The Collector (6 page)

“It was late last night when he showed up with Jimmy,” Loraine confirms, bittersweet as she smiles at her son. “I thought my Jimmy was gone for good, but there he was. Your partner told me to hide him if I saw you coming. He said you’d come. I just didn’t know so quick.”

“She’s lying,” Neil defends, both his pride and reputation as a Collector on the line.

“He told me to love Jimmy. Love Jimmy and not let go again.”

Jimmy tries to break free, but Neil holds him tight.

“I believe you,” Slayter chimes in. He touches Loraine’s cheek and brushes the hair from her eyes to calm her. She’s relieved, expecting release, but Slayter instead twirls her around and binds her hands.

“Wait, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We can’t take her, Slayter,” Neil says. “She’s not a volunteer.”

“She knowingly harbored a Breacher. That makes her an enemy to the Agency. We’ll take them both.” Slayter heartlessly drags Loraine out the door, knocking the screen off its hinges.

Thomas and Michael tug on Neil’s legs as he follows Slayter to the utility truck, carrying Jimmy under one arm and tearing the family apart.

Cecil, Dale, Raymond, Garrison, and Slayter sit around the Agency bullpen after hours. Slayter entertains them with another story.

“So then she tells me it’s her twin who volunteered, not her.”

“Did she really have a twin?” Garrison asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Slayter responds. “She came up in the system and the system never lies.”

Laughter spills outside to a balcony where Neil, stone-faced, leans against the railing. Light from the digital billboards splits his face in two – one half lit and the other half in shadow.

“It sure is something,” Mazer’s voice says trailing in from behind. He joins Neil to marvel at the city before them. “The work we’ve done. The work still yet to do.”

No reaction from Neil. His jaw remains clinched, the events from earlier with Jimmy and Loraine still weighing on his mind.

Mazer examines his old pocket watch. “I remember when you gave me this. Right after you earned your first stripe. You were so proud,” he reminisces.

More laughter echoes from inside, yet Neil stays silent. Mazer turns to him, this time getting straight to the point. “They know what they’re signing up for, Neil. Just like you did.”

“She had kids.”

“Most of them do. They’ll be put in the system. The twins might make good Enforcement Officers. Who knows, maybe one of them will become a Collector. Follow in your path.”

The thought brings Neil back, remembering. He looks to Mazer. “Wade’s not on their side.”

“How do we know he didn’t have a hand in the attack on your truck?” Mazer questions.

“Because that’s not Wade,” Neil exclaims. “He just lost the stomach to do the job.”

“Letting the boy go was the worst violation he could’ve committed. No one lets an assignment go free.”

Neil knows Wade made a stupid decision. He’s personally tracked down dozens of Breachers himself – volunteers who went back on their contract and tried to evade the system – but he’s never heard of a Breacher being aided by a Collector before. It never even crossed his mind. His belief in the system wouldn’t allow it. But now that the situation has entered his mind, letting one little boy go doesn’t seem as big of an issue compared to everything else the city is dealing with. “Don’t you think we have other things to worry about?” Neil motions to the mugshots of the four Brigade Leaders on the largest digital billboard.

“What we have to worry about is control,” Mazer explains. “Control the population, the volunteers. Control what’s left of the water. If we lose control, we lose order. Don’t you remember the riots? How bad things were after the dam? Seeing people piss in each other’s mouths just to get a drink. We’ve put a lot of effort into restoring order, and a lot of good men – my men – died to achieve it. Now they are compromising that control. Including Wade.” Mazer pauses so as to not fully rile himself up. “Look, collect Wade and use him to track down the other four. This is on you. He was your rookie and I told you to keep an eye on him.”

“What if I can’t find him?”

“Don’t put me in that situation.”

Neil readies to protest, but instead stands down. He nods to accept the mission, having no other choice, then heads inside.

Mazer remains at the railing where the four Brigade mugshots taunt him and everything he stands for. Neil may not remember it well, but he sure does. Chaos. Hysteria. Civilization on its last legs during the Water Wars. Society was already in shambles when the nation’s final water supply was split up between all the remaining cities. “Here’s what you get, now ration it yourselves,” they said. “We can no longer help you.”
One Nation Under
God
dissolved into a labyrinth of city-states, each hoarding their given rations for only their own. One city-state up north built an entire underground facility to protect their water supply, rumored to have so much security Fort Knox would be jealous. Thieves and looters have always been an issue with any type of precious commodity, but Leechers became an issue. These are people who would soak up all the water and destroy a city-state before moving onto the next. Modern day nomads without roots in one single location. That is why giant walls were built, to control Leechers from sucking up water in cities they had no business being in. Their horseshoe-shaped barrier is not the first to be built, and undoubtedly won’t be the last. However, implementing border patrols combined with their ominous Wall seemed to work. Rations were tight, but the city was able to provide just enough water to its residents to get by. But just like living paycheck to paycheck, eventually something’s got to give, and what gave were the unkempt deteriorated walls of the Strasburg Dam, and with it, the city’s sole water supply.
“So excuse me for getting riled up,”
Mazer thinks to himself. But he knows more than anyone else the dire situation they are in – privy to information, statistics, and just how much water the city really has left – and people like Wade and the Brigade are only making things worse.

Suddenly Mazer’s thoughts are interrupted as it begins to rain. Harsh, polluted acid rain. Mazer allows the water to attack his skin as his attention shifts to a nearby statue of a child, its smile distorted into a haunting cry from years of poison from the sky, silent screaming – a grotesque reminder for why the Agency needs to prevail.

On the off chance it does rain, the polluted drops bring more trouble than relief. The people in the slums flee for cover to escape the small burns the infected water causes to their skin. Bacteria-filled puddles form as the runoff sloshes the Uncle Sam flyers and other trash about, leaving behind disease infested breeding grounds. And the makeshift aluminum roofs move one step closer to collapsing as the harmful liquid hammers down on top of them.

Then there are those who try to salvage what they can, catching drops in whatever object is readily available – cups, shoes, a hat – with hopes of purifying the infected filth. In this current downpour, one slum woman scrambles to collect runoff from her leaky roof into a bucket, the liquid nearly jet black. But just as she stands on a chair and gets the bucket into position, suddenly the rain stops, and just as fast as the shower started it’s over. The slum woman drops the bucket to the floor, the brief rain nothing but a sick joke, a false hope further crushing the inhabitants of the city.

Heartache. Unrest. Despair. While rampant throughout the sectors, these are some of the same elements Neil is about to encounter as he sets out after the Brigade to end their chaos once and for all.

******

Turn Off The Lights

Have you ever wondered what happens once a volunteer is inside the Processing Facility? Some say that the facility extends deep underground, and the bodies are somehow used to power the city. Could that mean the smoke from the smokestacks is actually steam? Or are they somehow linking our minds together as some sort of giant battery? If so, how come so many in the slums are without power? Maybe someone should use that collective energy to power more water purifiers!

-Quado

7

T
he filthy polluted puddles disappear as the cracked terrain soaks them up and retakes its place, the slums back to normal. Dry. Harsh. Unforgiving.

Frank welds more metal in his shop, his hands still covered in permanent grease. He glances up to see two approaching SEOs. “We’re closed,” he grumbles as he furrows his brow.

“We need to ask you a few questions,” the first SEO states.

The group of misfit kids watches from afar as the two Enforcement Officers lead Frank away. Suddenly, a shadow looms over them. Turning back, the shadow belongs to Neil, along with two more SEOs. They nab the misfits before the group can flee.

A short time later, Frank, the misfits, and three other slum residents sit along the edge of the dirt path with their hands bound, guarded by the officers.

“The Cicadas will tell you nothing,” announces one of the misfits.

The leader of the group immediately kicks dirt at his buddy, “It’s Pegasus.”

“Honest, we were just playin’ around,” another of the misfits begs. The final member nods his head in agreement.

“Quiet, all of you,” Frank urges. “Don’t give ‘em nothin’.”

“None of us know anything,” claims one of the slum residents.

“You were the only ones who saw the Collectors,” an SEO lashes back. “Somebody here knows something.”

“There are eyes and ears everywhere,” Frank says. “We weren’t the only ones.”

The SEO steps over to Neil and waits for further instructions. Neil sizes up the detainees.

“Let them go,” he orders, then addresses everyone at once. “The Agency thanks you for your cooperation.” He walks off as the suspects are released.

A short ways around the bend, Neil returns to the blast site where he nearly died. He notices scavengers have already stripped away anything useful from the charred remains of his old utility truck. He spots a slab of wood sticking out from the dirt, followed by another, then a metal handle – all pieces to Inna’s wagon. He squats down and unearths a buried wheel.

Just then Neil’s PDA vibrates to interrupt. It’s Slayter calling. Neil ignores the buzzing device, only able to take Slayter in short spurts, then thumbs the charred wheel, debating what to do with it.

Neil slows his replacement utility truck outside the antique shop. A handcrafted sign in the window states it is currently closed for business. His eyes drift to the landfill in the North to the location he first heard Inna’s melody and undoubtedly where she is right now. He drives off.

The utility truck lurches into the landfill on a dirt path, flanked on each side by crooked towers of stacked trash. While the Downtown Sector has endless skytowers of deteriorated buildings, the landfill has endless towers of compressed trash. It almost resembles the abstract art statues that were popular near the beginning of the millennium as the towers manage to bulge out and contract in places that physically seem impossible, defying gravity by not toppling over.

Neil parks and gets out, but there isn’t a soul in sight. Just pure silence. He moves about the truck, scanning, listening, ready to give up when suddenly the melody strikes. He tracks the song to find Inna halfway up one of the mounds, then watches as she wipes the dirt off trinkets before arranging them in a pile. Her youthful presence injects a sense of life into the graveyard of discarded items.

Neil moves to get a closer view when his boot suddenly sinks down into the trash and he stumbles over.

“Well this is a surprise,” Inna says as she turns and spots him knee-deep in a hole. She climbs down to help him up. “Are you okay? I heard about your partner.” Neil brushes it off and nods he is fine, but she can see through him. She touches his arm. “What are you doing here? There’s no one here but me.”

“I was just…I brought you something.” Neil digs in his truck to reveal the pieces of her wagon.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Inna giggles in surprise.

“You pieced me back together. Thought I could at least help return the favor.”

They smile, locking eyes, each holding it a moment longer than they should until they break away.

“So this is where you collect all your junk?” Neil asks.

“It’s not junk,” Inna counters.

“Broken clocks. Cracked mirrors. It’s all garbage.” Neil kicks at the trash, then follows her through a pathway formed by two towering stacks.

“You might see garbage,” Inna calls back, “but that’s not what I see.”

The pathway twists and turns. She moves faster than him, gaining ground, more familiar within the maze.

“What do you see then?” Neil asks, but he quickly loses sight of her. “Hey. Wait.” With each turn Neil catches only a glimpse of Inna right before she disappears again. It turns into a game to her as her giggles echo back to him. “Inna!” Neil shouts.

“Over here,” her voice calls out.

Neil continues until the path splits in two, pausing for a moment to choose his route when suddenly Inna somehow pops out directly in front of him. “Why are you always so serious?” she asks. “C’mon, this way.”

As she pulls him along through her makeshift playground, Neil can’t help but shake his head. This is silly. He never plays games like this, and he hasn’t since he was a child. He loses sight of Inna again in the labyrinth of towers.

“Where are you taking me?” He continues to follow her infectious laughter, stumbling in his attempt to keep up.

He finally comes to an open clearing where tall crooked towers block out the harsh sun, while a breeze whispers as it slithers through. Inna is already there taking it in, her eyes shut and head tilted back. Neil catches his breath, then notices Inna holding a doll with the stuffing coming out of its torn arm.

“Not trash, huh?” he quips.

“This is a well used toy that made some child happy. And after some quick repairs…” She pushes the stuffing back inside, holding the arm so the doll is whole again and propping it upright on a barrel. “It’ll be able to put a smile on another child’s face.”