Untitled Agenda 21 Sequel (9781476746852) (5 page)

She smiled in agreement. “Yes, you're right. The last thing you need is me falling apart. It won't happen again.”

John quickly rolled the rest of the clothes together, and scrambled to the stream with Joan at his side. The water was ice cold against his hand. Minnows swirled near the surface of the water and the branches of a nearby willow tree hung low, dipping their long fingers into the stream.

Their bottles filled quickly. John overturned some rocks. They looked naked among all the other moss-covered ones around them. A good tracker would notice the difference. He broke off some fern fronds, knowing they would shrivel and turn brown, and placed them far from the original plants. Joan started doing the same.

He smiled, watching her, then sobered. If the unthinkable happened to David, Emmeline, and the children, his wife would be the only living person on earth who cared about him. The enormity of that struck him like a bolt of lightning. And if anything happened to Joan . . . no, that was unthinkable.

Before they started off, he handed her one of the guns. He showed her how to lock and unlock the safety, how to cock it, how to hold it and point it. She returned the demonstration, clicking the safety on and off, pulling the hammer back and releasing it, until he was satisfied. The metallic sounds were alien in these verdant surroundings. They tucked the guns into their clothing, the metal cold against their skin. John turned over some more small rocks, placing them moss side down, shiny side up, then they sat and considered their options.

Would Earth Protectors follow the deliberate clues on the trail?

Should they continue walking upstream, leading whoever came for them even farther in the wrong direction? Or had they gone far enough?

They sat, thinking, discussing, never letting go of each other's hands.

Either way, they were in this together.

T
he local Authority stood with his hands on his hips, his feet in a wide stance, looking at the six people in front of him. The tallest of the group was Steven, a man with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and a permanent scowl on his face. Steven had never met this particular local Authority.

Steven had once been the highly celebrated leader of the EPA, the Earth Protection Agency, put into that post because of the large number of shadow people he had captured after the relocations. Of course, he was younger then. That was what, eighteen years ago? Once the Authorities were convinced that all the shadow people had been captured and destroyed they rewarded Steven with a permanent position as chief sentry for the Central Authority's mansion. Steven felt that he, more than anyone else, deserved all the privileges that came along with the job, things like the spa, the gym, and the chef-prepared meals. In return, he was responsible for protecting the mansion and its elite occupants.

The mansion he and his underlings guarded, away from the eyes of the common Citizens in the Compounds, represented great wealth
and privilege. Built of white marble, it stood on a vast area of neatly manicured lawns, gardens full of fresh vegetables, and a barn full of livestock. An ornate, massive fence surrounded it. Dogs and guards patrolled the perimeter. The Citizens who worked there were never allowed to leave, for fear that they might tell others about the luxury the Authorities lived in. But it wasn't very difficult to keep them there—Citizens fortunate enough to be assigned to the mansion never tried to return to their gray, sparse Compounds.

Upon getting the job, Steven had demanded that two of his previous team members, Adam and Nigel, be assigned to assist him at the mansion. Adam and Nigel were men he had worked with, and he trusted them. They were with him today, along with three others he didn't know. All were wearing newly issued camouflage uniforms.

The group was gathered behind the shell of the recently burned Social Update Stage in the center of the Compound. Bits of blackened wood lay at their feet. The charred smell of smoke was oppressive.

“This is a crisis. Listen carefully,” the local Authority said.

They all nodded except Steven. His face remained firm, unreadable.

“Central Authority dispatched you here.” He paused and crossed his arms against his chest before he continued. “Three days ago a number of Citizens breached the perimeter fence and left the Compound.”

The team remained motionless, without reaction. But Steven felt his jaw tighten with anger. Couldn't these fools even control their own Citizens? Their heads should roll for their incompetence. Why should
he
have to give up the luxury he'd earned to clean up their mistakes?

He knew where he stood in the chain of command, but he resented it.

At the top of the bureaucratic pyramid was the ultimate Central Authority. Steven had never met the Central Authority, the big guy in a black uniform trimmed with gold. Although Steven was given the responsibility of guarding his mansion, he had never even gotten a simple “hello” from the man.

Under the Central Authority were the handpicked local Authorities, like this clown standing in front of them, barking orders. They oversaw multiple Compounds, running around as crony mouthpieces of the big guy. Anytime they showed up at a Compound, they had access to the special supplies in the Authorities' storage building. Things Citizens weren't allowed to have, like alcohol and fresh food.

Power breeds privilege.

And under the Authorities were the Enforcers—men in black uniforms who could order that a Citizen be recycled if they thought he was not productive, not obedient. That was the ultimate power. Steven had seen some of them when he entered the Compound earlier. They were strutting around as though they were important and questioning terrified Citizens.

It was a bloated, blighted system.

Steven, and the Earth Protection Agency as a whole, dangled outside the chain of command, a sidebar away from the linear structure. The only time he had any meaningful power was when he was sent into the Human Free Zone to capture those who had slipped away. He had done that eighteen years ago and now, because of the incompetence above him, he had to do it again.

Steven stood with his feet close together, arms at his side—the standard posture whenever one was standing in front of any Authority. Rules were rules. He didn't have to like them, but he did have to obey them.

The rest of the assembled group consisted of three muscular men, each over six feet tall, plus two smaller men, the shortest of whom looked as though he was barely five and a half feet. All were in camouflage uniforms, with the blue-and-green Earth logo on the right upper side of their shirts. Most stood stiff and straight, their eyes focused on some nondescript point in the distance rather than on the Authority himself—just as the rules dictated. But Steven stared directly into the
man's eyes, daring the Authority to challenge him on this one small rule.

The Authority pointed at the six men gathered in front of him. “You are assigned to find those Citizens and bring them back to me. There will be no discussions with anybody outside of this group.” He began pacing back and forth in front of the men, speaking in rapid, short bursts.

Pace, pace, pace. The Authority's black boots dulled with soot. He approached one of the tall men, who had carrot-colored hair, and pointed at him. “Your name and experience?”

“Adam, sir. Earth Protection experience.”

He went to the next man, pointed, and asked the same question.

“Nigel, sir. Earth Protection experience.” Nigel's hair, even his eyelashes, were white as icicles.

“And you?”

“Winston, sir. Maintenance experience. Earth Protection training completed.”

“And you?” He was now in front of one of the two smaller men.

“Guy, sir. Recycle experience. Earth Protection training complete.” His left eyelid twitched as he spoke.

The Authority pointed at Steven.

“Steven. My name is Steven.”

The Authority stared at him with hard eyes but made no comment.

He moved down to the smallest in the line.

“Your name?”

“Julia, sir . . .”

Steven did a double take. On second glance she was obviously a woman, though she wasn't wearing a headscarf. Her dark hair was pushed into a mottled green beret that slanted across her forehead. The men had nothing on their heads.

“Well, well, well, Central must have a new policy allowing women to share the responsibility for protecting our way of life. What's your experience?”

“Energy board walking, sir. And now I am orienting to Earth Protection.”

Steven felt the blood rush to his face. The last thing he wanted in his squad was an orientee, and a woman at that. She would be a distraction at best, and a liability at worst.

“Who is in charge of this team?”

Steven stepped forward. “I am, sir. I am captain of this team.” Couldn't that fool see that his logo was larger than the others? Larger logo meant team leader. What good were symbols if they were ignored? Was he blind as well as incompetent?

“Well, then, Steven, you and your team are going to the other side of the fence.”

The local Authority kicked up puffs of gray ashes as he paced back and forth in front of them.

“Into the Human Free Zone.” He paused. He seemed to enjoy the theatrics his power afforded him. “Your sole duty will be to capture the traitors.”

“How many are out there?” Steven asked, wondering why he had to pose the question in the first place. Surely the Authority should have thought to tell them. What a stupid man.

“Six. Two men, two women, a young boy, and a baby.” He hesitated, then added, “We have not determined if they all escaped at the same time or not.”

The incompetence on display was beyond belief.

“Sir, if I may?” one of the men asked. “What are we to do if they resist? What results do you expect?” Steven stiffened, hearing that stupid question. He would decide what they would do, he alone, and he would make that decision based on circumstances. Who dared to ask that question? He looked at the group. Guy, one of the new members, fidgeted and looked flushed and nervous. Steven vowed to keep an eye on him.

“Are you not strong enough to overcome them? Have you not been properly trained?” The Authority's voice was louder, demanding. He
took a step closer to Guy. “But since you asked, bring them back alive, if possible, so that all true Citizens can witness their punishment. All will know the consequences of disobedience.”

He took a step back and looked into the face of each person, one by one, studying them for long seconds. None but Steven returned his stare. “If you have no other options, kill the adults, bring their bodies back, and we will let them rot in full display of all. Their stench will overwhelm the stink of burned wood. But do not kill the children.

“We need the children to be the productive Citizens of tomorrow. Praise be to the Republic!” His voice took on a deep vibrating tone.

“Praise be to the Republic.” The six responded in robotic unison, their right hands raised to their foreheads in the mandatory circle sign.

“I will issue you one gun.” He slipped a pistol out of his pocket and handed it to Steven. “The gun will be Steven's responsibility. The Gatekeeper will escort you to the Recycle Center; your backpacks are located beside it. Dismissed.” He clicked his heels together; another puff of soot rose and coated his black boots with one more layer of the remnants of the Social Update Stage.

A
fter retrieving their backpacks piled outside of the Re-Cy building, they all recited
I pledge allegiance to the Earth and to the sacred rights of the Earth and to the Animals of the Earth
, and made the circle sign. Each member of the squad slipped the straps of the canvas bags onto their shoulders. The Gatekeeper then led them into the Recycle Center, past the large ovens, the buckets, and mops. Two Re-Cy workers kept their heads down, eyes on the filthy gray cement floor, as the group passed by. The room smelled of charred remnants; the buckets full of ashes. The Gatekeeper unlocked the back exit door with a large key hanging from a chain around his neck.

“They got a gun,” the Gatekeeper mumbled before he opened the door.

“What? What did you say?” Steven asked.

“Heard that a guard got knocked out and someone took his gun.”

“Who did that?” Steven demanded.

“The people who escaped.” He looked sideways at Steven. “Didn't they tell you?”

“No, they didn't.”

“And they got away. Imagine that. And nobody told you?”

“No.” Steven said, his voice cold and hard as steel. Was it purely incompetence on the Enforcer's part to not make him aware that there was a missing gun? Or was it something else?

The heavy metal door creaked open on rusty hinges; the team stepped through and the door slammed shut behind them. The harsh metallic click of the key in the lock signaled the total separation of the team from the Compound on the other side of the fence.

The terrain ahead of them was relatively flat. There were some scrubby trees in the area but the ground directly around the Re-Cy building was barren, blackened. Nothing could grow in the heat that radiated from its walls. Steven headed toward some meager shade; the team followed.

“Check your backpacks. Take inventory.”

Obeying his command, they all squatted on the ground and emptied their packs. Each had the same contents: several nourishment cubes, refillable water bottles, a switchblade, a small box of matches, a change of clothing rolled tight and tied with a piece of thin rope, a waterproof hooded jacket, a torch fastened to a headband, and a small bottle of sanitizing solution. There was also a polished wood nightstick with a canvas wrist strap, spray bottles filled with foul-smelling ammonia, and a small ax with an expertly sharpened edge.