to

every aspect of life here - food, fuel, etc.

The hemp is also coming along nicely. Why

they continue to smoke the male plants, I

don’t know. Idiots. They might as well smoke

banana leaves. Oh, right...they do. We can

discuss these variables more at the next

board meeting, but as far as my end of

production and security, things are fine.

end transmission

//

//

begin transmission

DIARY:

Dear Diary,

Met the cutest guy today, I think I’ll fuck

his brains out in the big house up on the

hill this afternoon. He likes it when I wear

the lacy undergarments and he has a fetish

for sweaty women, their natural musk is his

own aphrodisiac.

Seriously, aren’t you tired of these by now?

First I have to bow down to you in a formal

capacity, and then, often in the same

session, bare my soul to you here in my

daily fucking diary. You know everything

that’s on my mind anyway. What do you want,

more online porn? It’s getting old,

especially since I’m coming to see you later

anyway. Oh right, sorry, we’re not supposed

to talk about that. Except you don’t seem to

mind it when I’m sucking you off. What is

it, out of sight out of mind? I’d say you

never take me anywhere, but HA, where would

we go? Even if you could. Seriously, you’re

a creative guy. Why don’t you utilize those

powers to cook me up a diamond or something

pretty? And I don’t mean a handful of those

lame ass flowers that you yank out of the

garden while I’m climbing up the hill. A

little foresight? Hello? You can’t bring me

something back from your little trips to the

cities? Yes, I know ALL about them. Don’t

act so surprised. You talk in your sleep,

asshole.

Much like things were back on the mainland,

women still like to be adored and listened

to. We still like gifts, and gestures of

your love and affection. We still like oral

and we still like to be taken care of.

Maybe this is all a mistake. Oh who

am I kidding, what else do I have going on?

I’ll see you this afternoon, honey.

At least follow through on the oral. :-)

end transmission

//

3. JIMMY

Down the tunnel, dark except for the shaky beam of my flashlight, water drips and the musty smells welcome me home with a quick kiss on the mouth. My hole in the ground waits for me to burrow back under and hide from the world. Or what’s left of it. Maintenance it says in yellow blocky type, 125-STL/CC on the olive metal door. I grab the cool handle and pull it open.

“Hi honey I’m home...” gets me an explosion and a flash of light, her pale face contorted in the dark corner of the room.

“Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck...” I yell as the concrete bunker sprays my face with sharp chips, the bullet spinning off the surface, bouncing God knows where. My hands shoot up, and a ringing filling my ears with what had just a moment before been the loud, angry cry of death.

“Oh shit,” she yells, dropping the gun to the ground with a heavy clatter. She’s at my side in a second, her tiny hands on my pulsing shoulders as I squint my eyes and double over in pain.

“I’m sorry Jimmy. I didn’t know it was you. You were supposed to knock,” she babbles. “You were supposed to knock three times...you know, on the ceiling if you want me...” she says, her voice fading into nothingness, every other word lost.

“What?” I yell, standing up straight, taking my hands off my ears. A trickle of blood escapes.

“I’m

sorry!”

Looking at her filled with anguish and fear I ease from angry soldier about to meet his maker into concerned boyfriend in love with his pale angel.

“It’s okay,” I say. “You just scared me, that’s all.”

I’m breathing heavy, drenched in sweat. Her dirty white tank top is stretched taut across her small breasts, and I laugh at myself. In my final moments I still have the energy and desire to stare at my girl’s nipples as they strain against the tattered fabric of her war torn survivor ware.

“I’m

okay.”

She disappears in my arms as I hold her close. She begins to cry, quiet sobs, fast and muffled. Her shoulders shake and I’m reminded again of how tiny she is. And yet so full of life. Sitting in the dark with that huge revolver in her hands, staring at the door as the noises drift down to her from above, every clank and rattle a tribe of Blisterheads, every drip and rush of air Ethereals on battered wings. In time, your imagination builds on itself, so that the tension becomes palpable, until the knob finally turns. It hasn’t been imagined, you haven’t lost your mind. They’re finally here.

I push her away to arms length and brush the long black hair out of her eyes. Even in this faded light her shimmering teal eyes leap out at me. Wide open, they accuse, a grimy tear stopped halfway down her dusty cheek. How can I continue to leave her here alone and scared as I forage alone out on the streets? I just want to protect her. It’s cruel. She’ll have to come with me next time. I can’t protect her if I’m not here.

“I have hash. Corned beef hash,” I mutter. I sigh and am lost in her gaze, my mind a thousand miles away, plotting the city above, making our escape, dissecting the rumors from fact, a plan slowly coming into focus.

“Thank God, I’m starving.”

4. X

Sitting in the garden behind my humble abode the flowers mist the lush greenery with a subtle perfume. I treasure the scent of the white jasmine, as it mingles with the freshly cut peach of the plumeria. My bare knees are firmly planted in the dirt, as I work my way around the flower bed, trimming and weeding, planting and embracing.

Few on the island know the history of my flowers. In southeastern Asia the locals believe that the plumeria provide shelter to ghosts and demons. The scent has been associated with vampires in Malay folklore, the pontianak. The white jasmine is associated with temples in both Hindu and Buddhist cultures, though Hindus do not use the flowers in their temple offerings. They fear the connotation and hesitate to summon that which they cannot control.

Holding my hands over the ivory buds, fighting the oppression of heat and drought, I squeeze my hands into tight fists, the flesh swelling red. White knuckles scream as I close my eyes, cool drops of water dripping out of my hands. A singing fills my ears, every macaw and honeycreeper magnified and rapturous, enveloping my head as my vision swims behind clenched eyes. Sparks fly, showing the insides of my skull, brilliant lightning strikes pummeling my spine. The flow of liquid continues, bathing the flowers in the refreshing stillness. Green shoots ease open and the colors push up expanding into adult form. The flow stops with an abruptness and my eyes bolt open.

“There you are my dears, no need for us to wait.”

I wipe the residual dampness on my khaki shorts and stand up to admire my handiwork. What had been wilted and beaten down this morning was now lush and alive. The seedlings and buds are now fully in bloom, a cascade of maroon and white, with spatters of orange. I ease back to the wrought iron chairs exhaling with effort as I reach for a drink. Iced-tea in a tall clear glass, the cubes tinkling as I lift the moist cylinder to my lips. Gulping it down I devour its every essence. Chewing on the lemon rind I smell her musk as she works her way up the hill. She forgot the offering.

“Marcy is here,” I whisper to myself.

A chipmunk pauses at the edge of the yard, up on his hind legs, nose twitching.

“Move along, Raymond. Nothing for you today.”

The tiny brown creature with a white stripe down his back, nods quickly twice and darts into the undergrowth.

Overhead blue silk yawns while a stray cloud drifts by at a meandering pace on the back of a gentle breeze. There is a swelling in my lap as I envision her hungry mouth open wide, upper lip dotted with sweat, eyes locked on mine. She is a willing servant and a good one at that. She has her agenda and I have mine. It is safe today, she is not in her cycle. But her mind is easy to shift, to confuse. To her, it is right. Because she has no vision for my deception. She doesn’t entirely trust me, but she knows what side her bread is buttered on. She needs me more than I need her. I will more than make up for any of her shortcomings.

5. GORDON

I awake to the sound of a drill in my ear and darkness all around. The microchip didn’t work. I’m fucked if they know. The smell of smoke and charred meat fills the air and it makes my stomach growl. Until I realize it’s my own flesh burning. The high pitched whine coming from the back of my head is a familiar sound. Of all the square footage on my bony skull, I pray that they don’t find the implant site. It may have only been damaged in transit, still functional, if not reliable. The previous owner had suggested we tuck it in behind the left ear, and who was I to argue. I was no doctor or surgeon. I trusted them when I had no choice. The promise they made to me either hasn’t been kept or has plain old failed. I won’t know until I get my stuff back. Until I have some time to do a personal inventory, and see what my status was. I need to get these jackals off of me and contact my inside position.