The Collective (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

BOURDAIN

The town of Bourdain was ten miles south of Gravope and
more secluded. Whereas Gravope laid outside the city walls and the towering
Vancrew Houses could be seen in the distance, Bourdain was more remote. The
people there were akin to late eigthteen hundreds North American settlers
possessing better fields and wildlife than Gravope, but in constant search of
water. Residents often traveled to the Water Facility to trade. In these small
communities the inhabitants banded together. It was essential to survive
against marauders and gangs on the outer limits. Unless you were a member of a
House or ready for war, it was dangerous to travel deep into the barren areas.
Gangs were becoming an increasing problem. Taking what they needed, while
trading and sometimes wasting the rest. Gangs were another thorn grown out of
this harsh world. One person in particular was always on the lookout for
suspicious people in Bourdain, Isnor Profik. Isnor ran the local trading
store.  As expected, his water rations were low, but he kept a steady supply of
items that made him a popular man. In a pinch he would get water from the man
named Warden, but that came at a steep price. Isnor worked with four other
gruff men, who hunted, traded and guarded against bandits. Peering out of his
shop-home he was shocked to see a single Xonox truck pull up. He rarely saw one
truck alone. Was there trouble, he tought? Had someone broken the Water
Protocol? The guards never came to help or inspire, but to oppress and instill
fear. His thoughts were getting away from him as he prepared for the worse. The
guards stepped from the vehicle and he could hear them arguing as they pulled a
young man from the rear.

“We should have disposed of him as Distor commanded,
Franke. How are we going to                       explain this? What if he
finds out? We’ll be dismissed from the Facility. I don’t know about you.” The
guard paused surveying the surroundings. “But I’m not going to live like
these                   people!”

His panicked tone was returned by a stoic look of the lead
guard. “The father knew better, he knew the consequences. The boy...I have a
son and I’m not going to kill this young man. Is that clear!”

“Yeah, yeah Franke, cool out. Just drop him near the curb
so we can get out of                                    here.”

Franke carefully laid Abel on the ground with a backpack
under his head. His gentleness spoke more of his conviction as a father than
the ruthless acts he had committed as a soldier.  Franke stood up slowly,
clearly thinking of his sons and the decisions they will face in this new
world. Almost instantly the moment was lost as he shifted back into his
hardened demeanor.  Softness led to death and he had a family to get home to.
He jumped into the vehicle and directed his attention to the remaining guards.
“Alright you stupid maggots, lets push out! Any word of this and you’ll all be
spending quality time with your maker.”

The truck sped off and disappeared out of Isnor’s view. He
had just witnessed a miracle, a guard with a heart. Who was this young man that
pulled the emotions from the ruffian guard? He had never seen such a thing.
These men killed without thinking and on command. Many of the guards enjoyed
their work. It was a small price to pay for the luxuries afforded within the
city walls. Isnor’s curiosity was piqued as he replayed the scene in his head.

As Abel came to his senses he felt the sharp throbbing of
his head from the gun butt. There was a bandage on his bruise, but he had no
idea who dressed it. His parents! Their image shot through his mind and he
stood up quickly, too quickly as he stumbled around the room. As his eyes
focused, he realized that he was not home. Where was he and what had beome of
his father and mother? The last thing he remembered was the desperate look in
his father’s eyes. Was his mother even alive? Suddenly he heard footsteps
approaching him. Bracing himself, he thought how he would never get caught off
guard again. 

Isnor stepped from the back of the store and he could see
the angst on the young man’s face. He knew Abel was still injured, but he had a
determined look in his eyes. Isnor empathized, being knocked out and dropped in
a new city would rattle anyone.

“Calm down, I’m the one who brought you inside.” Isnor
gestured around the shop as he tried to clarify the situation. “Lying on the
curb is no place to be when you’re new in town.  Welcome to Profik Trades, you
can call me Isnor. Seems that you’ve hit a rough patch my friend, where do you
call home?”

The man did not seem to be a threat, but Abel was still
suspicious of his hospitality. He was short and stout with white hair that
barely made it to the top of his head. His shirt hid his weight well, but did not
cover his large forearms. Shopkeeper indeed. Abel stood to his feet, still
holding his head. He was in the foyer and could see the town from the window.
There were no familiar landmarks. Trinkets for trade, weapons and more exotic
items were neatly placed around the shop shelves. Abel was standing near a
table and Isnor was behind the counter, with a machine gun resting below his
hands. It wasn’t pointed toward Abel as Isnor ran a cloth over it. It appeared
that he was cleaning the firearm, but Abel knew better. You don’t clean a gun
with your finger on the trigger. He respected his host’s caution.

Abel took a second to mentally recount what had transpired.
The last he remembered was a gun shot before he blacked out. Did his father
survive? His mother? How long had he been out? Glancing over the counter, he
could tell that the shopkeeper was getting anxious.  Slowly he began to speak.
“Last thing I remember....I was being knocked out before Xonox’s guards shot my
father. I have to get home. My mother was very ill. She may still be alive.”

Isnor’s eyes perked up and he stopped cleaning the gun.
“Xonox you say? That’s strange, because it was Xonox’s guards that dropped you
in the street with your backpack.”

Now Abel was shocked. His eyes conveyed to Isnor that he
was more a victim than a threat. Abel wondered aloud. “They shoot my
father...leave my mother to die, but I live. If only I wasn’t caught off
guard!”

Reality was setting in and the fury rose in him. His anger
grew so quickly it startled Isnor.  Looking to lighten the situation, Isnor
motioned toward the table. “Come, sit. I have some bread and gelatin. We’ll
settle the debt later.”

Still clenching his fist, Abel sat down. Who had informed
Distor about the well? Was it his friend Forsum? Did he realize what he had
done to his family? What would happen when he was able to get back home? Forsum
would be dealt with quickly, then he would set his sights on Xonox. Life had
been sort of a game until that point. Hunting, trading and scraping for water.
There were times when it seemed his family would not make it, but they always
pulled together.  Xonox and his horrors were always stories that never affected
anyone close to him. In his mind, those people were careless and brought the
wrath of Xonox upon them. But now he could see clearly. The House of Vancrew
was evil, the whole Collective was a sham. Now he had nothing but a fire that
burned in him. His father had taught him, trained him to handle himself, but
when the time came for action, he froze. Quietly he vowed to never freeze
again.

Isnor reappeared holding two plates with bread and gelatin
in a cup as he promised. “So where is your home?”

“Gravope.” Abel responded looking at the red gelatin and
moldy bread.

“Ah, I’ve been there before.” The merchant said as he sat
at the table. “I traded with Aaron, he was good and fair. Do you know him?

Abel slid his fingers around the cup. “Yes. My father
traded with him often.”

“He always kept a good stock of water.” Isnor stated while
dipping his bread into the gelatin. “Well, next time I head to Gravope I’ll
carry you with me. We’ll figure out something for you to do to earn your way.”

Abel slurped the gelatin and broke off a piece of bread.
“No. Thank you. But I need to leave right away. I have to find out what happened.
I appreciate your help, but I have no way to repay you.”

Isnor was a trader by heart, but even he was soured on this
deal. Normally he would demand debts were paid immediately, with a hunt,
information or some form of currency. But the young man had been through enough
and he did not want to pile on. “Don’t worry.” The trader said. “I’m sure
you’ll find something to trade in your backpack.”

The bag rested in the corner. It was dusted and worn, but
still sturdy. Abel often carried it when he hunted, but he was surprised at the
way it bulged. Cautiously, he reached down and slid the backpack to his feet,
as if it would explode if it were picked up too quickly.  Who knows what the
guards left for him. Unzipping the bag he gazed in, slowly sat back in his chair
and looked at Isnor.  Smiling, Isnor took another bite of bread. Inside was
everything Abel needed for the distressing situation he had been thrust in.
Bottles of Xonox water overflowed the bag and a 9mm pistol sat stiffly in the
inside pocket. Isnor saw a debt being settled, Abel saw the first step in
exacting revenge on the man that had taken his family.

*******

Abel awoke with a start, discombobulated by his
surroundings, neck stiff from sleeping in the chair. His rest was broken by
prodding children who giggled at his dazed look. The children were in good
health, if not a little dirty, and their eyes sparkled as they poked at the
newcomer. It was obvious he was not from town. Abel playfully jumped at the
children, they laughed and scampered into the street. Isnor was at the counter
trading with an older woman. As she made her way out of the makeshift store,
Abel could see the bottle of Xonox water in her hand. Even as he slumbered, his
debt was paid. Isnor nodded towards Abel. “Sleep well?”

Abel grabbed the back of his sore neck. “I’ve slept
better.” Before he could inquire about the water, a woman screamed outside the
store. “Help! Someone please!”

The woman who left the store was in danger, Abel quickly
deduced. He swirled towards the window were he saw a woman in the distance. She
was young, her clothes were dusty but even from where Abel sat he could see her
subdued beauty. It was not the woman from the store.  Three bandits were
surrounding her on motorcycles, they seemed more concerned with the package in
her hand.  From their posturing, Abel knew trouble was imminent. In one smooth
motion he stood up, grabbed his vest and headed to the door. He turned back to
Isnor. “Watch my back. I may need you.”

“Sorry lad I can’t get involved with these affairs.” Isnor
stepped back with his hands in the air waving Abel off. “They come every so
often to pillage. It’s best to give them what they want so they’ll be on their
way. I’m too old for these constant scuffles.”

Looking at Isnor, Abel knew he had been shaken down before
by these ruffians. “Alright old man, watch my bag.” Wiping the front of his
vest, Abel smiled as he strode toward the door. He really hoped these bikers
gave him trouble.                

The gang members were focused on the young woman and her
bag. Two were hovering around, while the leader had his hand on her shoulder
harassing her. “Hey sweetie, stop struggling and hand the bag over. Nobody is
going to help you, unless they want my boy Merck to rip their heads off.”

The gang leader pointed towards the brawny man who gave a
wide smile, with few teeth to show. If teeth equated to smarts, the man had
little of both. Holding Uzis at their sides, the two goons were covered in a
thick layer of brown dust, except for the clear rings left by their goggles.  It
was clear from their easy manners and general disregard for their surroundings
that this was not their first time in Bourdain.

The leader kept fixated on his prey even as Abel
approached. He was confident that his two henchmen would take care of any small
problems. Only Warden and his people dare challenge the gang. Warden was a
powerful man encamped on the edge of town. People pledged themselves to him for
his protection. He traded freely with the Water Facility and kept an ample
supply of water, which he kept as a reward for his monthly tournaments. The
gang thought they could overrun the Warden taking control of his water supply.
Many brothers were lost in that battle, weakening the gang and subsequently
growing Warden’s popularity. A mistake the gang would not make again. They
always traveled with automatic weapons, steering clear of Warden’s domain. If
this young man challenged him, he would be easily dispatched. The town people
had to be kept in place.

The two men tensed as Abel got closer, they were seldom
approached. Abel looked upon them with no fear and an air of confidence that
unsettled them. One of the gang members called out to the leader. “Reaper, I
think this guy has a problem!”

Fondling the woman’s shoulder, Reaper never turned to
acknowledge Abel. He was whispering to the woman to give up the bag among other
things. Her hands were at her waist, as she clutched the bundle like a baby.
Trembling she sobbed silently waiting for the inevitable. Reaper continued his
advances without turning around. “Then take care of him. He’s interrupting my
fun.”