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I look down into the gray room to see the old woman crawling away from me. Her long stringy hair is matted with twigs and leaves, filthy and lined with bits of gray. I lower my head, defeated once again, as the sorrow builds up in me and boils over. I haven’t felt like this since my mother overdosed in the bathroom, and the paramedics pulled me off of her cold, stiff body, my arms still pumping, my breath coming in rushes, as I tried to save her, but failed.

I can hear them slink off into the darkness and I am shocked at how quickly and deeply I have fallen back to earth. This caught me off guard, this dream of an old lover, a tender moment that I have denied myself for an eternity. It has weakened me and I am ashamed.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. It is the thin, blond girl. “It could have been worse. She could have cut it off and put it in her stew. Believe me, you don’t want that.”

“What’s going on,” I rasp. She dips a dinged ladle into a rusted bucket of water and brings it to my lips with care and patience.

“Save it. You’re weak. I’ll try to bring you some scraps of food later. I have to be careful. And keep your mouth shut about it. I could probably take any one of them but if they band together, I’m a goner. Too many of them.”

Gulping down the water I stare at her in the dim light. Like a ruby in a drawer of cut glass, she’s not like the others. She doesn’t fit and I have no idea why. She’s young and pretty. She carries herself with a dignity that makes no sense down here in the filth and depravity.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “It’s too much to get into right now. I’ll explain later. But I want out. I need your help. I won’t let them kill you or turn you into a breeder. Grandma, she’s testing your load right now. Don’t ask me how. Something about the taste, the texture. She left here with a mouthful and she’ll mix it with different things - ground roots and plant extracts. If you’re a breeder then we have to move fast. If you’re not, we have to move faster. You could just as easily be dinner.”

“Why are you doing this” I ask.

“I’ve been waiting for you Gordon, you and the others, to rise up and rebel, to fight. I can’t do it alone and even together it’s going to be hard. But we have to try.”

“Why do we have to try?”

“You want the long or short answer? The short one is that I won’t be the one to let this planet die out. I’ll fight for our existence. And so will you.”

“I will?” A grin creaks over my face and I chuckle to myself. This little girl, who does she think she is?

“You don’t know everything, Gordon.”

She comes closer, her glowing skin pink with excitement, her blue eyes a dull shimmer in the darkness. She reaches her hand around the back of my head and runs her fingers through my hair. She pushes up against me, her lips to my ear, a sweet whisper of jasmine and lilac. “Like this...” she breathes as her long sharp fingernails dig into my skull, pushing deeper and deeper, the pain overwhelming me as my knees buckle and fail. Placing her hand over my mouth to hush the groans, she clasps onto the microchip and tugs hard, ripping and tearing, a slow gurgle oozing out, running down my neck as I black out once again.

6. ASSIGNED

//

alert

warning: chip 30021 malfunction

last known location: sector 87

loss of data, eminent

MEMORY lost: 12%

RESULT: STATUS IN FLUX, POSSIBLE FAILURE

END/ALERT

//

//

JKABOL@US/SS/BLACK/DISPATCH.GOV

kabol:

WE HAVE A PROBLEM. PROJECT 30021:GORDON HAS

DISAPPEARED OFF THE GRID. TRACKING DEVICES

HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED, BUT AS A SECONDARY

LEVEL OF SECURITY, ACTIVATE SS/BLACK

MONITORING SYSTEM AND AS A LAST RESORT,

IMPLODE. ASSET IS DANGEROUS AND UNSTABLE.

ELEMENTS ARE FRACTURED AND POSSIBLE MUTATION

COULD LEAD TO ANTI-EFFORTS WHICH WILL NOT BE

TOLERATED. UPDATE ON PROJECTIONS BASED ON

CURRENT INFORMATION:

A-PLAN: 87% SUCCESS RATE

B-PLAN: 54% SUCCESS RATE

C-PLAN: 23% SUCCESS RATE

X-PLAN: 94% SUCCESS RATE

IMMEDIATE RESPONSE REQUIRED. ACTIVATION OF

YOUR SYSTEMS MUST BE IMPLEMENTED WITHIN 24HOUR, OR ASSET WILL BE DE-ACTIVATED FROM OUR

END. THAT WOULD NOT BE OUR BEST OPTION.

ASSIGNED

MESSAGE SENT

END

//

//

SECURITY UPGRADE

TOWERS: RAISED FROM ORANGE TO RED, ACTIVATE

PROBING SENSORS, LOCK DOWN OF GATES

BORDERS: RAISED FROM ORANGE TO RED,

ELECTRIFY ON MOTION

PORTS: RAISED FROM YELLOW TO ORANGE, ANCHORS

MOORED, GPS ACTIVATED

TRANSPONDERS: SHUT DOWN, NOT TO BE OPENED

WITHOUT ALPHA-LEVEL CLEARANCE

X-FACTOR: MONITOR, ALL AUDIO AND VISUAL

REBOOT, WHERE APPLICABLE

END

//

7. ROLAND

I don’t even know his name and yet I feel comforted in his presence. I sit on the back patio watching the sun go down as my anger slowly drains from me. Everything I’ve seen points in his direction and yet little of it makes sense. Who are the others in the group? Some I recognize, like the infamous Jimmy. His wavering presence is a giant question mark. Jacob I’ve seen around town, but I don’t know him at all. My mother, the town whore.

He told me to focus. Sit on the back patio, sip some tea, stare at the beautiful surroundings, and focus my concentration and energy on something, anything. ESP, astral projection, kinesis - what the hell is he talking about? I pick up the long silver spoon that rests next to the glass of iced tea and stare at it. I will my mind to do something - to move it, to levitate it, to bend it perhaps. Focusing, I stare at it until every imperfection is engraved in my mind, every tiny ding and dent, every little scratch and curve, every reflection of light. My vision blurs and the spoon vibrates as I feel my clarity slip away. Everything buzzes and jumps about, the details lost as the spoon pixilates and the atoms bend to my will. Like a limp noodle from a spaghetti pot it bends in half. Leaping to my feet it falls to the stone with a dull clang. I stare at it and it remains bent, unnatural at best.

“Um...hey,” I stutter, “mister.”

Blood throbs in my head. Placing my fingers to my temples, I close my eyes. A screech echoes inside my skull as voices come to me, my mother, and several others.

Take it easy, you brutes. Just a little further, Marcy. Get you hands off my ass. You’ve been very busy, haven’t you. What the fuck is that? What do you guys want?

My head swims and I reel to my right.

“Hey, buddy...dude,” I murmur.

My head snaps back and a flash of light pours over me. I open my eyes and am greeted by a slap of cold air, my legs thigh deep in snow. I stand at the edge of a cave, next to a large fire. Screams of some beast, a deep moaning howl floats to me. Below in the snow covered hillside, something looks up at me, its eyes glowing red, covered in long matted fur that must have once been white. I close my eyes and fall backwards.

I stand in a bedroom, my cold wet feet dampening the carpet. The queen sized bed is covered with an open suitcase, and spread out over the bed are an assortment of vibrators and dildos. I’d seen them before. There is laughter coming from the next room, women’s voices. My mom.

“Mom,” I cry, “help me,” as I stagger to the door. I place my hand on the knob as a jolt of electricity surges through my body. I fall to the ground on the cool stone tile. My arms flail wildly and I lose my bearings. The sound of spilling liquid and shattering glass spins in a dull circle around me as my head cracks the patio with an uneasy thud. In the distance he yells my name, over and over again. ROLAND he says, coming closer, as I drift away. ROLAND!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

May 13, 2024

1. JACOB

I run upstairs to the closet and the telescope is still there. Back down the steps I fly and out the back door. Behind the buildings and up the street my feet carry me faster and faster to the hidden, broken-down barn, just off the beaten path. I plunge into the overgrowth and weave my way to the back door. It’s bolted shut by a shiny new padlock, and when I stretch up onto my toes the key is still on the sill. Wiping the grimy window clean, I gaze inside at the tarp covered shape that can only be my first love, the Mustang. Turning around my feet give way and a heavy weight settles over my weary frame. I thud to the ground with a dull ache and stare at the greenery stretched out in front of me. I remember it all. What the fuck is going on.

I return to the kitchen and put on a pot of water for tea. I need something to soothe my jangled nerves and a little chamomile with honey and lemon may do the trick. If not, the Knob Creek bourbon won’t be far behind.

The dust flits around me, sun seeping through the dull windows. My hands shake on the tabletop as if I’m at the end of a three day binge, every emotion I have boiling to the surface. I fight back tears only to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of it all, to be followed by a numbing despair and on the heels of that a raging anger that makes my fists clench.

This place. What has it done to me?

The illusion had been shattered many years ago. If you asked any old timers, and there were very few of us now, they’d tell you how it started. The goal of this prison camp. But how many knew we were on an island, I wonder? Obviously, the staff that handles the boats and docks. I assume the upper management. Exodus for sure. The various forms of darkness, whatever they are. Did it really matter anyway? The zombies that had been sentenced to this place quickly forgot the real world. Upon landing, there were many things that were done to ensure the gap in memory. The brainwashing was first, the psychology of the mind erase. The microchips were second. The tracking devices were just for security, to keep an eye on us all. Or so they said.

In the beginning it had been a game. The founding members were allowed to keep their memories, and in return, they were to help with the illusions. We were given the hope and dream of getting out of here, back to the mainland, and whatever lives we had left. Somebody had to run the asylum, even if the staff wasn’t much more sane. I’ve seen the caves. Marcy and I took care of some business together, the good of the many at the sacrifice of the few. She was a stone cold bitch, but she carried the weight of promises and possibility. And that was a rarity. Jimmy was the only one to get off, as far as I know, and his departure was tricky and surrounded by rumors. Those rumors drifted back to me, now and then, and there has been talk of disaster on the mainland for a very long time. I don’t know who or what to believe. Part of me feels the weight of a world carrying on without me, without us, business as usual, traffic and babies and television and baseball. Another part of me knows it’s all gone. I saw something in Jimmy’s eyes. He was trying to tell us something. I barely know him, but he’s a good man, I know that much.

My escape attempt failed. Miserably. I’m exhausted from the myriad of possibilities and what I should do next. Pulled in ten directions at once, I can’t move at all. And maybe that’s okay for now.

The teapot starts to whistle. I stand up and click the stove off, pouring the steaming water over the tea bag and lemon wedge. Maybe I can survive on these little things. Mass consumption has always been overrated. But to know there is nothing, to know that it is pointless, finite with no hope of grandeur, of anything beyond this island, it dulls my senses to the core.

There is a jangling of bells at the front of the store. A customer, how pedestrian.

2. MARCY

The men with the shotguns drop me at the back gate, unlocking the handcuffs, but not before getting in a quick squeeze of my breasts.

“You know the way from here,” the tall one says with a leer.

“Yes, I do. And...” leaning over to read the name stitched on his shirt, “...Bodin, I’m sure X will be happy to hear of your manhandling me the entire way here.”

“It was his idea,” Bodin said. “How did he put it, Colin?” he says, turning his head to the short, fat partner of his. “Oh yeah. Have a little fun with her. She likes that kind of thing.”

A slow boil runs under my skin and for a second I wonder if I’m fast enough to take him. It wouldn’t be hard to grab that shotgun and ram it up under his chin. Behind me the gate clicks open and a small blur flies past me, brown fur squealing and chittering. It runs up to Boden’s leg unleashing a torrent of bites and scratches in a whirlwind of teeth. It would be funny if the blood wasn’t coursing down his pant leg, his eyes widening as a wash of pale envelops his face. The tiny rodent turns and runs back through the gate on up the hill and out of sight. As Bodin falls to the ground grabbing his leg, cursing and rolling about, I eye his quiet friend as I kick the fallen pervert in the face with a satisfying crunch. It’ll have to be enough for now.

Something is wrong. I can feel it in the air as I run up the hill. A wave of heat passes over me, followed quickly by a river of chills. As I round the corner of the house I see the only two men I’ve ever loved. Neither one looks good.

Exodus was his name, one of many actually, but I call him X. It’s a long story that I’ll save for another day, but suffice it to say he saved me from myself. He is on his knees hunched over Roland, as my son flails about on the ground, smacking the stone with repeated violence, bloodying his hands, eyes rolled back in his head.

“What

happened?”

“I don’t know, Marcy. We had a little talk. I gave him his first test, to see if his abilities were still dormant. Obviously they aren’t. That was a mistake. I should have been here with him. One minute he was bending a spoon as I watched him from the kitchen window, the next he was fading in and out. Covered in snow, then sweaty and twitching, gone again, and then back like this.”

With a sharp twist of his neck, Roland’s head smacks the tile and he is still. We stare at each other. He doesn’t move.

“No, that wouldn’t do it,” he says. “That wasn’t anything.”