Earth Reconquered by Kevin Berger
Chapter 18
Walking towards the heart of the city, I saw more people than I did coming from the tunnel on the other side; but here, the conditions were even more squalid. This was not a place controlled by the warlords. The warlords naturally levitated to the carcass of rich neighbourhoods, picking the bones of whatever meat was left. This was not the remnants of any affluent area. This was the remnants of a working class neighbourhood.
I saw several gangs of youths walking together along these squalid streets. Here the homes were missing roofs and walls; planks of wood or metal were used to patch together makeshift buildings. Remnants of rusted ancient vehicles and machines littered the streets. These youth gangs were menacing some of the innocent citizens trying to get on with the difficult job of survival. When you saw regular people passing by in this anarchic society, they were often carrying some scrap they hoped would be useful, or maybe fruits or vegetables they wanted to trade in the central market. These people would move quickly, looking back and forth nervously; always checking out who was around, who was a danger. In a world without laws, without police, ordinary people moved warily; trying to stay safe. When they saw me, these people gave me a wide berth. I was the unknown, and battle-weary people just trying to survive had no interest in searching out the unknown.
The gangs were another story.
One particular scruffy gang of youths was taking special notice of me. One thing that struck me was that they were better dressed than most. Like everyone, their clothing was a mix of whatever they could find, but all their clothing looked new. To me, it was a bad sign. They looked like they'd get the best of things from their ruthlessness—in a world without laws; ruthlessness is a strong advantage. You take what you want. They were about six or seven, all appearing to be adolescents, talking loudly, boisterously—no fear. They looked at me with interest, seeing my nice clothing and a couple of fancy-looking things hanging off my belt. They came towards me, an air of antagonism for all to see.
“Hey,” the one in front yelled out.
He walked in front of the others, seeming to give directions. His eyes were wide-open, intense. He didn't just look around, he glared. He intimidated with his eyes. He exuded confidence as surely as if he was carrying a billboard spelling it out for everyone; and now he was coming towards me, with the others following closely behind. As he got in front of me, he stopped, legs spread wide. His blond hair and blue eyes would've made him fit right in at the space station. He had the toned physique of a police recruit. He had an old-fashioned rifle in one arm. He stroked the barrel with one hand and looked at me with the other. He had was wearing a bright red blazer that looked like it was from some old style military dress uniform. He waved his arm, his gang surrounded me. They were like limbs of his monstrous body, extensions of his will. He looked me up and down.
“What is that stuff you have on you?”
“Why, what do you want?” I said.
The leader smiled and repeated what I said, laughing and looking around to his gang. They were all laughing.
“I get the feeling you clowns aren’t going away,” I said.
The leader appeared taken aback for a second by my brashness, then the silly smile returned to his face and he said, pointing to my laser gun and hand-held terminal, “Hand those things over.”
“Just that simple, hand it over.”
“You see this block. We run this block. What we want, we take—and you had the misfortune of coming into my territory. So, follow the rules; and hand those things over.”
“You're your own little warlord, have your own little space. How many of you are there in this hellhole of a city? You probably think you're special, but you’re not. Well, I can’t get rid of all of you, but your time at the top is over.”
I took out my laser gun. His smile stayed on his face, but grew uneasy. Maybe he did have some fear of the unknown? As I raised my gun casually, not like it was a gun at all, he pointed his gun at me.
“That gun is your key, isn’t it?" I said. "I don’t think you'd have much of an advantage over regular people, or be able to get these morons to follow you—without your gun—would you?”
I shot his gun barrel. The barrel of the gun broke off. He stared open-mouthed at his now useless phallic symbol. He looked at me, realizing the stranger in front of him was indeed dangerous. Three of his gang had already fled at the sight of the bizarre laser blast.
The balance of power had suddenly shifted.
It was part of the precarious balance of power that was part of the culture of the ruined city. These thugs were comfortable bullying the regular citizens who had the misfortune of living amongst them. They were also comfortable running when they saw superior firepower. It was a primitive system. You chase the ones you have power over, and run from the ones who are more powerful than you. I had proven myself more powerful and they turned to run. The leader was the last to go, not relinquishing his position over me too easily; but when he was alone and saw his now useless gun—he did run.
I stood there, realizing I could make a most-feared warlord in this world; but that was not my style. The irony of this world was the central role the very-organized World Government played in it. Through years of hypocritical abuse, the World Government had destroyed Earth civilization; leaving ruins with nothing but desperation to thrive.
I stood there alone, knowing absolutely—power was not my drug—not my addiction.
I checked my hand-held terminal to make sure I was heading in the right direction. I had the device set to constantly monitor Doug’s identification card. I could see that I was near. It was hard to navigate these streets. They were not consistent in any way. You'd go around a corner and there would be heaps of cement and rubble blocking the way; vegetation growing through the cracks. The vegetation lent a soft green touch to a harsh landscape.
Around another corner, the street was much better cleared. This street was populated. Some citizens had made the effort to clear the area and convert some of the ruins to habitable lodgings. Along the side of one of the buildings, a pained voice called out to me, “Help me, please. Can you spare anything?”
I looked over at the young man lying there with an old man’s voice. His face was misshapen--unnatural. His legs were twisted in strange ways, probably useless for moving, just dead weight. People moved around him, oblivious; too busy trying to help themselves—how could they come up with a solution for him? My attention was diverted by a wild-eyed man screaming down the street. He was coming in my direction, shouting out to everyone with a sense of urgency. When he got close to me, he looked right at me, pupils dilated, wild grey hair standing straight up, and screamed, “Prepare yourself, the apocalypse is coming!”
A woman stuck her head out a window and said, “It’s already here, you crazy old fool.”
I kept going. Farther down the same street, I narrowed the location down to one of the more ramshackle houses. The door was barely attached to its hinges, and I peeked in through the door. A startled woman sitting at a plain table said to me, “Please, I have nothing.”
“No, no—I don’t want anything.”
“I’m a tired woman without anything of value. You won’t get anything here.”
“You have to understand. I’m not here to rob you. I’m looking for someone, for my friend.”
Her face changed. With a pensive look, she examined my clothing; stared at my face.
“You're wearing the same strange clothes as Doug had on when he came here. You are his friend?”
“Yes, Doug—that’s it exactly! Is he here?”
“No, he’s not here now.”
“Do you know where he is?” I asked.
“Yes, he’s out gathering wood for me; winter will be coming soon.”
She pointed to a makeshift hole, which could've served as a fireplace. I looked around and wondered how cold it'd get in this cave. One thing was for sure, I wouldn’t want to spend a winter here and find out.
“He?
“I was going to ask you the same thing?”
“He knew my son, I know that. He musta seen him die,” she said, her voice trailing off, her body started to shake as her eyes rimmed with tears. “He doesn’t say anything. He just does whatever he can for me. God sent him here to help me through my mourning. I don’t even know for sure where my son is… I’ve never seen his body. But they all end up the same, once they’re eaten up by those Holy Warriors. They take our youth, our children; and take advantage of their anger, their youthful frustration. Look at this place! Is it any wonder? Raised in this hell, they see nothing—no future. You work for the warlords, maybe get some better scraps than the rest of us, or you become a Holy Warrior, brainwashed and delusional, give your life purpose. I guess he just wanted a purpose, my beautiful boy.”
“How did Doug find you?” I asked.
“He was looking everywhere, with a little picture of me. He was asking everyone about the picture, trying to find me. That’s how I knew he was with my son, my only remaining reason for living—what a nightmare this all is.” She looked around at her house. “I gave that picture to my son when he wouldn’t listen any more. I wanted him to have something to look at, to remind him, to give him a grip on reality—his past. His father had pictures taken of all of us. His father ran errands for Big Simon. We were doing okay in those days.” She paused to look at a picture she took from her pocket. She stroked in lovingly like it was the most precious thing in the world. “One of Big Simon’s men had a camera. He'd take pictures of people who did what they were told, just as a token, a scrap to keep us in line. My husband was a good man, a loving man; but he had no backbone. He did what he could to provide for us, and that’s what he did. My son was so devastated.”
“Devastated?” I asked, sitting on the chair opposite her at the simple table.
“When my husband was killed. I heard it was just a game, just target practice or something like that. His life was nothing to them, just like crushing a bug. They took everything from us—that's when I started to lose my precious, beautiful boy. He was still so young. I tried my best, but he was too filled with anger. He was getting more and more distant. He wouldn’t spend any more time at home, wouldn’t help me any more. I could see him drifting farther and farther away, but what could I do?" She reached out and grabbed my wrist, her worn wrinkled eyes looking intently at me. "I have nothing. He had nothing here. I tried to give him hope for the future, but it was all just words.”
Her voice trailed off. I put my hand on hers as she sat there, shoulders slumped, head down. Then she looked up, eyes swollen with tears and said, “Then Doug found me, as if sent from heaven. I couldn’t survive the winter without him. He fixed the fireplace up. He does everything for me. He won’t talk about my son, but the way he looks at me, a mother knows. He saw my son die. I see it in Doug’s eyes. I want to know, but he goes away from me whenever I ask. I just want to know what happened? He's always busy. All he does since he came here is work for me. He’s so nice, but so strange. Who knows what he has seen? Was he brainwashed by those evil Holy Warriors too?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
There was a pause. Just then, a shadow blocked the doorway to the dark house. I turned quickly. Doug was as shocked as me to come face to face to each other. It was as if entire lifetimes had come and gone since we had last seen each other. His eyes darted back and forth. He dropped the pile of wood he had in his arms.
“Hi Doug,” I started to say, calmly, trying to ease his tension—but before I could react, he grabbed his backpack that was lying near the entrance and bolted out the door.
“Doug!” the woman cried.
I ran out, calling to him; but he was running away from me. I took off after him. I could hear the woman moaning as we fled away. He bounded up and over a crumbled pile of concrete, towards the outskirts of town. I saw him looking back at me, terror in his eyes.
“Doug, Doug, what are you running for?”
Soon, I was out of breath. He was relentless in his flight, unwilling, unyielding in his decision to get as far away from me as possible. I was getting sweaty, tired, as he led me away from the buildings; ironically, we were heading near the area where I had hid the shuttle. I found myself led away from the city again, to where there were more and more trees, and he was pulling farther away from me. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I was losing stamina; then I realized I had lost Doug. He had always been slower than the rest of us. Where did he get his energy?
I stopped.
There were few buildings in this area. It was well traveled, much of the trees chopped down; most probably taken away for use as firewood. I looked over an embankment and saw a large flat area, cultivated, with many plantings all in a row. It was a collective garden of some sort. People were bent over, tending the fields as I made my way over the embankment. I saw a few farmers looking at me nervously, and then looking quickly towards a small hill around the middle of the collective farm. One man looked at me, then at the hill, back and forth; until he saw me staring and then knelt over again, busying himself in the garden.
My breath was coming back to me. I walked slowly through the rows of carefully planted vegetation and crept silently up the hill. From the top of the hill, you could see the entire area was surrounded with these farms, some fenced off as claimed property. As I looked over the top of the hill, I saw a man’s head duck beneath some rocks on the other side. I stood on top of the rocks and there lying down trying to hide, was Doug.
“Don’t come any closer!” he warned, standing up in front of one of the gardens.
“What are you talking about Doug? I’m your friend.”
“My friend,” he said. “I have no friends from up there.”
“What do you mean? Your family, your friends are all from up there.”
He looked up to the sky. His face changed expressions, from shock, to anger, and finally to a look of excruciating pain. It was then that he reached into his backpack and pulled out his gun. I was shocked, not even anticipating this sort of thing. I put my hands out, not even thinking of bringing my own gun out.
“No Doug—no!”
He put the gun to his own head. My knees grew weak. I could feel the blood drain from my face. I think he saw the pain he was putting me through, and he looked puzzled.
“Why do you care?” he asked.
“You’re my friend Doug. I couldn’t stand for it to end this way.”
He took the gun away from his head, looking at it with the curiosity of a child; as if he'd just found it on the ground. He placed it down carefully on the ground, showing respect to its inherent danger; and then knelt down at the garden, starting to work.
I walked over. He was no longer afraid of me. It was as if he thought I was a stranger and just recognized me. I sat down beside him, watching his hands as he tended the garden.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I asked.
“I found her here—the first day. She was working on the garden. I watched her and asked her what needed to be done. It was how we met, how I started to make amends.”
“For--” I started, then realized I couldn't say it. “For what happened?”
“Yes. I've been working here in the mornings, and then bringing whatever wood I can find back to the house in the afternoon. In the evenings I managed to rearrange the stove; one section had caved in since it was used last spring. I don’t go to the market to trade the vegetables. I don’t like too many people around.”
“Don’t you want to come home with me Doug?”
He looked at me, puzzled, and said, “I am home.”
It was said very matter-of-factly, as if I had not noticed an obvious truth. He continued his work in the garden.
“It is easy to destroy; anybody can do it. It is strange the way human nature works. We give so much value, so much prestige, to th
I found myself starting to scratch all over.
“I’ve seen them on the plant leaves, looked at them closely. They are amazing creatures when you see them from that perspective; the huge bulbous eyes, the claw-like, practical arms and legs—thousands—I guess millions—of different types all over the place. Each of their tiny intricate features evolved over countless millennia to perform various functions. Anyone could destroy one of those—but try and create one—now that would show true intelligence and power.”
He continued to busy himself in the garden.
“I don’t need any skills to come and steal from other gardens. You see those types of people coming here every day, laughing and feeling superior. Let’s see them do something constructive. All these plants, starting from tiny seeds; with only water and the nutrients from the soil they can grow to impressive plants like these.” He pointed to some large rows of plants. “The power of creation, truly amazing. I can't do that—no person can—but I can help. I can encourage, facilitate; by ensuring the plant has the right conditions. I can't create, but I can be part of the process; part of true power and light. It is the most any man can hope for in his life.
It is the fall now; I have learnt it will soon be time to put the garden to sleep for the winter. The winter is a time for the garden to rest. They tell me it is a cold, desolate time. I hope I can survive it.”
“I hope I can too,” I said.