Unknown (7 page)

“Easy, damnit, don’t pierce the brainpan. Jeezus, just under the skin, you retard.”

If it is Tweedledee and Tweedledummer, I’m in big trouble. But I don’t recognize the voices. Luckily there is no pain. At least not in my head. Bruises and lacerations are scattered across my naked flesh. My wrist burns from rope or handcuffs and my right knee is swollen. A chill runs over my bod, as my sweat drips to the floor. I can’t move, and considering there is a drill in my head, that’s probably a good idea. I have to wait. Whatever has happened, whatever she’s done to me, it can’t be good. Passing out while people undress around you is not exactly my idea of a good time. My asshole doesn’t ache, so that’s a plus. They’ll be done soon. Whoever that Marcy bitch is, if she thinks she can orchestrate this rape and defilement, she is mistaken. She just moved up my to-do list.

Concentrating all of my attention on my right pointer finger, I’m able to raise it slightly. Ever so gently, slowly I move it, tapping down in succession. Tap-tap, pause. Tap, pause. Tap-tap-tap, pause. Tap, pause. Hold count 1...2...3..., pause. A burning in my fingertip ensures me that at least something is working. Contact has been made, so I can breathe for a moment. And as hard as it seems, surrounded by the hot, dusty mud walls I relax. While I am being worked over by grunting, sweaty men, as they drill another hole in my head to secure my global positioning system, I drift off to a blissful sleep. Contact. Good. My equipment is recharging now. Signals are being sent. Confirmations made. Complex maps and logarithms run across the inside of my eyelids, green text on a black screen. Numbers scroll by as data unfurls at a rapid clip. Names, locations, occupations, sentencing, biographies, home movies. As soon as I come to, this shit is on.

Coming for you X.

6. ASSIGNED

//

start

daily requisition

access requested

id: assignedrebel

password: noman

access granted

searching

desirables..................................

..............................found

jacob.......................................

...........work

marcy......................transition

jimmy.......................................

.............stlouis, coordinates 38°38’53”

N, 90°12’44” W

x..............home

gordon..............................detained

roland.......................transition

t-minus 23:00:12.02 to audio video sync

program: hypnosis activated

software: running

merge to location “A” denied

merge to location “B” denied

merge to location “C” approved

//

//

::12345678910987654321

test

testing

acquiring

signals....................................

chip 298312 working

chip 298631 working

chip 299112 working

chip 000000 incomplete

chip 300021 installing, :35.03 remaining,

67% complete

chip 298632 signal fade: 86% capacity

end system test

END

//

//

incoming signal acquired

alphachip 1: beta warrior

..........newyork

..........stlouis

..........losangeles

..........mexicocity

..........cuba

..........unknown

home

HELLO GORDON.

END

//

7. ROLAND

Stomping through the jungle with my pack slung over my shoulder, I know it will be different now. I have crossed a line. If I turn around right now, and go back. If I apologize to my mother, and the men she is fucking. If I tell the dickwads in charge that I am only kidding and don’t know what I was talking about, it’ll be over. I’ll get beaten down, put in the cage, and humiliated for awhile. But I’ll be able to stay. I don’t want that.

I start to head for the caves, thinking I’ll have time to go there first, but that’s wrong. There won’t be time. I didn’t think this through as far as I should have. I gave them just about every direction that I could go and then told them I wouldn’t head to any of those places. That only left one or two paths to take. Can I take one, hoping they believe the lie, or avoid them, knowing they saw through me? Neither. I will follow the creek. It will take me to the edge, as far as I have ever been, but not in any conventional path. It will have to work. I have heard rumors. Portals. Tunnels. Cars and planes, boats and trains. Saber toothed tigers, and giant boa constrictors. Vampire bats and syphilitic monkeys. All kinds of nonsense. None of it has been confirmed. I haven’t so much as smelled gasoline or heard an engine fire up. Or seen any life beyond the flies and earthworms. There is always the cawing and chirping of birds deep into the jungle, but never the actual birds. You never see them.

One final glance back at the village over my shoulder. Same shit, different day. Women milling around, stoking fires, carrying water, yelling at kids. Men stomping past looking important, violence trembling in their fingertips, impatience fluttering behind their eyes. It could have been easy, I could have resigned myself to a life of this. But no. My mind is shot, tired of the games, the lies, the world existing around me, but not within me. I feel separate, and yet, a part of the framework. This is a community of walking zombies, storefront mannequins, soldiers in a war I don’t want to fight. I’ve grown up fast here, I know that. That’s what happens when there is no TV, no video games, and nothing but manual labor, bonfires, and strange grunting in the darkness.

As I part the broad leaves and descend into the damp undergrowth, off the path and towards the creek, a pang of uncertainty stabs at me. I will miss her. She is my mother after all. I will always miss her. I have to remember that she brought us here. Memories were shadows, filled with cigarette smoke kisses and rough calloused hands. I will take that hatred, that neglect and abuse, and bring it to the surface. I will use it to survive. And when the time comes, I will use her weaknesses against her. And she will pay. They will all pay.

The flies buzz around my head, sweat dripping off my brow. The jungle is filled with noises now, more than ever before. The snapping of branches, the rustle of small animals. The blades of strange plants slice at my exposed arms and I curse myself for not dressing properly. When I get to the creek I will change into better clothes. It will be hot, but not nearly as painful. I can hear it in the distance, a bubbling, a rush of white noise. My ticket out of here.

CHAPTER FIVE

May 12, 2024

1. JACOB

It’s only a matter of time now. They found the telescope and know that I have seen the ocean. Why they didn’t kill me I don’t know. They should have. I have two choices, I think to myself, as I stand in the kitchen with the ice pack on my face. I can run or I can fight. If I decide to fight it won’t be with my fists. It will be with my mind, with my knowledge, from within. The sunlight eases in the grime streaked windows. How long since I cleaned them? Never? I can hardly concentrate, my mind keeps wandering. There are rumors to chase down, whispers I’ve heard around bonfires that might be true. Evidence of things that exist behind the scenes. I have to hurry if I am to get to the car. If it’s still there. Who knows if it works.

Glancing around the white on white room, the cupboards whisper concern, while the fridge simply hums tantric. Nobody knows what I am capable of, including myself. Maybe it’s time to find out.

The only thing I grab on the way out is my sunglasses. Flipping the sign on the front door around, it now reads CLOSED. Fuck locking up, who cares. Pulling it shut I wander casually down the street towards the old barn. Passing the shops, a wave of nostalgia hits me like a gust of wind, and I stagger a bit as I pass the people and things that have made up my life for the past 6 years. Past the grocery store, past the ice cream shop, past this cardboard illusion of what really goes on here. Past the oppression and the lies, the movie theatre that has never shown one goddamn film in all the time I’ve been here. They build you up and then break you down until nothing is left of your former self. Until nothing is left at all. If it wasn’t for the books, I would’ve eaten the business end of a gun a long time ago.

Up the hill I go, keeping my eyes on the ground, avoiding anybody that knows me. Knows me. Ha. Everybody knows everybody, no matter how many parts you play. Tonight, in the roles of bookstore owner, rapist, priest, and farmer #5 is Jacob Millhouse.

Sweat bursts out on my forehead as I top the hill, the sidewalk fading away into dirt and weeds. Who is supposed to believe this crap? The grandeur fades so quickly. To one side, down the flatland, were the crops, and the labor that gathered it. Corn, beans, rice. To the other side, jungle, the wild and unknown, and a trickle of water. Moving fast I turn a corner and push back into the weeds and hanging vines. Beyond the withering palm and rubber trees is the squat, red barn. Abandoned for years, walked by every day, it hides in the shadows, offering up nothing but contempt. I know its secret. That knowledge has cost me.

I go around the back to the small door only to find a shiny padlock fastened tightly to the knob. This is new. If it is Marcy that had done this then the solution will be a quick one. Reaching up to the door frame over the faded wood, I run my fingers back and forth over the peeling paint and dusty lip. Found it.

Pulling the key down, I quickly snap the lock open, and go inside. I ease the poor excuse for a door shut, and set the lock and key on the workbench. In the middle of the room under a large tarp is the unmistakable shape of a car. My baby. Still here. I don’t need to pull it off to know that the ‘66 Candy Apple Red Ford Mustang waits for me. So patient. I missed her. The first car I ever loved, this first car I assigned feminine properties. I used to wash her with a previously unknown passion, every inch of her sexy frame, soaping her up, and hosing her off. I’d listen to the Cardinals play an afternoon game while I did it. Ozzie Smith doing back flips on his way to shortstop, Willie McGee in centerfield. This was long after Lou Brock and Keith Hernandez had retired. They’d go 79-82 that year, but on the days I washed her, it didn’t really matter.

I pull the brown tarp off of the car, choking on the dust and cobwebs. She was still intact, still shiny and clean. I open the door with a gentle creak and sit down on the red leather. The keys still dangle from the ignition, the stallion up on hind legs, raring to go. I’m going to floor this baby down the highway on my way to the beach. I’m going to shoot past the guard towers so fast they’ll never see me coming. When I get to the beach it’ll be a quick boat ride to the mainland. Who is expecting me? What can they do? I have to get off this island before they bury me with the rest. Maybe I can find Jimmy. Maybe there is hope.

2. MARCY

Climbing up the hill on the backside of his property, the anticipation is building. Every time my thighs rub together it sends a shiver through my stomach down deep into my sex. Every time I jostle my breasts moving side to side or reaching out to grasp a tree branch, my nipples rub against the inside of my tight tank top, keeping me in a constant state of arousal. My left eye twitches and my heart pounds in my chest. Sweat coats my body in a thin sheen as I work myself into a sexual frenzy. Something has come over me, enhancing my already frantic libido until I am out of breath, eyes focused on the tree line at the top of the hill. The back of his house sits dark and quiet but I know where he is. I can feel his presence all around me. He is waiting for me, and he is ready. A haze drifts over my eyes and the world dims, as every sense is diverted to the heat pulsing between my legs.

Cresting the hill I pull a key out of my pocket, this part of the dance a ritual, opening and unlocking, freeing myself. Shoving the metal into the lock at the gate, the eight foot slats of wood that run around the property, I twist and push, a subtle breeze cooling my overheating flesh as I shut the gate with a click and start to undress.

Peeling off my damp shirt I drop it on the grass just inside the fence, moving forward to the patio. My shoes are lost somewhere on the hill, so there are only the khaki shorts to unbutton and they slide down my long, slender legs with ease, mid-step. No tan lines on this glistening brown body. I pause at the edge of the house to slip my thumbs under the elastic of my panties, pushing them down as I bend over, every whisper of wind caressing my skin. His back is to me as he sits in the wrought iron chair. A quick burst of color on the table shows me his clothing is folded in a stack next to him. He is ready for me and I am ready for him.

I slink towards him, stalking his energy like a tiger on a hunt. I place one hand on his bare shoulder, swing a leg over and straddle his awaiting body. His eyes are closed, he has been waiting for me, summoning me. Behind the eyelids there is rapid movement, and I know he is channeling from far, far away. I glide my heavy breasts down over his chest as I lower myself to him. With a quick hand I gently reach down and guide him inside me, a moan escaping my lips, and I become complete but for a moment. The sweet scent of jasmine drifts to me as my eyes close and the sunlight slips away. The gentle push and pull, the tension of glossy friction, I am empty and full, empty and full. Empty.

Darkness envelopes me as the island falls away and my skin chills. Surrounded by a field of snow, a blanket of cold numbs my flesh, and I am gone.

3. JIMMY

Forking the cold hash into our mouths we sit in the tiny room on two beat up storage lockers, the best meal we’ve had in days. I stare at Madison in her snow white innocence and know I have to toughen her up. But there needs to be a carrot in front of the cart or the nag won’t move. I don’t know how she survived this far, blind luck, I think. When she stumbled down the stairs, twisting her ankle, it was the best thing that could’ve happened to her. She’d been unable to walk at first and had hidden in the janitor’s closet. I only stumbled upon her a couple of weeks ago and that had been just chance. So I guess her sitting in the dark, crying had been a good plan after all.