Grant’s heart broke.
An innocent victim of the entire establishment control mechanism.
It angered him. He wanted to scream, cry, released emotions. He felt horrible for the child. He grabbed the blanket to cover her completely. It was the least he could do. Was she alone? Did she die without anyone by her? When he looked down to lift the blanket, he received his answer.
Drooping from her wrist was a red band.
Red.
On it was the number 6522.
The poor child had no one around, no one to hold her hand. In the war to control the population, the little girl lost. She wasn’t a person, she was just a number.
Grant placed the tiny pink bear next to her head, covered her quickly and left the tent. He had seen enough and headed straight toward the main tent.
His mouth was dry from nerves and he hastily stepped inside the tent, John and Meredith were so engrossed in reading from thick stacks of papers, that they didn’t see him.
“How is this possible?” John questioned while reading. “This looks like this camp was set up in April after we were put in Stasis. Didn’t Harrison say it got out of control right away?”
“He said by November it was obviously out of control. Millions died by the day. But he didn’t say where. There are billions of people on this planet.”
“I understand that,” John said. “But the base was clearly shut down in November, the magazines…”
“Came from the PX. That could have been closed in November. Lots of explanations.”
Grant cleared his throat.
John glanced at him. “Grant. You all right?”
“Yes.” Grant paused. “No. No. I want to leave. Please can we leave?”
John faced Meredith. “Can we take this with us?”
“I don’t see why not. Let me look through to see what may be useful.”
“A lot of these are just names next to numbers,” John said as he looked.
“You don’t see number 6522, do you?”
John looked up from the papers. He gave a curious look to Grant. “That’s an odd question.”
“I need… I need to know her name. I don’t know why, I just need to.”
John peered around the stacks of papers. “This one starts at five thousand.” He flipped pages. “Ah, yes. Hmm. Douglass Oldowski. Not a she.”
“Then it’s wrong.” Grant said. “I know the number I saw. She was wearing a red band.”
“This says 6522 red.” John read. “Douglass, male, fifty-two years old.”
“There has to be a mistake.”
Meredith’s airy, “Dear God,” rang out.
Grant looked at her.
With a horrified look, Meredith raised her eyes. “It’s not a mistake. John, check the date on Mr. Oldowski’s admission.”
“April seven, the year after we were put in Stasis.”
“Then he would be long gone, burned or buried,” Meredith stated. “The name Grant is searching for is another 6522.”
John chuckled. “How do you know?”
“Because that…” She pointed to his stack of papers. “Is seven months after we went to stasis, right?”
“Right.”
“This…” She held up a stack of papers and dropped them. “Is five years after.”
TWENTY-FOUR – One Shot
The red flag on the weather worn mailbox was lifted and it tilted on the post. Even beaten by the elements, the names Brad and Cindy, painted on the mailbox were still readable. Only Brad’s name had a huge black ‘X’ over it.
The mailbox rested at the edge of a fenced in property, grass had grown well over the height of the fence, and the gate was barely held on by the hinges.
Malcolm and Amy followed the tire tracks and that lead them to the gate.
They paused there.
“Where do you suppose they go?” Amy asked. “I mean they use the road regularly, right? Or else it would have grown in.”
“There’s a whole world out here. Maybe they went for supplies, there are farms in this area. Maybe other survivors.”
“Let’s go look.”
Malcolm nodded and moved the buggy forward. They turned the bend and drove on a gravel roadway. Parts of it were overgrown, but it was clear someone had been driving on it. They turned another bend. Large trees greeted each other from both sides of the road creating a tunnel effect. When they emerged from it, they reached the home.
A truck was parked on the huge front lawn in front of an old one story home. The wooden siding was worn and the paint chipped away. It looked barren.
Malcolm stopped the buggy a good twenty feet from the truck. He didn’t turn off the engine. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“Someone is here,” Amy said. She opened the door and stepped out.
No sooner had she done that, the front door opened, the screen door slammed outward with a squeal and a woman, just as weathered as her home stepped out with a shotgun.
“I suggest you get back in that space vehicle and be off.” She aimed at them, then engaged the chamber. “Go.” Her voice was harsh, raspy. Her blonde hair was straw like and she wore a man’s shirt.
Amy raised her hands. “Ma’am, we are sorry for trespassing. We are. We don’t mean any harm, we just…”
Then the woman screamed. It was maddening and out of control. “Go! Get out. I said leave. Go!”
Malcolm moved for his door and the woman swung her aim his way. Knowing the buggy offered no protection without a roof, he sat back down, lifted his hands and whispered. “Amy, get back in.”
“You have three seconds,” the woman warned.
“Ma’am, we’re leaving.” Malcolm said, “Amy get in.”
Amy ignored Malcolm. “Ma’am. Cindy, right? That’s your name it’s on the mailbox.”
“One.” The woman counted.
“Amy, get in.”
“We’re sorry, we just need to ask…”
“Two.”
“Amy, Goddamn it. Get in.” Malcolm scolded, lifted some from his seat and reached out for her.
Amy swatted him. “This is ridiculous. We just…”
“Three.”
The woman fired.
A single shot rang out and echoed across the hollow and barren land.
It happened so fast, Malcolm barely registered it. The shot hit Amy somewhere on her right side. The force of the hit blasted her like a spinning top, around and backwards, slamming her into the side of the buggy with a ‘thunk’.
Malcolm let out a scream, shoved the buggy in gear and lunged forward to grab Amy as she slid downward.
“Should I count again!” The woman yelled and pumped the chamber once more.
“Let me get my friend!” Malcolm had a grip on her left arm, and without getting out, using all of his strength, he pulled her toward the buggy,
Amy was alive, and with rubbery legs stood enough to roll into the buggy’s passenger seat.
As soon as she was in, Malcolm tossed it in gear, backup, spun around and sped as fast as the cart would move. He kept driving, going from looking back to looking at Amy who had slumped forward nearly on his lap, her leg half out of the vehicle.
Down the gravel road, through the gate and onto the field, Malcolm didn’t stop until he was sure he wasn’t followed. Then he tossed the buggy in gear, bringing it to a jolting halt.
“Amy.” He breathed heavily and lifted her gently to sit back in her seat. When he did, he saw her entire chest was saturated with blood. Her right arm was completely gone and there was a gaping hole in her chest where her shoulder should be.