Driver 8: A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

CHAPTER 3

Portia Grant loved her role in The Collective. She still remembered rejoicing the day she received the slot for teacher. It was a rewarding position but like others, it had its unique pitfalls and today was one of them.

Unable to think clearly after the events yesterday, she had the kids recite the tenets of The Collective until the hour came for them to go get tested.

“Devin, read the first of the tenets, then Kathy you next and so forth down the row. I want the reader to read it, then the class repeat it out loud. Understood?”

“Yes, Teacher Seven,” the children said in unison.

She looked at Devin and said, “Go ahead.”

Devin stood and with no need to read it having memorized it, he said, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the individual.”

On cue, the class repeated it.

As he sat down, Kathy stood and said, “Individualism is the purest form of selfishness.”

Again, the class repeated in one single voice.

Kathy sat and Darren stood. “Self-determination only determines superiority of one over another.”

Portia watched as the children continued the process, her eye watching the hand of the clock slowly move, drawing closer and closer to the hour they’d head to the infirmary.

Melissa stood and said, “Free speech isn’t free, it enslaves those it hurts.”

Before the class could repeat, Portia interrupted them. “Class we’re getting close to the time. Is everyone ready for today?”

“Yes, Teacher Seven,” they all replied.

She looked at the excited faces of the students before her. How can they be looking forward to this? She thought.

“Class, I need everyone to stand and line up near the door,” she ordered.

Ever obedient, the children did as she said. They calmly and without making a sound got up and stood in a line along the far wall of the classroom.

Portia slowly walked by until she reached the front in line. She looked down at a young boy and asked, “How are you doing today, Karl?”

“Good, Teacher Seven. Thank you for asking,” Karl replied with a big smile on his face.

“Happy to hear,” she said. “Does anyone have any last questions before we go to the infirmary?”

In unison the class replied, “No, Teacher Seven.”

“Good, then let’s proceed, we don’t want to be late and you know what the Number One says about being late.”

“Tardiness is lazy and laziness leads to apathy which leads to an unproductive person,” the class recited loudly.

“Correct,” she said. “Karl, please lead your fellow classmates.”

Karl nodded, opened the door and proceeded out.

Portia followed the last student. With each step her nausea grew. Who will it be? She wondered.

Karl led the class proudly along the narrow path from the school to the infirmary near the center of town.

Portia knew she couldn’t have favorites but she did and it was those that she prayed would return over others. It was horrible to pick and choose, but how could she not. No matter how often she fought the urge to favor or like one child over the other, she just couldn’t help it. Her eyes scanned the line of children until they rested on Melissa.

Melissa was one of those people who were always happy. No matter what, you could count on Melissa showing up with a huge smile and a positive word. For those who were lucky enough, she’d share a warm embrace. It was impossible not to love Melissa.

Portia picked up her pace until she was alongside Melissa. She looked down at her and smiled.

Seeing Portia, Melissa widened her grin and declared, “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Last night my daddy read me the most fabulous book,” Melissa gushed.

“What was it?”

“It was called Doggieville. He got it from a driver a couple weeks ago. It’s my new favorite book.”

“I can assume by the title it’s about dogs?”

“Yes, a wonderful dog named Kiki. He’s sooo cute.”

The line stopped in front of a large two story white building. Karl looked back and said, “We’re here Teacher Seven.”

“One moment,” Portia said as she pulled Melissa out of the line for a private conversation. She squatted down so she could have eye to eye contact. “Melissa, dear.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not. Daddy says no matter what happens, it’s done to make The Collective stronger,” Melissa said smiling.

“I’m going to be in the hallway just outside the room. If you need me at all, please have one of the nurses come and get me.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to worry, I’ll be brave. For The Collective,” she cheered raising her right arm, hand clenched.

“About the book, Doggieville, don’t tell anyone else about that. You remember there’s strict rules on what you can and can’t read,” Portia warned.

“I know, Daddy told me not to tell but I trust you, you’re like a mommy to me,” Melissa said wrapping her small arms around Portia.

Hearing that one word, mommy, hit Portia hard. It was the one thing she would love to be but couldn’t, so being a teacher allowed her to get as close to that as possible.

Melissa’s mother had been cast out last year after being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. In her absence, Melissa clung to the one woman who exposed motherly traits, Portia.

The double doors opened and a large woman dressed in white appeared. “Is this Class Two?”

“Get back in line,” Portia told Melissa. She looked at the nurse and answered, “Yes, this is Class Two, they’re ready for the test.”

“Good,” the nurse said. Looking at the children she ordered, “Proceed on in, go to the last door on the left and stand in line against the wall.”

Karl led the students inside.

Portia followed but was stopped.

“We need you to wait outside. As the students are released…” the nurse ordered holding up her hand blocking Portia.

“Wait, no, I’ve waited inside before,” Portia complained.

“New rules.”

“No, my students might need me,” Portia challenged and tried to walk around the nurse whose stature was large for a woman.

The nurse pushed Portia aside and barked,” Excuse me, Teacher. What’s your name?”

“Teacher Seven.”

“Teacher Seven, I don’t make the rules, they come down from Number One and this is a new rule.”

Hearing that Number One just past the rule, Portia relented. Getting on the wrong side of Number One was not where you wanted to be.

“Just wait out here, I’ll send them out as they clear,” the nurse said stepping inside. Just before the door closed she stuck her head out. “And I’d watch your use of words. Telling people that they’re your students is not wise, just remember, these children belong to The Collective.”

“God, it takes forever to get anywhere. I remember when you could drive from the west coast to the east coast in days,” Barry said his head resting on his chin, eyes fixed on the passing landscape ahead.

“How do you remember? You’re not old enough to remember,” Kyle challenged.

“I was seven when The Reboot started, I do remember,” Barry fired back.

Kyle shook his head, he wasn’t even going to counter his rebuttal.

Barry noticed they passed what he thought would be their turnoff.

“Are we going through Grand Junction?”

“You’ve been complaining about how long the drive is taking and I’m tired of hearing it. So, I’m taking a shortcut. We’ll keep on old interstate seventy.”

Barry sat up, his face tightened and his eyes widened. “Isn’t it overrun with Generates?”

“Yeah,” Kyle replied confidently.

“But that’s dangerous. What if we run into them?”

“Generates normally don’t venture out during the day, they prefer the cover of night.”

Barry’s nervous look melted away, he slouched back down and said, “Oh, yeah, I’d heard that. Smart, very smart of you to take the shortcut.”

Kyle chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing, but I’ll add that they normally don’t unless they’re hungry, then you’ll see them out during the day. Who knows, maybe the ones who live in Grand Junction are hungry.”

Barry immediately sat up again, his body tense and alert. “Maybe we, you know, maybe we should turn around and go back to the route we just past. What do you say?” Barry said.

The radio came to life. “Driver Eight, come in over.”

Kyle picked up the hand microphone and replied, “Go for Driver Eight.”

“What’s your location, over?”

“Six miles northwest of Grand Junction. Be advised we’re staying on seventy all the way through,” Kyle replied.

“Seventy? Be advised, Driver Three reported heavy Generate activity there two days ago,” the dispatch said.

“During what hours, over?” Kyle asked.

Barry sat on the edge of his seat, listening to the conversation intently. Praying the dispatch would say something that would convince Driver Eight to turn around.

“Three reported the activity was at twelve hundred hours, over.”

“Copy that. Tell Three thanks for intel,” Kyle said.

“I’d tell him if I could reach him. We lost contact with him just after he reported the activity, over.”

“Fuck, no, turn around,” Barry barked.

“I’ve been telling your dad for a year now we need to go down and clean those savages out of there. They breed like rabbits and spread like a disease. But he said Junction wasn’t worth losing lives over.”

“It’s not.”

“Tell that to the folks who lived there before.”

“They deserved it, we always had problems with them when they were under our protection,” Barry said referring to an arrangement the city state of Grand Junction had made with The Collective.

“I’ll remind you we had a deal with them and we didn’t come to their aid when they needed it,” Kyle said.

“Who cares?”

Kyle leaned over the steering wheel and let his foot off the accelerator. He grabbed the radio and keyed it, “Dispatch, did Three say anything about roadblocks on the seventy?”

Barry whipped his head and looked out. A half mile ahead the highway was completely blocked with debris and abandoned vehicles. “Turn the fuck around!”

“Negative, Eight,” dispatch answered.

“Turn the fuck around!” Barry repeated, his hands white knuckling the dash.

Kyle put the hand mic down and said, “You know something, Barry, I think I’m going to turn around.” He saw an opening in the median ahead and went for it. He turned the wheel hard to the left causing the truck to lurch that way.

Just as he made the turn several loud cracks came from outside.

“What was that?” Barry asked his head swiveling around in all directions.

“That was gunshots,” Kyle said. “Now hold on.” The truck hit the median and bounced hard. Kyle turned the wheel hard again to the left and put his foot fully on the accelerator.

What sounded like dull thuds hitting the truck became more pronounced.

“Drive faster!” Barry screamed.

When the truck hit the west bound lanes, Kyle kept the pressure on the accelerator.

Seemingly out of nowhere came a burning car across their path.

“Watch out!” Barry yelled.

Kyle weaved around it and jokingly said, “Looks like they’re hungry.”

Appearing from behind a guard rail, four Generates came out onto the highway and laid down a long board with nails sticking up.

“Hold on!” Kyle said swerving the truck to the left and back onto the median. He handed Barry an AR platform rifle and said, “Open the gun port and shoot those fuckers!” Kyle’s truck didn’t have side windows, the cab to include the side windows was encased in an inch thick exterior metal shell with small slits for gun ports.

“Huh?” Barry asked, his face not hiding the terror he was experiencing.

Kyle caught sight of a Generate with a rifle pointed at them. “Get ahold of something, we’re going to go airborne soon.”

“No.”

Kyle jerked the wheel hard again to the left just at the time the Generate fired. His last second move prevented the shot from hitting. The truck flew out of the median onto the east bound lanes. “How we looking?”

Barry craned his head back and saw the four Generates jumping up and down, no doubt angry they had missed their target. “We’re looking good, I think.”

“Next time I say something, do it?” Kyle snapped.

“But…”

“There’s no buts, maybe asses like yourself, but no buts. I’m the master of these roads and you do what I say,” Kyle roared.

“If you’re such a master, why did you almost get us killed?” Barry snarled.

“Typically, Generates don’t come out during the day. It was an educated risk and well, it didn’t work, but we’re not dead so stop bitching.”

The tire pressure light came on with a ding.

Kyle looked at it and said, “Shit.”

“What now?”

“One of the tires, it’s losing pressure,” Kyle answered.

“It’s not safe to pull over now,” Barry said.

“We won’t have too right now, the truck has run flats but we’ll have to reduce our speed. We’ll find a secure place off a beaten path to hunker down for the night. I can fix it then.”

Barry began to laugh loudly.

“Something funny?” Kyle asked.

“I think I shit my pants.”

“Lucky for you, we’re showering tonight.”

“I’m joking,” Barry clarified.

“I’m not.”

“What do you mean by showering?”

“Unless I’m running drives in full decon gear, I try to shower every night. It’s a practice I got into from the start and I don’t see any reason to stop now.”

Not finding a reason to bicker, Barry went along, “Okay.” Suddenly curious about Kyle’s history, Barry asked the one question he’d heard the most. “Are all the stories true?”

“About me?”

“Yeah, are they true or have you bullshitted your way to glory and fame?”

“Now if I had bullshitted why would I tell you?”

“Did you really singlehandedly kill a dozen Generates with a hand-held shovel?”

Kyle looked at Barry and replied, “I’m not sure what you were taught, but I was told to never give up. I was out of ammo, I had one knife buried in the skull of one and a damn stick in the neck of another. I had nowhere to go so I tactically fell back to my rig.”

“You retreated?”

“No, I didn’t retreat and words are important. I tactically fell back, meaning I knew where the shovel was as I had been digging with it when I was attacked. I made my way back to it, and used it.”

“So, it’s true?”

“It’s true and the shovel in question is the very one attached to my pack in the back seat.”

Barry looked behind him and saw the pack sitting there with the shovel folded and clipped to the side in a holder. “Can I touch it?”

Kyle gave Barry an odd look and replied, “No, I don’t want you fiddlefucking my gear.”

“I wasn’t going to fiddlefuck anything,” Barry fumed and pouted. “Is it true, you’re always an asshole?”

Kyle laughed and answered with a question. “Do people think I’m an asshole?”

“I do.”

“Then the answer is yes.”

Portia paced the sidewalk in front of the infirmary, looking at her watch frequently. Each time the door opened she looked up with anticipation of seeing her students but each time it was someone else. Her mind spun with the different scenarios, some had Melissa coming out and others didn’t. What am I prepared to do? She asked herself. Lost in her internal turmoil she didn’t hear the door open.

“The children are done,” the nurse said.

Portia kept pacing oblivious, her back to the nurse.

“Excuse me, Teacher Seven. The students are finished!”

Portia jumped, “Oh, good, good.” Clenching her hands into fists, she approached the door.

The nurse opened the door wide to accommodate the children who promptly began to march out single file. As each child exited the infirmary, Portia’s anxiety grew and her stomach turned. Where’s Melissa? When the last child exited, the nurse let go of the door. “Have a good day.”

Portia grabbed the door and asked, “Is that it?”

“Yes,” the nurse replied stoically.

“There was a girl, Melissa. Is she one of them?” Portia asked.

The nurse cocked her head and answered, “If they aren’t here, that’s your answer.”

“But…”

“Is that all?”

“No,” Portia said walking up to the nurse. “Can I see her?”

The nurse looked at her oddly and said, “No.”

“Please.”

“You know protocol, once they fail the test, they go to processing.”

Fear gripped Portia, she knew what processing meant. “Can I ask a personal favor?”

“What?”

“Can I go see her?” Portia asked.

“The answer is no. Teacher Seven. Your request is highly unusual, but I’ll excuse it this one time. Now, please go, attend to the other children,” the nurse said. She turned and walked away.

Portia stood and stared. A deep sense of helplessness swept over her. The scenarios she’d run through her head moments before came rushing back.

At the end of the far hallway, a door creaked open and Melissa stepped out.

Seeing her, Portia called out, “Melissa!”

Hearing her name, Melissa turned and waved. Oddly a smile graced her tender face.

Portia wasn’t thinking about protocol or how unusual her behavior was. She let instinct take over. “Melissa, sweetheart, wait there!” she said racing towards her.

Melissa stood and waited but was prompted along by a young intern.

“No, wait,” Portia cried out.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the nurse appeared, “Teacher Seven, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I just need to see her,” Portia said her voice cracking. Her face gave away the emotions running through her.

“Teacher Seven, report back to your class, NOW!” the nurse barked, her tone signaling she was irritated with Portia’s emotional and unorthodox behavior.

“I need to see her,” Portia urged looking over the nurse’s shoulder to keep track of Melissa’s whereabouts.

“No, now turn around or I will be forced to report you,” the nurse warned.

Melissa disappeared into another room followed by the intern.

Frantic, Portia pushed past the nurse and sprinted down the hall.

Calmly, the nurse turned to another nurse at a station and ordered, “Contact security.”

Portia reached the door to the room she’d seen Melissa disappear into and turned the nob but found it locked. She knocked on the door and asked, “Melissa, are you in there?”

No response.

“Melissa, please answer me, are you okay?”

Silence.

“Resident, step away from the door,” a man said, his voice deep and rough.

Portia looked up at the mountain of a man towering over her. “Please, I just need to see her before she gets processed, that’s all.”

“Step away from the door, now, or I’ll be forced to use more aggressive measures,” the guard threatened.

Portia began to bang on the door, “Melissa, if you can hear me. I want you to know…” she paused, gulped loudly and continued. “I want you to know, I love you. And that I think you’re the most precious girl in the world.”

The guard didn’t give a warning before jabbing his stun baton into her ribs.

Portia’s body tensed and went rigid.

The guard hit her again with the baton, this time shoving it into her armpit.

The electrical charge swept through her body. She crumbled to the ground, her body flinching. She looked up at the guard and tried to speak but was unable. A single tear streaked down the side of her face just before the guard jabbed her a third time, this time in the neck. It was the last thing she remembered before she went unconscious.

Barry could feel the anger welling up inside him. His dark brown eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Brushing the long bangs away from his forehead he barked, “I’ve got two things to say. One, if you touch me, you better make sure you intend on killing me and two, if you don’t kill me, I will kill you.” A devilish grin stretched across his face. “So, if you have something to say, you better be able to back it up.”

“What the hell are you doing?” a booming voice sounded behind Barry.

Barry turned to see Kyle, standing feet from him, an odd look on his face.

Embarrassed, Barry stepped away from the mirror and replied, “Just screwing around is all.”

“I always knew you were a bit off, but now I find you threatening yourself in a mirror. That is taking it to new heights of crazy,” Kyle laughed and walked away.

Barry looked in the mirror and barked, “Stupid, idiot.” He ran his fingers through his bushy hair. His face flushed, he grinded his teeth in frustration. Just before walking away he caught another glimpse of his reflection and snapped, “Dumbass.”

From the rear of the house, Kyle called out, “Once you’re done playing with yourself go grab the rest of the stuff from the truck.”

“Okay,” Barry grumbled and exited the house. He stopped on the front step to admire the view of the rolling fields and mountains beyond. “Would you look at that?”

“Are you getting the stuff or day dreaming now?” Kyle quipped as he pushed passed Barry on his way towards the truck.

“Just taking in the view,” Barry said.

Kyle stopped just sigh of the truck, looked towards the snow-capped mountains and exhaled deeply. In a satirical tone he said, “Ahh, so beautiful, now let’s get our stuff inside before the storm hits.”

“Storm?” Barry asked, looking around.

“While you were playing games in the mirror you missed the darkening clouds that were gathering to the west,” Kyle said pointing in that direction.

A storm was coming and along with it a high probability of lethal doses of radioactive material. “We need to get inside, and seal up,” Kyle said referencing the ritual practice he’d do when a storm approached.

This ritual required covering all windows and exterior doors with visqueen, a thick plastic sheet, then create a decontamination station in a sealed off room, preferably a bathroom. There he’d strip and wash to remove any possible radioactive particles he might have come into contact with. Kyle was strict with this practice. He had survived all these years because of this ritualistic practice.

“Darkening clouds? Kyle the entire sky has been cloudy off and on for years,” Barry said.

“We don’t’ have time to waste, get to it,” Kyle insisted as he grabbed an armful of items from the bed of the truck.

What remained of Salt Lake City lay to west and if a storm was coming from that direction so was radiation.

Barry approached the truck only to stop when Kyle tossed a roll of visqueen, a roller of tape and a staple gun at him.

“Start in the front room, and no more role playing in the mirror, okay?” Kyle ordered.

Barry scoffed at him and walked off.

Barry was busy stapling and taping the visqueen over the windows and exterior doors while whistling a show tune. Watching old television shows on DVD was something he enjoyed.

Kyle found a bathroom with a shower and checked the water. After a stuttering pause water rained out of the shower head. He let the water pour for a good minute into the basin then ran the Geiger counter over it to make sure it wasn’t contaminated and found it good. He placed his hand in the water to check the temperature and like everywhere else, it was ice cold. “This will suck,” he muttered as if expecting the water to turn warm. He shrugged off his large pack and began to unload the contents. Done, he proudly looked at the display of soaps, sponges, towels and fresh clothes laid out neatly on a clean tarp. The towels and fresh clothes were sealed in large zip lock bags.

Next to his arrangement, several buckets filled with water and detergent solution sat ready for them to clean any gear they couldn’t spare to lose.

“How’s it going?” he hollered to Barry.

“All good,” Barry replied from the back of the house.

Kyle entered the room and was about to help when he thought about the truck. He remembered seeing a detached garage off of the side of the house, it would be perfect to store the truck. “I’m going to park the truck, I’ll be back,” Kyle hollered running out, he saw the low tire and was reminded he needed to fix that first. Like a professional pit boss he had the truck lifted, punctured tire off and new one on in minutes. With the truck tire replaced the next thing was to get it into the garage. He pulled the truck outside the garage and ran to the door. He tried to lift but the door wouldn’t budge. He knew there had to be a side door, so he rushed to find it. Clearing the first corner he spotted it. He tried the knob but found it locked.

A strong gust of wind washed over him. It was a reminder the storm was nearing. He didn’t have time to waste. He stepped back, raised his right leg and kicked hard. The door exploded inward. He grabbed his flashlight, turned it on and peered inside to find another car in there. “Shit.” If he was going to get his truck safely parked inside, he had to first remove the old sedan. He found the cord that disconnected the motorized door lift and pulled. With the garage now able to open manually, he placed his hands against it and lifted. Surprisingly the door moved easily. With the door open, the next step was getting the car out. He walked around to the driver’s door and paused when he spotted a garden hose sticking through a slight crack in the window. His eyes followed it back to the tail pipe.

He was always curious to what happened to the homeowners of the homes he’d scavenge and for this one, he knew the answer. He reached for the handle but stopped short of opening it. He knew the keys were inside and all he needed to do was put the car in neutral and winch it out but something prevented him from even opening the door. Was it because this was their grave?

“Hurry up, the storms blowing in fast!” Barry hollered from the front porch.

Hearing Barry call out broke his resistance. He grabbed the handle and pulled. The door creaked open and out fell the clothed skeletal remains of the homeowner. Kyle didn’t bother to look around the car to see who else might be in there. He pushed the rest of the remains out and got behind the wheel. After years of experience, he knew he couldn’t just put the car into neutral by putting his foot on the brake and having the steering wheel unlocked. Modern vehicles now had lockouts on the gear shifts and he had to bypass it.

“What’s taking so long?” Barry asked suddenly appearing next to the driver’s door.

Not bothering to look up, Kyle asked, “Are you done inside?”

“Yeah.”

Kyle pulled out his trusty Benchmade folding knife and opened it. He slide the blade under a small cap on the gear shift column and lifted. The cap popped off and under it was a tiny button.

“What are you doing?” Barry asked curiously.

“Putting the car into neutral to get it out of here,” Kyle answered pressing the button while putting the gear shift into neutral. Before stepping out, he made sure the parking brake was off.

“Why did you have to do that?” Barry asked.

Kyle ignored him and got out. He pointed to the front of his truck and said. “Pull the winch cable over here.”

Barry stood.

Seeing Barry just standing, he gave him an odd look and asked, “Are you going to help or just stand there?”

Barry rushed to the truck, he nervously looked at the winch and called back, “How do I turn it on?”

“Oh, good, God,” Kyle said and ran over to do it himself. With the winch on, he unwound the cable. “Take this and hook it to something secure, not just the bumper, wrap it under something that won’t break off.”

Barry walked the unwinding winch cable to the back of the car, knelt and looked under. He found a secure spot, looped the cable around and connected back to the hook. “It’s set.”

Kyle turned on the winch. It strained at first but as soon as the car began to move, the stress lessened.

Barry began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Kyle asked.

“The tires, they’re trashed, look,” Barry said pointing to the flattened and dry rotted tires.

Kyle ignored Barry’s comments. All he could think about was the storm barreling down on them and they weren’t finished yet.

Barry walked out in front and hollered, “You’re clear.”

Kyle unhooked the winch, secured it and without delay put the truck in the garage. He pulled the radio from the cradle and along with a battery, tucked it under his arm. He normally didn’t care to have radio contact while overnighting somewhere but since he had Number Two with him, he thought it best this time. As he closed the garage door a strong gust of wind swept through and blew his hat off his head. He darted for it but the wind pushed it along the dusty ground like a tumble weed. Back and forth he weaved trying to grab it but each time he came within reach another gust would push it further away. Frustrated he cried out, “C’mon damn it!” The hat finally came to a stop. He lunged and snatched it. “Got you,” he said placing the worn and tattered cap on his head. A chill shot down his spine when a stronger gust hit him. He could tell the air temperature had dropped another ten degrees. He craned his head towards the west and saw the black clouds closing in. Soon the precipitation and whatever else would be upon them and with it a massive amount of radiation. He cleared the last feet to the front door, ran inside and slammed the heavy wood door behind him.

“I found some food in the pantry,” Barry said with a big smile standing in the darkened hallway.

“Don’t eat anything until I can check it,” Kyle said looking around. His eyes danced around the room inspecting the work Barry had done. “No, no, no,” Kyle said walking over to a window.

“What?”

Kyle looked at the crumpled seam on a window and said, “This needs to be flat, you’ll never create an airtight seal like this.”

“I did the best I could,” Barry said.

Kyle had high standards but for a good reason. Frustrated he went to work to fix the areas he found lacking.

Kyle flattened the last seam with the palm of his hand and laid a strip of thick tape over it. Standing back to admire his work he said, “Done.” He looked around but Barry wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He went looking for him and found Barry in the kitchen stacking up cans.

“Look what I found?”

“We can check those later, time to get cleaned up,” Kyle said.

They proceeded to the bathroom to begin their decontamination procedures.

Barry went first; he stripped down naked and climbed into the bathtub. Wrapping his arms around him in an attempt to stay warm, Kyle turned on the water. The frigid water hit him, instantly making Barry shiver.

“Hurry up, it’s fucking cold,” Barry wailed.

Kyle took a long soft bristled brush and began to scrub Barry’s back while Barry bathed the front of his body.

“How do you know this water isn’t contaminated?” Barry asked.

“Cause I tested it. I figure a deep well feeds this, lucky for us,” Kyle answered.

“Oh, makes sense.”

“How is it possible you’ll still chubby?”

“I’m husky,” Barry countered.

“Is that what your momma told you so you wouldn’t feel bad about yourself?” Kyle joked.

“Fuck you,” Barry snapped. “When I see my father I’m going to tell him you’ve been disrespectful to me.”

“I have a feeling you’re in a bit of hot water with your father, pun intended,” Kyle said.

Finished, Barry put the sponge down and stepped out careful not to slip on the floor, not an easy thing to do when the floor is covered in visqueen.

Kyle placed the long handle brush he was using down. He turned and began stuffing a fifty-five-gallon bag with Barry’s dirty clothes. He then removed his and put them in the bag, tied it closed and tossed it in the corner.

Barry wasted no time ripping open the packaging that held his clean clothes. Coupled with the cold water, the chilly air made him shiver uncontrollably.

Kyle jumped into the shower and they repeated the process with him.

“Why can’t we just wash the clothes?” Barry asked.

“I don’t take any chances, period. Best to burn them,” Kyle answered.

“That sucks, I liked those jeans.”

“Be grateful you even have clean clothes.”

“These pants are too small, I knew it, I fucking knew these would run small and they’re long as hell,” Barry complained as he tugged at tight waistband of the new jeans.

Kyle shrugged his shoulders and smirked, “If you lost a few pounds that wouldn’t be a problem.”

Barry raised his middle finger and marched off.

Portia opened her eyes, only to close them from the bright fluorescent light beaming in her face. When her eyes adjusted, she slowly opened them to discover she was still in the infirmary. “Ouch,” she said out loud. Her head was throbbed, no doubt from when she hit her head on the floor. She tried to lift her right hand but couldn’t, it was bound to the bed rail. Startled, she tried to lift her left arm only to find it was also bound. Suddenly she realized the trouble she was in, “Oh, no,” she sighed.

The door opened and in stepped a uniformed security officer. He gave her a once over and said, “Teacher Seven, are you able to walk?”

“I think so, take these bindings off and I’ll find out,” she replied.

He pulled out a knife and stepped over.

Seeing the glint of the blade gave her a pause. “What are you going to do with that?”

He towered over her, knife in hand. With a crooked smile stretched across his face, he lowered the blade and cut the plastic tie that bound her right hand.

She raised her hand and looked at the reddened and bruised skin around her wrist.

The guard cut the other binding and pocketed the knife. He gave her a smug look and asked, “Are you going to give me trouble?”

Wide eyed and happy to be free, she answered, “No. I won’t be any trouble. I promise.” She sat up and took turns massaging her wrists.

“Come with me.”

She did as he ordered.

In the hallway, she was met by glaring and suspicious eyes. The guard escorted her down a short hallway and stopped outside a door.

She looked at him and asked, “Do I open it?”

“Yes.”

Nervous, she asked, “What’s inside?”

“Open the door,” he ordered.

With a shaking hand she did as he said, when the door fully opened she saw Melissa sitting inside. She turned to the guard and asked, “I don’t understand.”

“You know people I guess,” he replied and looked at his watch. “You have ten minutes, that’s it.”

Not wasting a second to ask silly questions, she rushed inside. “Melissa, how are you?”

“Hi.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she dropped to her knees in front of Melissa. “Are you okay?”

“I fine,” Melissa answered.

Portia took Melissa’s hands in hers and said, “I don’t want you to be afraid. Do you understand?”

“I’m not afraid, but you look like you are,” Melissa said.

Wiping her tears, Portia said, “I’ll be honest, I don’t want you to go. I’m afraid for you.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s my path. Like the Number One says…”

Portia put her hand to Melissa’s lips and said, “I don’t care. Let’s just enjoy these last minutes.”

“Have I disappointed you?” Melissa asked.

“Oh, no, no, don’t ever think you disappointed me. You’re amazing, in fact, you’re probably one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Have you seen my daddy?”

Looking shocked, Portia replied, “Your father didn’t come visit you?” A final visitation was allowed during the processing period.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

“I’m sure he’s fine, just running late,” Portia lied.

“They said, I’m leaving after I see you. Do you think he’s mad at me?”

“No, I’m sure he’s just running late, I’ll ask the guard,” Portia said getting back to her feet and knocking on the door.

The guard promptly opened the door and asked, “All done?”

“No. Her father. Why wasn’t he informed? He has visitation rights,” she said.

The guard looked over Portia’s shoulder and lowered his voice, “He declined.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen people do it before. They’re embarrassed, even ashamed at having someone in their family get banished.”

“Is daddy coming?” Melissa asked, her voice raised.

Portia turned around and said, “Ah, I’m not sure. I don’t think he knows. They’re going to go find him.”

As the guard closed the door he said, “Five more minutes.”

Portia rushed to Melissa’s side and sat in a chair next to her. “Did they say anything about where they’ll take you?”

“No.”

Portia was angry with her father. Over and over she asked herself. How can a parent not see their child off?

Melissa lowered her head and whimpered.

Seeing her emotional response, Portia knew everything before was an act. Melissa was scared but she had done her best to put up a front that she was tough. “I’m here with you.”

“Why won’t he come see me?”

“Like I said, he doesn’t know, but I know the second he finds out, he’ll be here. He loves you deeply,” she lied again. “Speaking of your daddy, did he ever mention where your mother might be?” Portia asked with hopes that the two could reunite outside the gates.

“No,” Melissa replied wiping tears from her cheeks.

“When they put you out, the first thing you do is start asking around, you understand. Someone in those small hamlets outside might know where she is,” Portia said.

Melissa nodded.

The door opened. “Time is up,” the guard said.

Melissa leapt into Portia’s arms. “I’m scared," she said finally expressing her feelings.

“I know you are sweetheart,” Portia said cradling her.

“Time is up,” the guard barked in his gruff voice.

“I need a bit more time,” Portia urged.

“Time is up!” the guard barked and came into the room in an aggressive manner.

“Melissa, do as I say, as soon as you get outside the walls, go to the nearest hamlet or village and start asking for your mother.”

Melissa nodded.

The guard grabbed Portia by the arm. “Time is up, and Number One wants to see you.”

Portia’s heart skipped a beat.

Melissa let go and slid down to her feet. “Goodbye, Teacher Seven.”

The guard pulled Portia to the door. She turned but couldn’t find the strength to say goodbye so she simply said, “Love you.”

“Collective Prime, this is Driver Eight, come in over,” Kyle radioed. All he got in return was static. “Collective Prime, this is Driver Eight, come in over.” Still static. “Hmm, maybe I’ll try a relay.” He switched the frequency and keyed the microphone. “Any station this net, this is Driver Eight, come in over.” Again, static.

Barry walked into the room, an LED lantern in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Holding up the whiskey, he said proudly, “Look what I found.”

“See I knew you were good for something,” Kyle joked. “Best we check to see if it’s hot.”

“I did already,” Barry said.

“Really. I’m not so sure I can trust you considering how well you did putting up the sheeting.”

Barry sat down and crossed his legs.

Outside the winds whipped and howled.

“That’s some storm. We don’t get ones like this back in Prime,” Barry said removing the cap off the bottle.

“Can I ask how you tested the whiskey?” Kyle asked.

“The bottle wasn’t open, but figured it would be safe. However, to be careful, I cleaned a large mixing bowl, pours the whiskey in, ran the Geiger over and it didn’t register. I found a funnel, cleaned it then poured the whiskey back into the bottle.”

“Thorough, I’m impressed,” Kyle said. “And to answer your thought about storms, Prime is shielded from big storms because of all the tall mountains around it.”

Barry filled two small glasses with whiskey and handed one to Kyle.

Kyle looked at it and said, “I can assume the glass is clean?”

Barry returned his question with a look that said, yes. He put the glass to his lips and sipped, “Not bad.”

Kyle followed but took a larger gulp, “Yeah, not bad at all.”

“Where do you think Ten went?” Barry asked.

Further into the Republic I suspect. Hell, I don’t know. What I do know is you’ll never see him again,” Kyle answered.

“Too bad, he was a good guy, a trusted driver.”

“A shit bag.”

Barry took a long drink and said, “You really don’t know shit do you?”

“I know enough and I know a shit bag when I see one,” Kyle said swishing the whiskey in his glass.

After taking another swig, Barry laughed, “When we get back, what are you going to tell my father?”

“I’ve known your father for a long time as you know, I owe him my life. I’ve never lied to him and I don’t plan on doing it in this instance.”

“Then you’re going to tell him everything?”

“As I saw, yes.”

“And what if he does nothing?” Barry asked.

“I’ll politely remind him of the laws, the laws he created,” Kyle answered.

“Wow, you really are a self-righteous guy. You think you know everything because you’ve driven a truck.”

“I don’t claim to know everything, but I know right and wrong.”

Barry leaned back, glass in his hand and a big smile on his face. “What is right and wrong? Are you using standards from before The Reboot? That’s a different world. Was it so bad for people say a thousand years ago to marry a twelve-year-old? No, because that’s the way things were then. Was it wrong for people to sell slaves back then too? Again, the answer is no, that’s just the ways things were. Your problem Driver Eight, is you’re putting the morals of a dead time onto the present. You haven’t evolved or progressed. This is a new world now with new rules. You either adapt or die.”

“I don’t care if it was today or ten thousand years ago. Children are children and going around having sex with them is against the laws of nature, period.”

“The laws of nature? Please don’t bore me with your antiquated political beliefs and talk about laws of nature, natural rights, blah, blah, blah” Barry mocked.

“What do you know about natural rights?” Kyle asked.

“Do you think I got taught the same dribble as everyone else? My father let me have access to a vast library. I’ve read every book on governmental systems and political theory. He wanted me to know what we were fighting against. He has been preparing me to rule in his stead as soon as he thinks I’m ready.”

Kyle took a long drink. He could feel the liquor hitting him.

“Your other problem Driver Eight, is you’re an idealist. I’ve heard about this code you created for the drivers years ago. My father went along with it only because he likes you. For some reason he’s come to believe you’re a team player, but I see through you. You’re not. You exude individualism. It’s seeps out your pours. You’ve been on the road too long. You somehow have lost sight but let me remind you. You’re not a person, you’re a tool and when you’ve driven your last mile, we’ll find another tool to replace you. You’re nothing. So, go ahead, talk high and mighty but know that I’ll be pissing on your grave and fucking your wife after you die.”

“What did you say?” Kyle barked.

Feeling cocky, Barry leaned closer to Kyle and said, “I’ll be fucking your wife.”

Kyle dropped his glass, and snatched Barry by the throat. He squeezed hard, pulled him close and said, “Say it again.”

Barry choked and clawed at Kyle’s clenched hand.

Not done threatening him, Kyle removed his Hoback knife and placed it on Barry’s tender cheek. “I should filet you open. Cut you like the fucking pig you are and tell your father the Generates got you. It would be so easy and know what, he’d believe me because he trusts me.”

Barry’s face turned bright red and he tried to utter a word but couldn’t.

Frustrated, Kyle pushed him away.

Choking and coughing, Barry curled up on the floor. “I fucking hate you.”

Kyle stood, picking up the bottle on his way up and took a long drink. “You’re nothing but a soft fat and lazy slug. You might have read every book ever written but you’ll never be a decent human being.” Kyle tipped the bottle upside down and poured the contents on Barry. When the bottle was empty, he smashed it against the wall and said, “If you ever say anything about my wife again, I will kill you.”

Portia came to the executive mansion but this time she was led to a small parlor downstairs and told to wait. She sat pensively looking around at all the items hanging on the walls or sitting on the tables and shelves. The room was more a museum than a parlor. Everywhere she looked she saw what must have been priceless works of art and memorabilia from before The Reboot. Kyle wasn’t one to bring items like this back, but he told her some drivers did. Clearly, they all found a home here. In an adjacent room she could hear Number One talking.

“Add an additional team to guard the wind and solar farms to the north and east and make sure they have roving patrols along the conduit. I don’t care where you have to pull them from, just do it. We can’t have anyone sabotaging our power generation. Before I let you go is it true our crop yield this harvest will be thirty-three percent higher? Glad to hear, that will make for a joyous harvest festival and get back to me on how the construction of the second brewery is going as well as the hop harvest. Thank you, bye.”

She sat up and clasped her hands on her lap awaiting his entrance.

“Portia, Portia, Portia,” Number One said walking into the room.

She snapped her head to see him and Bravo One walking in. She jumped to her feet and said, “Number One, sir, if you let me explain.”

He turned to Bravo One and said, “Could you give us some privacy?”

Bravo One nodded and left but not before giving Portia a sour look.

Portia noticed right away that Number One looked worse than he did yesterday. His skin seemed almost translucent and a light film of sweat clung to it. Again, he was wearing a turtleneck sweater. “If you’ll permit me to explain.”

He walked and took a seat opposite her in a winged back chair. “Please, sit.”

She did as he said.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed that you’re here instead of jail because of me,” he said lightly patting his crossed leg.

“Yes, I assumed.”

“You have embarrassed me, I want you to know. Just yesterday I’m praising you as a model resident and today you’re acting like a wild woman and breaking all protocol.”

“I’m sorry, I just freaked out. This little girl, she…” Portia paused to get her thoughts straight. “She means the world to me. I can’t have a child and she lost her mother so….”

Interrupting her, he finished what he guessed was her thought. “So took on the motherly role for this child. I understand this quaint and nostalgic feeling but Portia, the children of The Collective don’t really have parents. Our family is bigger than that, it’s the community. In fact, I’ll be passing a law soon that will have all children given out to the best equipped residents of The Collective. Just because someone can produce a child doesn’t mean they’re the best suited to raise them. I have struggled with this for a very long time and was going to announce it yesterday but because of those three traitors I changed my mind. I’m planning on holding a gathering next week to announce this. Now this takes me to you. I’ve been watching you for some time. I think you could be a great overseer of a new infant, you hold all the qualities and your husband is a hero. This is primarily why I brought you forward. I wanted everyone to see this model resident then see you become the first resident to oversee the next newborn. It was a perfect plan, then today happened. You’ve put me in a difficult spot, you really have.”

It took everything for her not to throw up. She knew his mannerisms and tone and it sounded as if he was about to declare her death sentence at any moment. His calm demeanor fooled many to think he wouldn’t do something barbaric but then would shock them with the opposite.

“What should I do with you?” he asked.

“I could wear the Cloth of Dishonor,” she offered reluctantly. This was a punishment meant for minor infractions where the guilty would wear black and emblazoned on the chest and back was a large letter D. The residents of The Collective could openly mock and ridicule them. The punishment lasted for thirty calendar days and had the desired effect of reforming those who had committed the crimes. If it was just her, she’d not be too concerned, but what it would do to Kyle is what she worried about. Seeing her humiliated on a daily basis could push him to a breaking point.

“No, no, I couldn’t do that to Driver Eight’s wife. You see my dear, I have few options here. As the person responsible for enforcing the laws I should have you banished for what you did, but I fear the repercussions from the people would be too much. They love your husband, a lot. He’s become quite the celebrity here,” he said with a smile.

“Then what?”

“There is another way, it’s a bit, um, unorthodox.”

“Anything.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I don’t want to embarrass or dishonor Kyle. I’d also like to know if this could remain quiet. I don’t want him to know. He works so hard, he sacrifices so much for…us all,” she said, catching herself before she said, me.

“We might be able to make an arrangement.”

Fearing he could do any number of horrible things she pressed him for what this unorthodox scheme was. “What would you like me to do?”

“I’ll get back to you with that, but for now, just stay out of trouble,” he warned.

“Why?”

“Are you asking why I would treat you differently?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I find you to be special. I know it flies counter to the teachings that we’re all equal. But I sense something great in you, Portia,” he answered and stood. He walked over to her and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Now go, I’ll call for you when I’ve made up my mind.”

“The girl? Is she gone? Banished?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Those are difficult decisions but they must be made. We can’t run the risk of having an outbreak. Do you remember fifteen years ago when that deadly virus ran through the town? I’m sure you do. We can’t risk that happening again.”

“I understand,” she said half lying.

“Now go,” he urged before stepping away and coughing loudly. The cough progressed to the point he needed to hold himself up.

She went to him, “Are you okay?”

He rebuffed her, “No, leave me. I have a bad chest cold. Leave. Now.”

Bravo One opened the door and marched in, a small bag in her left hand. She gave Portia a hard stare and barked, “You heard him, leave!”

Speechless she headed for the door.

“Oh, Portia, one more thing,” he said wiping his mouth with a tissue. “Your husband, have you heard from him?”

She stopped and replied, “No, I haven’t spoken to him.”

“He radioed in. Said he was outside of Grand Junction. I thought he might have contacted you.”

“No, he didn’t contact me,” she answered. Hearing Kyle was maybe a day and a half away filled her with joy. After everything that happened she wanted him home more than ever.

“Do me a favor, if he contacts you, I recommend not mentioning the incident at the infirmary. Don’t stress him. And, please let me know too.”

The request was odd. Why would he need to know if Kyle contacted her? She asked herself.

“Have a good day, we’ll be in touch,” he said.