Authors: Jeremy Mac
Claxton,
the City of Cities, as it had once been known.
The largest in
the nation in circumference and per capita.
Now
divided into two opposing forces with sprinklings of outcasts throughout the
megatropolis
.
The boundless architecture is still a
wonder to see. The skyline can be seen for miles out.
The
city is blanketed under long streaks of clouds dragged through by a light
breeze which now and again cut apart to open the cloud-blanket in sharp knife
slices, providing seconds long peeks at the star filled universe beyond.
The clearest night in weeks.
Thousands gaze up to those
unchartered heavens as if the answer to it all is there. No matter their belief
or what moral code they live by, from Maddick to The Pinnacle and beyond, for
millenniums their gods have lived in that same place up above. But do they
listen? They never seem to, not then and definitely not now. Yet in the end
thousands and maybe even millions beyond Claxton still take their woes and
praise skyward.
Preparations
for the evening celebrations were carried out throughout the day.
Two different societies of this once great city, a democracy and a
dictatorship, both celebrating starkly different causes.
One, for what they’ve already accomplished and for the life ahead,
and the other for the life that is yet to come.
The
Pinnacle feasts on hog and merrily sips fine whiskey and wine. Games are played
much like the ones played at the city fair. Piñata’s are strung up and knocked
around until they burst open and spill prizes of dried fruit and homemade candy
to the ground. Everyone dances in the streets to live bands, celebrating life,
love, and the onward path toward the new world.
The
streets of Maddick are also filled with the frenzied dancing of men and women.
Bootleg spills heavily down their gullets. Smoke is rolled with thin
bible
paper and thrown into crowds and passed around. Fights
and fornications ensue out in the open.
Celebrating the life
that is promised to be given to them soon.
In
the midst of it all, on both ends of the spectrum, are those who care little
for it. Even though they partake in the festivities their minds are wrapped up
in their own greedy agenda. Selfish needs and desires under false pretenses
fueled by loathing or envy or empty promises. And caught in the middle of it
all, unbeknownst to them, are those who will suffer the most because they
possess a disparity of goodness, which is only a curse in such a dog eat dog
world.
And
in the end, no matter
who
they are or where they may
be, the heaven’s above are forever watching.
He
couldn’t have planned it at a better time. He took advantage of the excitement
during last night’s soirée to go set up the device. No one paid him any
attention as he came and went. His officer friend was still on shift but was
due off in ten minutes.
“Look,
I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with what they’re doing –”
“Nor
is it any of your concern.”
“All
I’m saying is make it quick, because if you don’t then you could be stuck down
there till morning.”
“Then
if I were you I’d make sure that that doesn’t happen.”
Every
day he’s been watching their progress through his spy-cam, still undisturbed
right where he’d put it. He turns his head up at it and waves.
Hi there, me.
Here I am.
The
truck appears to be nearly finished.
A little more body work,
mainly the doors and the hood.
It’s a mean, beastly looking thing, like
it’s been pulled out of a futuristic war movie. He doesn’t know much about
engines but this one looks like it will pull the wheels off a locomotive. And
speaking of wheels, four new ones lie on the floor ready to be put on this
monster. Good size ones too, much bigger than the originals with thick tread
giving him the idea that it will be great for rugged terrain. What the hell is
this for? He asks himself that question a dozen times a day and a few things
come to mind but none seem likely. A war vehicle against the Maddick’s
maybe? But bringing the fight to them isn’t something James will likely
do, and besides, the word is that Vincent did not survive the battle outside
the gate a month ago. There’s been no sign of hostiles or a threat of any kind
since then, so what can it be for?
He
thinks hard. It is obviously being built for durability, speed, and long
distance driving. Lathan is going somewhere, and for good reason. That’s got to
be it. And it’s got to be for a very good reason because he has every reason to
stay here. He has a beautiful woman who is obviously falling in love with him,
the people praise him as their hero (there’s now even a marionette puppet show
in honor of his heroic feat at the Pinnacle’s gate for Christ sake), and he is
in favor of Mr. James Grant. He can’t lose, yet he busies himself with this
potential war machine with the help of Loak Bosman who, much to his surprise,
is an engine and body genius.
Yet
with all the curiosity he’s mustered into his understanding that this hero of
The Pinnacle may soon be leaving them it still does not stop him from
proceeding with his plan.
A couple of minutes of tinkering
and he’s finished.
He leaves the parking garage and all there is to do
now is bide his time.
Lathan
has been exercising his shoulder and leg daily and is now able to get around
without the crutch, though he limps slightly and has full mobility of his arm
with minimum pain.
The
SUV’s new production is coming along nicely. Lathan told Loak that he wants the
vehicle to have a little more muscle than it did before. Loak built a beautiful
440 with a four-barrel.
“So
it’s got a little more muscle,” Loak states with a sly smile.
A
one hundred gallon gas tank is installed in the back and attached directly to
the main gas tank so it will go the distance without the concern of refueling,
or where to refuel, for a good distance. The entire frame is armored except for
the doors and hood. The doors will have armor built inside the interior walls
and the hood will have armor welded under its original hood with a modified
hood-scoop. The rest of the body may be placed back on if possible. The
original plan was not to have the original body put back on, looks are not an
issue, but at some point they decided that if they were able to then they will,
having a tank in disguise.
Last
night was something else. The feast was fit for a banquet of kings. However, he
did not enjoy the adulation given to him when James made his speech before the feast;
it made him uncomfortable, as there were already plenty of smiling faces locked
onto him, but he got through it. Amazing what a little booze will do, getting
him relaxed enough to go with the flow, and Taya right alongside him.
As
the nights festivities progressed so did he. Everyone seemed to want a piece of
Lathan’s time, pulling him from one person to another so to discourse their
hero, their saint, and no matter how many sips he took from his drink the cup
never seemed to go empty, thereby lulling him into the monotony of adulation.
He
played games with the children and they cheered him on and bestowed him with
hugs as he won them prizes. And, of course, little Matthew Bosman was his
number one fan. Even though the boy sees Lathan just about every day, working
right there with him on his truck, Matthew still couldn’t get enough of his
idol.
Several
men invited Lathan for a game of horse shoes. He managed a few games before
Taya came to reclaim him so to dance with her. He protested, claiming to not
know how to dance, but with much help from the buzz he was feeling her begs won
him over. Slowly they danced the night away, and when it became very late and
the crowds thinned out they left for Taya’s place where they danced to their
own music in bed.
Now
morning and having just awoke, he thinks back on it as he works out the kinks
in his shoulder and leg. Taya still
lay
asleep, her
naked body laying prone under silken sheets, her hair spilled across the side
of her face. Looking at her often reminds him of another time, a lost love long
ago. The two are so comparable, and maybe that’s why he’s been acting like he
has lately, desperate to rekindle those past moments as if he may be able to
somehow make those old memories live once again through another. Once when he
and Taya were lounging at his place, out of nowhere she asked him who Geneveve
is? It took him by surprise, he had not heard that name spoken aloud in years
and he guardedly asked why she asked?
“Last
night, when we were making love, you called me Geneveve.
Twice.
Then you told me that you loved me. You believed me to be her. You don’t
remember?”
He
shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
Taya
leaned forward, directing her full attention on him. “So who was she?” she said
softly.
And
“was” is right.
Absolutely right.
Utterly
reduced to the past tense for certain, forever and always.
“Nobody,”
he replied. “Just someone I knew long ago.”
That
is the last they ever spoke of it.
Before
Taya awakes he leaves and goes outside the building. It is mid-morning and the
streets are bustling. Cleaning crews were up early and all trash and debris are
gone. Everything is in full swing once again. Loak and his crew are already
busy working on the SUV and he will join them later in the day.
He
decides against sneaking around at night, it just isn’t wise. People will be in
the building and maybe even in the room he needs to be in. During the day is
best, there’s a greater chance that most people will be out but even if not
he’ll come up with a believable story as to why he needs to be there and what
he needs to do.
He
doesn’t take a
rickshaw,
his leg needs a good stretch.
No rush, just a nice, leisurely walk.
Having
just awakened, Mongoose blearily peers through tiny slits of his eyelids at the
black world around him. It takes him a moment to recall where he is and once he
does he reaches for his battery powered lantern, turning it on.
Max
is passed out beside him, looking like road-kill,
laying
on his side with his legs stretched out in front of him, mouth gaped open with
his tongue hung loosely between his teeth like a dead pink ribbon.
“Tough night, Boy?”
Mongoose says.
Max
lifts his head up, smacking his mouth together a few times, licking the cotton
away,
working
the juices back in there. He gives
Mongoose a pitiful stare, furrowing his brow as he tells him about it with a
whine, and then lays his head back down.
“Yeah, you and me both.”
Last
night Mongoose got so caught up in the celebratory moment that he drank more
than he should have. Which was easy to do since the alcohol here tastes way
better than that of Maddick’s and now he is paying the slushy headachy price
for it.
He
groggily rises to his feet, grabs his canteen, and leaves Max in the room as he
lurches out the door and down the hallway. The Pinnacle’s many water fountains
are situated every two blocks, allowing easy access and availability to
everyone so to keep from having to make long trips carrying heavy buckets to
and from the main fountain. Mongoose wets his head and face and immediately the
cold water takes his breath away but also momentarily alleviates the throbbing
in his head. He fills his canteen and heads back to his building.
As
he takes a step up to the front door of his building someone catches his eye;
it is the man he’s heard so much about and had seen for the first time last
night after someone pointed him out. Now here he is entering the building he is
staying in. Sticking to his natural instincts, Mongoose instantly goes into spy
mode and falls in behind him. Instead of taking the same stairwell Mongoose
slides alongside the opposite stairwell, races up one flight then waits until
Lathan appears across the way, making sure he takes the next flight before
Mongoose races up the next flight of stairs. This goes on for the next three
flights before Lathan is a no-show on the next floor. Puzzled, Mongoose waits a
beat before he decides to turn back to descend to the previous floor. Gazing
across the hall he sees nothing, quietly listening he hears nothing. He creeps
to the opening of the hall. When he comes to it he ever so slowly
peeps
his head around the corner and is suddenly snatched
from around it. He reacts by delivering a series of punches and kicks but he is
no match for Lathan who blocks them all with a single arm.
“Stop,”
Lathan says bluntly, to which he is promptly ignored, so he easily puts the kid
in a chokehold. “If you don’t stop, your own struggles will put you to sleep.”
Eventually
the struggle ceases. Lathan keeps him in the hold but relaxes his grip.
Feeling
foolish and belittled and ticked off from being handled like this, Mongoose
says, “Do you think you can let go of me now?
Because I’m
really not into the guy on guy S and M thing.”
“Don’t
worry, you’re not my type. Do you think you can calm your little ass down long
enough to be let go?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You’re
sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
Lathan
releases him and Mongoose turns to face him, straightening himself out, as if
there is much to straighten out.
Lathan
says, “Why are you following me?”
“What
are you doing in my building?”
“Sightseeing.
Why are you following me?”
“Sightseeing,”
Mongoose says skeptically. “Sightseeing what?”
“Old architecture.
Why are you following me?”
“How’d
you know I was following you?”
“Look,
kid, this is how this works. I ask a question and you answer it. Then you can
ask a question. Right now I’m two to the good, so unless you want me to put you
back in a chokehold,
answer
the damn question. Why are
you following me?”
“I
don’t think you’ll be able to put me back in that same chokehold so easily this
time. Want to try it.” Mongoose slides his body into a sideways stance.
Lathan
isn’t sure if he is serious or what but his patience with the kid has worn thin
fast. “I don’t have time to play with you, kid.” Lathan turns back to the
stairwell.
“Wait!”
Mongoose hustles up behind Lathan as he ascends the steps. “I was only curious
as to why you’re here. It’s in my nature.”
“Ever
hear the saying, Curiosity killed the cat?”
“Ever
heard that cats have nine lives?”
“Don’t
you need to be somewhere, like at home doing your chores or something?”
“I
don’t have a home. And besides, I’m older than what you may think. I’m visiting
here on a trader’s pass.”
“Traders
pass?
Just you?”
“Just me.
It’s always been just me. Well, me
and Max. That’s my dog. He’s back in my room.”
“Okay,
look kid –”
“My
name is Mongoose.”
“Whoever
you are, I don’t need you following me.”
“Why,
you got something to hide?”
“It’s
none of your business what I’m doing.”
“That’s
the best business there is, business that’s not mine. More reason to follow
you.”
Lathan
stops on the next landing between two floors and faces Mongoose directly,
giving him a full unbridled dose of what he may be up against and says, “Which
will give me more reason to stomp your little ass.”
Mongoose
holds up a hand. “Before you continue you should know that threats do not work
well on me and although I may be small, I don’t stomp very easily either.” He
sees anger spark in Lathan’s eyes. “I’m not trying to aggravate you –”
“You’re
doing a pretty good job so far.”
“It’s
just that I’ve heard a lot about you, what you did and all, and it’s pretty
cool. I may not look it but I’m a warrior too. I don’t have any weapons because
they made me leave them at the gate before I came in.
Seriously.”
This
humors Lathan. “Is that right?”
“That’s
right.” Mongoose stands a little straighter, feeling confident, the ache in his
head from last night’s booze now squeezed into a dull throb.
“Straight
up.”
He
considers the kid for a moment, thinking that he may be able to use him. It
will be harmless, tactful, and hopefully furtive, that’s if he even needs him,
and if he does need him it isn’t like the kid will ever actually see what it is
he is after.
Mongoose
can almost see the wheels turning in the older man’s head so he urges him with
an expectant expression.
Finally
Lathan says, “How long you been in this building?”
Mongoose
grins. “Long enough to know my way around, and what floors and rooms have
people living in them.”
Lathan
draws in closer and tells the kid a story. It isn’t an entirely true story, but
what stories are these days?