Marion Douglass had the black thick rimmed glasses most adored by MFA students everywhere. This pleased the crowd at The Lit Snob. Marion Douglass look as they felt an author should look, acted as an author should act (well spoken but modest about her accomplishments, taking careful sips of a mocha-coffee related beverage), and was quite the "young talent" according to Todd via the all powerful New York Time Book Review.
She carefully annunciated a prose poem, "Factory" from her new book.
...
Make out a city quiet and deserted, stored with closed signs in the windows hanging from stretchy elastic strings that used to be white, homes with shades down over drafty old windows. Zoom in on a derelict factory in the part of town people don’t like to talk about, the part of town with supposed drug deals and girls in too tight skirts that are going to not make it because of fetuses and needles in veins, pushing in who knows what, hopefully not air. So, this derelict factory: chimney still standing, but just barely, standing obstinately against a dark night, dark without the pinprick on stars. White juxtaposed oh so harshly on black. The roof, not so lucky because it is caving in at parts, shingle by shingle crashing down into earth, dust to dust, returning to that Almighty Creator. (Did He forget?) Windows, where they were are mouths open to the night air that pours in and out, a rushing wind, crashing through the interior of the factory, propelling the dirt from the shoes of some worker from those better times, propelling the brown leaves that have become the sole denizens of this brick kingdom. In an unholy place, but why? A gate to Hell because Hell is all around us, here in the real world when Gillian from down the street gives it all up at thirteen and pops out a bastard child nine months later all alone. Mom kicked her out. All these little tragedies, and not lovely like in Shakespeare. The factory all alone, thrusting into the ebony sky, a triumph that here in Hell there are still small triumphs.
...
The crowd was pleased. Ah, how new. Ah, now fresh. Mrs. Darson daintily sipped her over priced beverage with happiness at both the drink and the young woman in front of her. Todd's interruption of thanks was jarring. His announcement about next weeks writer a local man apparently trying to get his book published and hoping this would be it was also unwelcome.
"And I am sure we will all be eager to hear what soon-to-be-published writer, David Cambera has to share with us. Next week then. Same place, same time." Todd lightly chortled. Mrs. Darson attempted to finish her beverage before having to go to her old and cup-holder-less car.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
Chapter Three: Jillson's "History"
Thud. Thud. Thud - three quick jabs, then the sweet-sounding feedback.
"Is this thing on? Oh, yeah, alright. Well, welcome everyone to the second week of readings here at The Lit Snob. Glad to see so many of you here again this week, especially you, Mrs. Darson - can we get you another triple-twist latte? Alright, well you just let someone know...."
The sweater-man emcee, whose name is Todd, is wearing an odd combination of gold and purple argyle over a white button-down. He looks around the room nervously (it's only his second week!) and clears his throat.
"In any case, this week's reading comes from Gavin Jillson, the author of the recently-published A First Draft of History. He has been writing since his late-undergraduate years, when his professors encouraged him to send his work for publication - and now is here as a three-time New York Times bestseller. So without further ado, Gavin Jillson!"
The Snob crowd applauds quietly - some even chime in with their finger-snaps - as Jillson hops on onto the stage and takes his seat on the stool in front of the mic.
"How's everyone doing tonight?" he asks with vigor - the crowd mumbles a few bits of unimportance. He doesn't quite know quite what to make of their ... snobbery.
"Alright then, let's get to it. Here's a selection from the First Draft:"
***
The water seems to stand still - even as each tree, each branch, each leaf, lives and dies in a microsecond - the water seems unmovable, immutable. There's a shrill whistling of the forest passing by, and the ground pounds play a steady bass to the overwhelming, verdant melody. Underneath him, the beast's moist, coarse skin quivers with the tension and release of each muscle. Everything around him is full of life and movement - everything except for the water. He follows the river for what seems like a hour, until suddenly the forest bows away to reveal its prestige - the warm desert plain. Adam looks out onto the plane of his existence, feels his body processing the change in temperature and humidity, feels the hard breathing of his companion as the great lizard comes to a slowing halt. Adam runs his hands over the beast's back, thanking it in his own way - the only way he can. Leaning down, he speaks to his friend.
"Good run today, Ceres. I can't believe how helpful you've been - we caught so much food this morning. This should tide us over for weeks. Come on, let's get back home."
Ceres twists his enormous head - the two large horns point out towards the plain , the smaller one pointing straight up at the midday sun. Without understanding, he lets out a grunting howl and nods his head slowly once. The rider accepts this acknowledgment with another friendly pat on the back. Taking this signal, Ceres bounds off from the edge of the forest and out into the deserted land, always following the impassable flow of the great river. As the pair make their way out and into the afternoon world, Adam sees all of the life surrounding the twin banks of the river. Beasts of all sizes - the great, towering lizards dipping their long necks into the sweet watery deep; the much smaller bipeds licking at the shore's bounty; Ceres' family as well - gather at the water to drink and eat and live. It is this simple, Adam thinks to himself as he points out of the other three-horns to his friend.
This is how he wants us to live out our punishment.
After they have passed the large crowd enjoying their noon meal at the riverbank, Adam and Ceres continue on through the oppressive heat for two hours. The river continues to act as a guide, showing them the way home - leading them to the break. As they near the tributary point, Adam begins to make out the familiar smoke-coil of his home. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and imagining his wife - his mate, his other half - smiling and singing in the mid-afternoon shade that their bower permits them. A few more moments brings the lizard to a second stop - he knows that he is home as well. Adam climbs down off of Ceres' back and feels the hard earth under his bare feet. It is both a relieving sensation of returning home and a painful reminder of the desert oasis long gone now. Adam shakes his head hard - pushing thoughts of loss out - and walks towards the small habitation. He calls to his wife gently, full of the most intense love he can muster in his fatigue.
"Eve! Eve, are you there? I'm back, my love."
Hearing no response, Adam begins to worry - he's sure that she just didn't hear him, but he can't shake some of his newer feelings. He advances at a quicker pace, and pushes aside the makeshift door. Then he sees her. She is standing with her back to him, looking out of the natural window between two of the lone trees. She is wearing her white dress, her long auburn hair flowing to her waist. Adam approaches her slowly and guides his arms around her waist. He kisses the back of her neck. Then her cheek - she turns her head slowly and their lips meet. It is Paradise. She withdraws from him slowly.
"What is it, Eve? Ceres and I have returned from the hunt. We've collected enough food and water for a week."
"That's wonderful, Adam! No, it's nothing really. I was just looking at the sky outside. There's something strange near the eastern horizon."
"What is it?" Adam leans over and stares outside.
A large, dark object, hovers in the eastern sky. When he sees it, Adam realizes that he noticed it earlier in the day, before he and Ceres had entered the forest. Except then, it had been much smaller. He wasn't sure what to make of it - but he knew what they had to do to find out.
"Come on Eve, let's go to the altar and pray. Maybe he will tell us what this thing is."
Eve wraps her arms around Adam's shoulders. She pulls him as close as she can - she feels his chest against her head and the steadiness of his breathing. It has comforted her for many years, and it comforts her now.
"Adam, I have a bad feeling about that thing."
"I do too, Eve. But I'm sure that he will take care of us. We have not disobeyed him for many, many of our years. He must know that. He must care. He must still love us. So let's not worry - let's go outside to the altar."
Hand in hand, the pair leave their bower for the crude altar. The shadow of something far-less mysterious - something far-more real - hangs over their heads unmovable. Immutable.
***
Jillson closes his book slowly, listening to the sounds around him. He hears more quiet clapping, more finger-snapping, and he nods in thanks. Todd climbs up onto the stage and approaches the mic yet again.
"Well, thank you Mr. Jillson for reading this evening - that was wonderful. And thank you all again for coming to The Lit Snob. Next week, we're not completely decided on our author. What I can tell you is that either Marion Douglass or Richard Palmenack will be here to read their amazing poetry. So don't miss it!"
"Is this thing on? Oh, yeah, alright. Well, welcome everyone to the second week of readings here at The Lit Snob. Glad to see so many of you here again this week, especially you, Mrs. Darson - can we get you another triple-twist latte? Alright, well you just let someone know...."
The sweater-man emcee, whose name is Todd, is wearing an odd combination of gold and purple argyle over a white button-down. He looks around the room nervously (it's only his second week!) and clears his throat.
"In any case, this week's reading comes from Gavin Jillson, the author of the recently-published A First Draft of History. He has been writing since his late-undergraduate years, when his professors encouraged him to send his work for publication - and now is here as a three-time New York Times bestseller. So without further ado, Gavin Jillson!"
The Snob crowd applauds quietly - some even chime in with their finger-snaps - as Jillson hops on onto the stage and takes his seat on the stool in front of the mic.
"How's everyone doing tonight?" he asks with vigor - the crowd mumbles a few bits of unimportance. He doesn't quite know quite what to make of their ... snobbery.
"Alright then, let's get to it. Here's a selection from the First Draft:"
***
The water seems to stand still - even as each tree, each branch, each leaf, lives and dies in a microsecond - the water seems unmovable, immutable. There's a shrill whistling of the forest passing by, and the ground pounds play a steady bass to the overwhelming, verdant melody. Underneath him, the beast's moist, coarse skin quivers with the tension and release of each muscle. Everything around him is full of life and movement - everything except for the water. He follows the river for what seems like a hour, until suddenly the forest bows away to reveal its prestige - the warm desert plain. Adam looks out onto the plane of his existence, feels his body processing the change in temperature and humidity, feels the hard breathing of his companion as the great lizard comes to a slowing halt. Adam runs his hands over the beast's back, thanking it in his own way - the only way he can. Leaning down, he speaks to his friend.
"Good run today, Ceres. I can't believe how helpful you've been - we caught so much food this morning. This should tide us over for weeks. Come on, let's get back home."
Ceres twists his enormous head - the two large horns point out towards the plain , the smaller one pointing straight up at the midday sun. Without understanding, he lets out a grunting howl and nods his head slowly once. The rider accepts this acknowledgment with another friendly pat on the back. Taking this signal, Ceres bounds off from the edge of the forest and out into the deserted land, always following the impassable flow of the great river. As the pair make their way out and into the afternoon world, Adam sees all of the life surrounding the twin banks of the river. Beasts of all sizes - the great, towering lizards dipping their long necks into the sweet watery deep; the much smaller bipeds licking at the shore's bounty; Ceres' family as well - gather at the water to drink and eat and live. It is this simple, Adam thinks to himself as he points out of the other three-horns to his friend.
This is how he wants us to live out our punishment.
After they have passed the large crowd enjoying their noon meal at the riverbank, Adam and Ceres continue on through the oppressive heat for two hours. The river continues to act as a guide, showing them the way home - leading them to the break. As they near the tributary point, Adam begins to make out the familiar smoke-coil of his home. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and imagining his wife - his mate, his other half - smiling and singing in the mid-afternoon shade that their bower permits them. A few more moments brings the lizard to a second stop - he knows that he is home as well. Adam climbs down off of Ceres' back and feels the hard earth under his bare feet. It is both a relieving sensation of returning home and a painful reminder of the desert oasis long gone now. Adam shakes his head hard - pushing thoughts of loss out - and walks towards the small habitation. He calls to his wife gently, full of the most intense love he can muster in his fatigue.
"Eve! Eve, are you there? I'm back, my love."
Hearing no response, Adam begins to worry - he's sure that she just didn't hear him, but he can't shake some of his newer feelings. He advances at a quicker pace, and pushes aside the makeshift door. Then he sees her. She is standing with her back to him, looking out of the natural window between two of the lone trees. She is wearing her white dress, her long auburn hair flowing to her waist. Adam approaches her slowly and guides his arms around her waist. He kisses the back of her neck. Then her cheek - she turns her head slowly and their lips meet. It is Paradise. She withdraws from him slowly.
"What is it, Eve? Ceres and I have returned from the hunt. We've collected enough food and water for a week."
"That's wonderful, Adam! No, it's nothing really. I was just looking at the sky outside. There's something strange near the eastern horizon."
"What is it?" Adam leans over and stares outside.
A large, dark object, hovers in the eastern sky. When he sees it, Adam realizes that he noticed it earlier in the day, before he and Ceres had entered the forest. Except then, it had been much smaller. He wasn't sure what to make of it - but he knew what they had to do to find out.
"Come on Eve, let's go to the altar and pray. Maybe he will tell us what this thing is."
Eve wraps her arms around Adam's shoulders. She pulls him as close as she can - she feels his chest against her head and the steadiness of his breathing. It has comforted her for many years, and it comforts her now.
"Adam, I have a bad feeling about that thing."
"I do too, Eve. But I'm sure that he will take care of us. We have not disobeyed him for many, many of our years. He must know that. He must care. He must still love us. So let's not worry - let's go outside to the altar."
Hand in hand, the pair leave their bower for the crude altar. The shadow of something far-less mysterious - something far-more real - hangs over their heads unmovable. Immutable.
***
Jillson closes his book slowly, listening to the sounds around him. He hears more quiet clapping, more finger-snapping, and he nods in thanks. Todd climbs up onto the stage and approaches the mic yet again.
"Well, thank you Mr. Jillson for reading this evening - that was wonderful. And thank you all again for coming to The Lit Snob. Next week, we're not completely decided on our author. What I can tell you is that either Marion Douglass or Richard Palmenack will be here to read their amazing poetry. So don't miss it!"
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Chapter Two: The Opening Act
Collins entered the room wearing shorts, sandals, and an old T-shirt. He was carrying a very thin book in his hand - his latest work. Not exactly the stuffy dress and lengthy text the people in attendance had expected to see.
"Thank you for coming," he said. "This story is called The Rant. As you can see, it's a short story, something new for me."
...
Carlton was not American. It didn't matter "what" he was, or rather, what piece of dirt he and his ancestors were born on. But he wasn't American.
He was there though. He stayed with three different families while studying at a University in a place too small to be a city, but pretty big to be just a town, and just a few hours' drive from two major American cities.
When his own family asked him what he learned in America, he told them nothing of the University. Instead, he told them how different the families he lived with were from the families he knew in his homeland.
He told them they didn't act like families they way he knew them.
The first family he met was just a mother and son. There was another son, and a father, who live 45 minutes away in another town. The kids alternated houses every other weekend to see the other parent. They did not get along. Neither did the two parents. Carlton wondered the entire time how they ever loved each other enough to create a family, and then dissolve and fragment it.
All of them were extremely kind and spoke to him as an equal part of the family, and not nearly as separate a part as they did each other. Carlton enjoyed the six months he spent there, even if he was constantly confused by the relationships that surrounded him. Though he was strangely comforted by the thought that he was no more confused than anyone else.
He moved to another family when his first family moved themselves. The mother and first son moved another hour's drive away from the rest of their "family" in the opposite direction.
The second family was much more cohesive, though he never experienced that himself. They were much more religious than the first family. They went to church every Sunday, anyway, and had Bibles in the living room, the sitting room, the den and the office (it was a much bigger house).
Unlike the first family, the mother, father, and their two daughers and one son were much colder to Carlton, though indirectly, he thought.
They must have thought they were being very open-minded people, because they had such bright smiles that seemed to mask their fascinationv- like that of some zoo exhibit - with an feigned interest when they asked him strange, invasive questions about his "homeland" and his "people."
He had never thought about his "people," but he knew they meant his friends, family, and the people at home who were as much strangers to him as most people in the United States.
He answered their questions uneasily and asked nothing of the Bibles, chairs that weren't for sitting, towels that weren't for drying hands, or the father's obvious alcoholism. He realized he liked the first family better.
Still he was happy. He was still at a good school and more than provided for while far away from home. Again, though, he was moved to another family when the father's alcoholism became a problem and the family couldn't house him anymore.
The third and final family with which he stayed was perhaps the most normal, though Carlton wasn't sure what that meant.
Father, mother, son, daughter. They lived in a big house - big enough, though not as cavernous and cold as the last family's - and they had a large TV that let them watch any TV show any time, and a very nice cars, even the two kids, who were teenagers.
They seemed happy and were very accepting and inviting. Carlton felt comfortable there and liked his new, new, temporary home. But something once again was strange about the place, or moreso, the people. They seemed hollow, just empty. There was nothing too them. Conversations over dinner consisted of the past few days television broadcasts, blog posts, events at school and work, and plenty of weather commentary.
The part of the trip Carlton most looked forward to in the beginning was talking to real Americans about real issues. Finding out what they really thought, and dispel the hearsay that was previously all he had to go on for what regular Americans were like.
That never happened. He tried to bring up things like how to properly administer a representative government, the separation of church and state, modern parenting, even homosexuality. The most he ever got was a few echoed opinions the family had heard on Fox News or the Daily Show, when the conversation quickly dissolved to the last South Park episode, though never to the underlying social message, just outrageous gags.
They were jaded. Jaded by their things and what they thought they were expected to be doing. Carlton eventually gave up and focused on his studies. Sure, he found some of what he was looking for on campus, but he wondered if everyone else went home like he did and went back to the same jaded state.
...After finishing telling his story to his family, he sat in front of the new TV his parent bought while he was away and flipped one of the two or three stations that broadcast American shows. He decided there was nothing on, but watched anyway, thinking he was bored and should find a snack.
Suddenly he sat up and wondered, what had happened to him in America?
...
Collins closed his book and said to everyone, "I'm not going to take any questions. Not because I don't feel like answering them, but because I won't have any answers. I want this story to be taken as is."
..."Next week Gavin Jillson will be our guest. He'll be reading from his latest book, a fiction published just weeks ago and is already breaking onto bestseller lists. He has asked that all I say about it is that the title is A First Draft of History. I look forward to seeing you all next week."
"Thank you for coming," he said. "This story is called The Rant. As you can see, it's a short story, something new for me."
...
Carlton was not American. It didn't matter "what" he was, or rather, what piece of dirt he and his ancestors were born on. But he wasn't American.
He was there though. He stayed with three different families while studying at a University in a place too small to be a city, but pretty big to be just a town, and just a few hours' drive from two major American cities.
When his own family asked him what he learned in America, he told them nothing of the University. Instead, he told them how different the families he lived with were from the families he knew in his homeland.
He told them they didn't act like families they way he knew them.
The first family he met was just a mother and son. There was another son, and a father, who live 45 minutes away in another town. The kids alternated houses every other weekend to see the other parent. They did not get along. Neither did the two parents. Carlton wondered the entire time how they ever loved each other enough to create a family, and then dissolve and fragment it.
All of them were extremely kind and spoke to him as an equal part of the family, and not nearly as separate a part as they did each other. Carlton enjoyed the six months he spent there, even if he was constantly confused by the relationships that surrounded him. Though he was strangely comforted by the thought that he was no more confused than anyone else.
He moved to another family when his first family moved themselves. The mother and first son moved another hour's drive away from the rest of their "family" in the opposite direction.
The second family was much more cohesive, though he never experienced that himself. They were much more religious than the first family. They went to church every Sunday, anyway, and had Bibles in the living room, the sitting room, the den and the office (it was a much bigger house).
Unlike the first family, the mother, father, and their two daughers and one son were much colder to Carlton, though indirectly, he thought.
They must have thought they were being very open-minded people, because they had such bright smiles that seemed to mask their fascinationv- like that of some zoo exhibit - with an feigned interest when they asked him strange, invasive questions about his "homeland" and his "people."
He had never thought about his "people," but he knew they meant his friends, family, and the people at home who were as much strangers to him as most people in the United States.
He answered their questions uneasily and asked nothing of the Bibles, chairs that weren't for sitting, towels that weren't for drying hands, or the father's obvious alcoholism. He realized he liked the first family better.
Still he was happy. He was still at a good school and more than provided for while far away from home. Again, though, he was moved to another family when the father's alcoholism became a problem and the family couldn't house him anymore.
The third and final family with which he stayed was perhaps the most normal, though Carlton wasn't sure what that meant.
Father, mother, son, daughter. They lived in a big house - big enough, though not as cavernous and cold as the last family's - and they had a large TV that let them watch any TV show any time, and a very nice cars, even the two kids, who were teenagers.
They seemed happy and were very accepting and inviting. Carlton felt comfortable there and liked his new, new, temporary home. But something once again was strange about the place, or moreso, the people. They seemed hollow, just empty. There was nothing too them. Conversations over dinner consisted of the past few days television broadcasts, blog posts, events at school and work, and plenty of weather commentary.
The part of the trip Carlton most looked forward to in the beginning was talking to real Americans about real issues. Finding out what they really thought, and dispel the hearsay that was previously all he had to go on for what regular Americans were like.
That never happened. He tried to bring up things like how to properly administer a representative government, the separation of church and state, modern parenting, even homosexuality. The most he ever got was a few echoed opinions the family had heard on Fox News or the Daily Show, when the conversation quickly dissolved to the last South Park episode, though never to the underlying social message, just outrageous gags.
They were jaded. Jaded by their things and what they thought they were expected to be doing. Carlton eventually gave up and focused on his studies. Sure, he found some of what he was looking for on campus, but he wondered if everyone else went home like he did and went back to the same jaded state.
...After finishing telling his story to his family, he sat in front of the new TV his parent bought while he was away and flipped one of the two or three stations that broadcast American shows. He decided there was nothing on, but watched anyway, thinking he was bored and should find a snack.
Suddenly he sat up and wondered, what had happened to him in America?
...
Collins closed his book and said to everyone, "I'm not going to take any questions. Not because I don't feel like answering them, but because I won't have any answers. I want this story to be taken as is."
..."Next week Gavin Jillson will be our guest. He'll be reading from his latest book, a fiction published just weeks ago and is already breaking onto bestseller lists. He has asked that all I say about it is that the title is A First Draft of History. I look forward to seeing you all next week."
Monday, March 26, 2007
Chapter One: Welcome to The Lit Snob
Tuesday Night at The Lit Snob various reading by great new authors! Eight o'clock sharp.
Zoom in on a new store front in educated suburban America. Books that are too cool for school line the front window beckoning with their wisdom and entertainment. Questioning, "Don't you want to be in the know?" Everything gleams with new varnish. The tiles on the floor are slippery and on Monday the aged Mrs. Darson almost fell to a shatter tail bone while transiting from the mystery to the biography section. The overly push, underly comfortable chairs have yet to be stained with the overpriced Starbucks-esque coffee sold with slightly stale muffins at the drink counter in the corner.
The place is packed with co-eds, middle aged people looking to have stimulated youthful minds, and Mrs. Darson who decided that after all she wouldn't sue.
An overly dressed man wearing a sweater and a jacket speaks.
"Welcome to The Lit Snob's first reading of the year. This Tuesday and every Tuesday at eight, local and visiting writers will grace us with their words of wisdom.
"Tonight, Bartholomew Fellow and Tri-Country Cobalt Metal winning author Donald Collins will read from his new work Into the Mud House. Donald's career has spanned two decades. He is heralded by the Local Herald as 'a new voice in this cold millennium.' The Hamilton Daily Troubadour hails Donald as 'a truly timeless, unique, and selfless voice in American fiction.' His new book, which he wrote while abroad in Italy, explores the American family from an outsiders perspective illuminating traits about modern humanity. So, without further ado, here is Donald Collins."
Zoom in on a new store front in educated suburban America. Books that are too cool for school line the front window beckoning with their wisdom and entertainment. Questioning, "Don't you want to be in the know?" Everything gleams with new varnish. The tiles on the floor are slippery and on Monday the aged Mrs. Darson almost fell to a shatter tail bone while transiting from the mystery to the biography section. The overly push, underly comfortable chairs have yet to be stained with the overpriced Starbucks-esque coffee sold with slightly stale muffins at the drink counter in the corner.
The place is packed with co-eds, middle aged people looking to have stimulated youthful minds, and Mrs. Darson who decided that after all she wouldn't sue.
An overly dressed man wearing a sweater and a jacket speaks.
"Welcome to The Lit Snob's first reading of the year. This Tuesday and every Tuesday at eight, local and visiting writers will grace us with their words of wisdom.
"Tonight, Bartholomew Fellow and Tri-Country Cobalt Metal winning author Donald Collins will read from his new work Into the Mud House. Donald's career has spanned two decades. He is heralded by the Local Herald as 'a new voice in this cold millennium.' The Hamilton Daily Troubadour hails Donald as 'a truly timeless, unique, and selfless voice in American fiction.' His new book, which he wrote while abroad in Italy, explores the American family from an outsiders perspective illuminating traits about modern humanity. So, without further ado, here is Donald Collins."
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Chapter Sixteen: The End
Allyson could see Archer's words floating like plumes of smoke across the air in front of her. She felt somehow outside of herself, like she was witnessing the whole revelation from far away - from a safe place. How can this be? she asked herself over and over. These two men, the two people who seemed to care about her the most, were betraying each other over her. What had she meant to them?, she wondered as she watched herself shake her head, push her plate of rations away, get up, and run out of the cafeteria. As the door to the room slammed shut behind her, she was suddenly in herself again, feeling every beat of her heart, and every emotion flitting across her mind's eye.
She ran forever, through the twisting halls of the bunker. She needed to find Tyler - she needed to tell him everything that had happened this day. It had to end. One way or another, it was going to end. The Returners needed to survive and they needed to be strong - especially on the inside. This petty infighting would only cost them everything they had worked so hard to accomplish - what she had worked so hard for. In her emotional haze, she wasn't quite sure where the meeting hall was - she was sure Tyler was there - but her instinct fueled her and she felt that she was heading in the right direction. Around one bend, then another, and then the large metal double doors - she had arrived.
Allyson threw open the doors and entered with determination - tears welling up and threatening to uncover her inner turmoil. She took two steps and then stopped. Her eyes grew wide - there were no words for this - her body froze in terror and her throat closed in shock.
The meeting hall was devastated - the metal table was dented to the floor, papers scattered about in all corners. The hall was empty save two men. Tyler stood in the middle of the hall, his shoulders heaving and his breathing loud. He showed clear wounds on his arms and chest, but he was not faltering - adrenaline was staying his fatigue. Allyson was shocked to see Tyler in this way - she could only vaguely remember the last time he had returned injured with the scar - but she was horrified by what she saw next.
It was Dorian. He lay face-down on the cool concrete floor of the bunker. A small pool of darkness spread out underneath him. He wasn't moving. At all.
"Tyler!" Allyson broke out of her trance - she regained her breathing - and she hurried across the room to Tyler.
"Stay back Allyson!" He put his hand up to stop her, but he was not facing her. He was still transfixed by the scene in front of him. "Don't come any closer." He slowly turned his face to her.
"We need to get out of here. They're on their way."
Allyson's brow furrowed. "I ... I don't understand, I thought you said this place -"
"They know, Allyson. They know about this place. It was ... him." He pointed without feeling to Dorian's body. "I caught him leaving the communications room in a big hurry. He ... he didn't have clearance to be in there, so I was suspicious. I confronted him about it, and he suddenly attacked me. We fought our way in here, and then ... this."
"Oh God, Tyler - what did Dorian do?" She looked at Tyler. She waited with anticipation, but she knew what was coming. Somehow, she knew, and it secretly terrified her.
"Before he lost consciousness, he said 'They're coming, Tyler. You've lost. They know you're here, and they know Allyson' s here. Deiana's on her way.' That's why we need to go - we need to make it to Triss' by tomorrow. Who knows how close they -"
The bunker's alarm system punctuated his thought. Suddenly, the lights in the bunker went out, and the deep red alarm lights replaced them. Allyson looked around in terror, not understanding what this all was.
"Oh God, Tyler ... are they-"
"Yes! We've got to get out of here - come on!"
She felt his sweaty grip on her arm and then she was being pulled out of the destroyed meeting room - out through the double doors - and then back into the maze of corridors. Thoughts, questions, they were are pushing against her mind - her head felt heavy and it throbbed. It was overwhelming. She was swimming in her confusion and terror. She was drowning in it all. Allyson had lost track of where she was until she heard Tyler's voice screaming to her.
"Allyson, God dammit! Listen to me! You've got to keep up, we need to get to the southeast exit!" She looked into his hard eyes - he was trying so hard to be kind to her, and she knew it - and nodded quickly. The pair ran past armed men heading in the opposite direction, trying to head off the attack. The alarm sounding throughout the close quarters was deafening, along with the screaming of orders and the panic of the others. It was chaos.
"Just a little more to go, Allyson!" Tyler released his grip and she suddenly felt alone and scared, like a child. "Hold up here, I'll go on ahead and make sure the exit is clear."
"Hurry back Tyler!" She yelled after him as he disappeared around the right-hand bend.
She did not have to wait. All she heard was the shot fire. Then, everything seemed to go silent. All Allyson could hear was one sound. Footsteps. Unsure, precarious footsteps. Tyler's footsteps.
He appeared slowly from around the corner, still looking towards the exit. He didn't even have a chance to look at her as his body began to slump down towards the cold ground. Allyson felt herself scream, but she couldn't hear it. There was no sound now. All she could do was look down at Tyler's body, slowly writhing into death on the ground in front of her. As if to draw the curtain over him, shadows appeared, covering over Tyler and entering into the main hallway. She couldn't see anyone, but she knew they were there. Then she heard the voices.
"There she is, Williams - Allyson Rhodes - target acquired. She's the one General Wilson wants. Take her."
The shadows began to move up the walls as the figures began to approach Allyson. There were three of them - huge, superhuman - and they covered the entire hallway. As the lead figure grabbed her arm - and was not alone any longer - suddenly everything went dark. The hood flew over Allyson's head and was pulled tight around her neck. The voice spoke once more.
"Here's a message from your sister, Ms. Rhodes."
They were the last words she remembered hearing.
It was like being born into the arms of a concrete wall. Except less lovingly.
She could feel a bone break - or at least what she imagined a bone-break felt like. She was definitely bleeding, from her knees and elbows from being thrown to the ground at the very least. She knew that much, but little else. The hood over her head took more than her sight - she felt completely swallowed in its thick, suffocating fabric. This has to be a nightmare, she thought between nerve endings screaming from one end of her to the other. The feeling of many hands groping, clawing, scratching at her body, it was like an experience that no one knows, but everyone thinks about in their darkest fears. And just when she thought that she had to wake up - that it couldn't get any worse without her brain shutting down -
The night was dark - pitch black, stars looking away in horror and shame. The night was dark, and it was cold. Allyson could only feel the darkness - the cold she knew already. The night was dark, and it was cold.
And the dawn could only flicker against the horizon. The night was dark, and it was cold. And it would be long.
THE END
She ran forever, through the twisting halls of the bunker. She needed to find Tyler - she needed to tell him everything that had happened this day. It had to end. One way or another, it was going to end. The Returners needed to survive and they needed to be strong - especially on the inside. This petty infighting would only cost them everything they had worked so hard to accomplish - what she had worked so hard for. In her emotional haze, she wasn't quite sure where the meeting hall was - she was sure Tyler was there - but her instinct fueled her and she felt that she was heading in the right direction. Around one bend, then another, and then the large metal double doors - she had arrived.
Allyson threw open the doors and entered with determination - tears welling up and threatening to uncover her inner turmoil. She took two steps and then stopped. Her eyes grew wide - there were no words for this - her body froze in terror and her throat closed in shock.
The meeting hall was devastated - the metal table was dented to the floor, papers scattered about in all corners. The hall was empty save two men. Tyler stood in the middle of the hall, his shoulders heaving and his breathing loud. He showed clear wounds on his arms and chest, but he was not faltering - adrenaline was staying his fatigue. Allyson was shocked to see Tyler in this way - she could only vaguely remember the last time he had returned injured with the scar - but she was horrified by what she saw next.
It was Dorian. He lay face-down on the cool concrete floor of the bunker. A small pool of darkness spread out underneath him. He wasn't moving. At all.
"Tyler!" Allyson broke out of her trance - she regained her breathing - and she hurried across the room to Tyler.
"Stay back Allyson!" He put his hand up to stop her, but he was not facing her. He was still transfixed by the scene in front of him. "Don't come any closer." He slowly turned his face to her.
"We need to get out of here. They're on their way."
Allyson's brow furrowed. "I ... I don't understand, I thought you said this place -"
"They know, Allyson. They know about this place. It was ... him." He pointed without feeling to Dorian's body. "I caught him leaving the communications room in a big hurry. He ... he didn't have clearance to be in there, so I was suspicious. I confronted him about it, and he suddenly attacked me. We fought our way in here, and then ... this."
"Oh God, Tyler - what did Dorian do?" She looked at Tyler. She waited with anticipation, but she knew what was coming. Somehow, she knew, and it secretly terrified her.
"Before he lost consciousness, he said 'They're coming, Tyler. You've lost. They know you're here, and they know Allyson' s here. Deiana's on her way.' That's why we need to go - we need to make it to Triss' by tomorrow. Who knows how close they -"
The bunker's alarm system punctuated his thought. Suddenly, the lights in the bunker went out, and the deep red alarm lights replaced them. Allyson looked around in terror, not understanding what this all was.
"Oh God, Tyler ... are they-"
"Yes! We've got to get out of here - come on!"
She felt his sweaty grip on her arm and then she was being pulled out of the destroyed meeting room - out through the double doors - and then back into the maze of corridors. Thoughts, questions, they were are pushing against her mind - her head felt heavy and it throbbed. It was overwhelming. She was swimming in her confusion and terror. She was drowning in it all. Allyson had lost track of where she was until she heard Tyler's voice screaming to her.
"Allyson, God dammit! Listen to me! You've got to keep up, we need to get to the southeast exit!" She looked into his hard eyes - he was trying so hard to be kind to her, and she knew it - and nodded quickly. The pair ran past armed men heading in the opposite direction, trying to head off the attack. The alarm sounding throughout the close quarters was deafening, along with the screaming of orders and the panic of the others. It was chaos.
"Just a little more to go, Allyson!" Tyler released his grip and she suddenly felt alone and scared, like a child. "Hold up here, I'll go on ahead and make sure the exit is clear."
"Hurry back Tyler!" She yelled after him as he disappeared around the right-hand bend.
She did not have to wait. All she heard was the shot fire. Then, everything seemed to go silent. All Allyson could hear was one sound. Footsteps. Unsure, precarious footsteps. Tyler's footsteps.
He appeared slowly from around the corner, still looking towards the exit. He didn't even have a chance to look at her as his body began to slump down towards the cold ground. Allyson felt herself scream, but she couldn't hear it. There was no sound now. All she could do was look down at Tyler's body, slowly writhing into death on the ground in front of her. As if to draw the curtain over him, shadows appeared, covering over Tyler and entering into the main hallway. She couldn't see anyone, but she knew they were there. Then she heard the voices.
"There she is, Williams - Allyson Rhodes - target acquired. She's the one General Wilson wants. Take her."
The shadows began to move up the walls as the figures began to approach Allyson. There were three of them - huge, superhuman - and they covered the entire hallway. As the lead figure grabbed her arm - and was not alone any longer - suddenly everything went dark. The hood flew over Allyson's head and was pulled tight around her neck. The voice spoke once more.
"Here's a message from your sister, Ms. Rhodes."
They were the last words she remembered hearing.
It was like being born into the arms of a concrete wall. Except less lovingly.
She could feel a bone break - or at least what she imagined a bone-break felt like. She was definitely bleeding, from her knees and elbows from being thrown to the ground at the very least. She knew that much, but little else. The hood over her head took more than her sight - she felt completely swallowed in its thick, suffocating fabric. This has to be a nightmare, she thought between nerve endings screaming from one end of her to the other. The feeling of many hands groping, clawing, scratching at her body, it was like an experience that no one knows, but everyone thinks about in their darkest fears. And just when she thought that she had to wake up - that it couldn't get any worse without her brain shutting down -
The night was dark - pitch black, stars looking away in horror and shame. The night was dark, and it was cold. Allyson could only feel the darkness - the cold she knew already. The night was dark, and it was cold.
And the dawn could only flicker against the horizon. The night was dark, and it was cold. And it would be long.
THE END
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Chapter Fifteen: Revelations
Allyson quickly collected herself and answered the door. It was Dorian.
"I have to talk to you," he said.
"What's the matter?"
"It's Archer."
"James? What about him?"
"I think he's going to sabotage the plan, the Returners," he said.
"Why would he do such a thing?"
Dorian sat down in the one chair in Allyson's tiny room and explained what he had seen. He explained how Archer's behavior had been suspicious since before Allyson woke up from her coma. Random disappearances for days with no correspondence with Tyler, Anderson or Sandra.
He always said he was going into hiding, trying to stay under the radar while acting as a doctor at the Inn.
Allyson was shocked to hear this. More shocked than at any other point during this entire ordeal. She knew James. She knew she knew him. Of all the things that had happened, she was so sure he was someone she could trust.
Once again, her world was being shaken.
"I know it's difficult to grasp, I didn't want to believe it. But everything I've seen over these last few months has led me to this conclusion," Dorian said.
"My god, I don't know what to believe anymore. Sometimes I get some shred of my memory back and I feel so sure I've finally caught something concrete. For all I know, I'm not even really one of the Returners. For all I know, I could be a prisoner here."
"Allyson, you're a Returner. You're one of the first. People here looked up to you. They still do. But apparently Archer is not among them. I haven't told Tyler yet. He's got enough to deal with, but I wanted you to know, because I respect you most of all. I wanted to get your opinion of what I should do."
"Let's just see what happens in the next day or so. We can't prove anything yet," Allyson said.
"You're right. That's best. Thanks Allyson, I knew it was a good idea to come to you."
Dorian left quickly, and once again Allyson was alone in her room. She had begun to loathe solitude. She had spent so much time alone in a room by herself, alone in her own head. Somehow being back with the Returners, things hadn't changed as she would have hoped.
She decided to try to remember where the mess hall was and get some lunch. And also, to find out who else has been missing her this past year that she still can't remember.
She sat down at a table with the same minimal rations as everyone else. She wasn't there more than a minute before Archer had discovered her and sat down across from her.
"Hi James."
"Allyson we need to talk," Archer said with an air of urgency.
"What's the matter?" Allyson knew this was her chance to feel him out - try to see if what Dorian said could actually be true.
"It's Dorian," Allyson froze. She knew what he was going to say, and she couldn't believe it was happening. She knew there was tension between them. She noticed that in her half daze in the hospital bed.
"I don't want to believe it, but I'm beginning to suspect he's not one of us. I think he may be a mole for the Vanguard."
"I have to talk to you," he said.
"What's the matter?"
"It's Archer."
"James? What about him?"
"I think he's going to sabotage the plan, the Returners," he said.
"Why would he do such a thing?"
Dorian sat down in the one chair in Allyson's tiny room and explained what he had seen. He explained how Archer's behavior had been suspicious since before Allyson woke up from her coma. Random disappearances for days with no correspondence with Tyler, Anderson or Sandra.
He always said he was going into hiding, trying to stay under the radar while acting as a doctor at the Inn.
Allyson was shocked to hear this. More shocked than at any other point during this entire ordeal. She knew James. She knew she knew him. Of all the things that had happened, she was so sure he was someone she could trust.
Once again, her world was being shaken.
"I know it's difficult to grasp, I didn't want to believe it. But everything I've seen over these last few months has led me to this conclusion," Dorian said.
"My god, I don't know what to believe anymore. Sometimes I get some shred of my memory back and I feel so sure I've finally caught something concrete. For all I know, I'm not even really one of the Returners. For all I know, I could be a prisoner here."
"Allyson, you're a Returner. You're one of the first. People here looked up to you. They still do. But apparently Archer is not among them. I haven't told Tyler yet. He's got enough to deal with, but I wanted you to know, because I respect you most of all. I wanted to get your opinion of what I should do."
"Let's just see what happens in the next day or so. We can't prove anything yet," Allyson said.
"You're right. That's best. Thanks Allyson, I knew it was a good idea to come to you."
Dorian left quickly, and once again Allyson was alone in her room. She had begun to loathe solitude. She had spent so much time alone in a room by herself, alone in her own head. Somehow being back with the Returners, things hadn't changed as she would have hoped.
She decided to try to remember where the mess hall was and get some lunch. And also, to find out who else has been missing her this past year that she still can't remember.
She sat down at a table with the same minimal rations as everyone else. She wasn't there more than a minute before Archer had discovered her and sat down across from her.
"Hi James."
"Allyson we need to talk," Archer said with an air of urgency.
"What's the matter?" Allyson knew this was her chance to feel him out - try to see if what Dorian said could actually be true.
"It's Dorian," Allyson froze. She knew what he was going to say, and she couldn't believe it was happening. She knew there was tension between them. She noticed that in her half daze in the hospital bed.
"I don't want to believe it, but I'm beginning to suspect he's not one of us. I think he may be a mole for the Vanguard."
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Chapter Fourteen: Left to Say
"You're not going," Tyler said plainly.
"What," Allyson was confused.
"You're not going. It's too dangerous. Not now, when you have just returned and are just remembering who you are. I am not putting you into that situation again."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you got to make my decisions for me."
"I'm a leader, Allyson. That's what I do. I make the choices that others don't want to make. It's too soon for you to be going out there again. You need to stay here and become reacquainted with yourself and all of us."
"So that's it then, you think I'd be a threat to the Returners. You think that I might give you up at a moments notice just because all of my memories aren't intact. I don't remember must, but you are all my family. I know that."
"It's not about that Allyson, and you know it."
"Fine," she paused, "I'm not a child needing your coddling, Tyler. I'm back, and I want to help."
"And you can, just not in this way. You can help us here, underground, but I'm not letting you out into the field, not yet, and that's my final decision."
She felt her throat constrict in disappointment, anger, and grief.
"So you rescued me for nothing," she said ungratefully, knowing it wasn't true but in anger, wanting to hurt Tyler.
She left without waiting for him to respond.
Alone in her room she did not cry, although she briefly thought about it. She felt useless. It was worse than the numb feeling, the lost feeling of not remembering. She would have to talk with Tyler again. She must convince him of her point of view, remind him of her reasons for being here, her need to do something. She had to approach this logically and systematically, not impulsively as she had done in the meeting room moments before.
She'd write a letter - it would prevent problems, reduce her anxiety. She moved toward her desk, fumbling around, unable to recall where she left her paper, her pens. The moment overwhelmed her. Allyson burst into tears just as a knock sounded on the heavy entrance to her room.
"What," Allyson was confused.
"You're not going. It's too dangerous. Not now, when you have just returned and are just remembering who you are. I am not putting you into that situation again."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that you got to make my decisions for me."
"I'm a leader, Allyson. That's what I do. I make the choices that others don't want to make. It's too soon for you to be going out there again. You need to stay here and become reacquainted with yourself and all of us."
"So that's it then, you think I'd be a threat to the Returners. You think that I might give you up at a moments notice just because all of my memories aren't intact. I don't remember must, but you are all my family. I know that."
"It's not about that Allyson, and you know it."
"Fine," she paused, "I'm not a child needing your coddling, Tyler. I'm back, and I want to help."
"And you can, just not in this way. You can help us here, underground, but I'm not letting you out into the field, not yet, and that's my final decision."
She felt her throat constrict in disappointment, anger, and grief.
"So you rescued me for nothing," she said ungratefully, knowing it wasn't true but in anger, wanting to hurt Tyler.
She left without waiting for him to respond.
Alone in her room she did not cry, although she briefly thought about it. She felt useless. It was worse than the numb feeling, the lost feeling of not remembering. She would have to talk with Tyler again. She must convince him of her point of view, remind him of her reasons for being here, her need to do something. She had to approach this logically and systematically, not impulsively as she had done in the meeting room moments before.
She'd write a letter - it would prevent problems, reduce her anxiety. She moved toward her desk, fumbling around, unable to recall where she left her paper, her pens. The moment overwhelmed her. Allyson burst into tears just as a knock sounded on the heavy entrance to her room.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Chapter Thirteen: Remembering the Plan
The dam hadn't broken, but it was a start. Just a crack, but it was something.
Allyson realized that a large piece of her memory had just returned to her, and now she was being called on as an expert witness to her own thoughts and plans by these people - her friends and colleagues. Initially, she simply looked back at each of them, not quite sure how to respond to their eager anticipation of her next words. They all seemed so confident in her, and that scared the hell out of her - she wasn't confident at all.
Not yet, not now, she told herself before she finally met Anderson's reassuring smile. He was slowly and slightly nodding at her, and as she looked at him, she could feel herself remembering more and more. Feeling the now-or-never threshold moving up through her body, Allyson leaned forward, placed her hands on the cool metal surface of the table, and push herself slowly to her feet.
"Anderson," she said softly, "will you join me up here?" It was, after all, not just her plan. They had worked on it together all those months. He nodded, stood, and walked to meet her at the head of the table with Tyler. But Tyler was stepping aside, moving to take his own seat at the table.
"It's all yours, you two," he spoke with a tint of happiness in his voice as he passed them.
Allyson looked at Anderson intently, concentrating hard on her memories, trying to realign her thoughts and reasoning.
"Anderson, I don't know if I can do this, I -"
"Yes you can. Just take it slow. If you need help, I remember most of this still - although I thought we'd never get to use it - and I'll do what I can to help."
"Thanks." Allyson looked away from him and back out amongst the rest. They were still waiting, but she felt as though they were all behind her - no one looked impatient or upset. They were happy to have her back, and she was beginning to feel wonderful for having them back. Allyson drew in her breath slowly, and then began.
"From what I remember - correct me, though, if things have changed - two men oversee Lancastle sector. One of them is Councilman Remus of the Collective, and the other is General Xan, one of two leading commanders of the Vanguard army. Now -"
"Actually, Allyson, one thing has changed - sorry to interrupt," Anderson interjected. "General Xan is no longer stationed at Lancastle. Actually, no one really knows what happened to him. But now," his voice became tight, "now, the commander of the Vanguard in Lancastle is Deiana Wilson, who destroyed the Inn where you were being treated."
All of them gathered in the hall became uneasy at the mention of Deiana's name. Allyson felt a pang of some kind in her thoughts which manifested itself as a hot sweat, but she wasn't entirely sure about why she felt that way. Coupled with the reaction in the room, Allyson assumed that Deiana held some importance with the Returners. She made a mental note to ask Tyler about it later. Feeling the discomfort in the room, Allyson returned to her plan.
"Alright, so, there's still two people overseeing operations in Lancastle - Remus and now Deiana Wilson. But if this Deiana is Vanguard, I'm sure that her mentality must be similar to Xan's, so that shouldn't affect the plan much. The idea behind the whole thing was rather simple - the execution of the operation was to be much more difficult."
"The two sides of rule, the Collective and the Vanguard, don't cherish much love for one another. Because the Vanguard holds all of the government's military technology, the Collective has built a tenuous relationship with the leaders of the army - one based on mutual preservation through power and glory. By infiltrating government ranks, and after building layer upon layer of trust within the Collective, the Returners were prepped to breed distrust and dissent into the administration through Councilman Remus. Once Remus had become convinced of the Vanguard's corruption and an impending coup d'etat, the Returners would arrive and be secretly accepted into the sector by the Collective. Our operatives would be given code keys to the sector's power stations. By sabotaging these stations - I think there were three of them - the entire sector would be destroyed."
There was deep silence in the meeting hall now - every member of the Returners present was hanging on Allyson's every word. She felt confidence seeping into her mind, and throughout her body. For the first time as long as she could remember, Allyson felt like she knew who she was. And she felt like herself again.
"By 'destroyed,' I mean that the land would not be harmed - only the buildings and infrastructure of the city - Gladefall would be preserved through our post-operation undertakings. The Collective would, of course, be assured of their safety by our agents - however, we never planned to let them live. Anderson and I were to escort the Councilman out of the city moments before the explosions. Instead, we planned was to incapacitate him and leave him to die with his own kind."
Tyler was nodding at them from his seat, he began to stand up and move back towards the front of the room as Allyson concluded.
"Of course, now that Anderson and I are out of Lancastle, and because of my ... incident ... I don't see how this plan can still work. Tyler, this is all that we had planned out - I don't know what you have in mind at this point." At this point, Tyler had regained his place with them at the front.
"I know Allyson, and thank you - you too Anderson - for outlining your plans. You're right, Allyson, the plan can't work exactly as you originally intended. But, the ultimate goal of the plan can still be realized."
"How?" Allyson wondered earnestly. She wasn't sold on Tyler's confidence yet - it had taken her and Anderson months to outline the specific details of their plan. But then, she realized, it had been over a year since then...
"Well, Allyson, since you've been gone, a lot has happened. As you now know, Xan is gone from the Vanguard. And you were almost right about him, Anderson - not many people know where he's gone. But I do. And we've been in contact for the past two months." Gasps of shock rose all over the room - Sandra was the first to speak.
"What the hell is this, Tyler? You've been in contact with the Vanguard? What are you trying to do to us? If he knows where this place is, we're all dead! And it'll be on you, Tyler! If -"
"Sandra!" Tyler shouted, "Sandra, calm down! Sit down and keep quiet until I've finished."
Sandra stood there for a minute, her eyes flaring and her breathing heavy. Within moments, however, she had regained herself, and was returning to her seat - small tears welling up in her eyes as she looked down to the floor.
"Yes, I've been in contact with General - or should I say - ex-General Xan. And he's left the Vanguard. And the Collective. He's just a civilian now, and he's sympathetic to our cause. Now, I know this sounds unbelievable, but I trust him. And he's given me information vital to the success of our plans - of your plan, Allyson."
Allyson didn't know what to think at this point. She remembered Xan as being a monster of a human being, committing so many atrocities that she had fought against over the years. She shared Sandra's disbelief, but not her anger. She didn't have the capacity to feel angry yet. She still wasn't comfortable with her life again. She wanted to trust Tyler, so she did.
Archer, who had not spoken for some time, interjected at this point. "Tyler, if Xan's defected, how can he be of any help to us in Lancastle? It just doesn't make any sense - and I just can't trust him at this point."
"I know how you feel, James," Tyler was sympathetic to his friend's concerns, but he hadn't yet revealed his big secret. "I know how you feel, but hear me out. You're right, Xan can't help us in Lancastle directly. But he can give us something of great importance: the code keys to the power stations. As a Vanguard general, he was privy to this information, and he took them with him when he left the sector because he felt that they could help our cause. We need only rendezvous with him, get the codes, and then we're in!"
Tyler looked out among the others. Their emotions ranged from Dorian's vivid disbelief to Sandra's quiet tears. He knew that this wasn't easy to swallow, but he also knew how important this operation was to the success of the Returners. They would have to understand him, they would have to trust him. And that trust would have to be the most complete that they had within them. But Tyler knew that this meeting had brought up a lot of bad blood, and a lot of concerns and emotions. He knew that the planning would have to be finished later - that night, perhaps, if it was possible.
"Listen, there' s been a lot said here this morning. Let's adjourn for now, and return to this plan tonight. Let's all get a little more rest, and then we need to organize for patrols, recon, and raids. We'll be using Epsilon Routine rotation this week, so you know where you'll need to report and when. Until then, let's break for now."
Even though emotions ran high throughout the room, they all reiterated their mantra:
The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.
Then they dispersed. When the noise of movement quieted, and the Returners had returned to their own dreams and restful (and restless) sleep, Allyson and Tyler remained in the meeting room. They both had more to say to one another.
For them, the meeting would continue into the rising sun's dawn.
Allyson realized that a large piece of her memory had just returned to her, and now she was being called on as an expert witness to her own thoughts and plans by these people - her friends and colleagues. Initially, she simply looked back at each of them, not quite sure how to respond to their eager anticipation of her next words. They all seemed so confident in her, and that scared the hell out of her - she wasn't confident at all.
Not yet, not now, she told herself before she finally met Anderson's reassuring smile. He was slowly and slightly nodding at her, and as she looked at him, she could feel herself remembering more and more. Feeling the now-or-never threshold moving up through her body, Allyson leaned forward, placed her hands on the cool metal surface of the table, and push herself slowly to her feet.
"Anderson," she said softly, "will you join me up here?" It was, after all, not just her plan. They had worked on it together all those months. He nodded, stood, and walked to meet her at the head of the table with Tyler. But Tyler was stepping aside, moving to take his own seat at the table.
"It's all yours, you two," he spoke with a tint of happiness in his voice as he passed them.
Allyson looked at Anderson intently, concentrating hard on her memories, trying to realign her thoughts and reasoning.
"Anderson, I don't know if I can do this, I -"
"Yes you can. Just take it slow. If you need help, I remember most of this still - although I thought we'd never get to use it - and I'll do what I can to help."
"Thanks." Allyson looked away from him and back out amongst the rest. They were still waiting, but she felt as though they were all behind her - no one looked impatient or upset. They were happy to have her back, and she was beginning to feel wonderful for having them back. Allyson drew in her breath slowly, and then began.
"From what I remember - correct me, though, if things have changed - two men oversee Lancastle sector. One of them is Councilman Remus of the Collective, and the other is General Xan, one of two leading commanders of the Vanguard army. Now -"
"Actually, Allyson, one thing has changed - sorry to interrupt," Anderson interjected. "General Xan is no longer stationed at Lancastle. Actually, no one really knows what happened to him. But now," his voice became tight, "now, the commander of the Vanguard in Lancastle is Deiana Wilson, who destroyed the Inn where you were being treated."
All of them gathered in the hall became uneasy at the mention of Deiana's name. Allyson felt a pang of some kind in her thoughts which manifested itself as a hot sweat, but she wasn't entirely sure about why she felt that way. Coupled with the reaction in the room, Allyson assumed that Deiana held some importance with the Returners. She made a mental note to ask Tyler about it later. Feeling the discomfort in the room, Allyson returned to her plan.
"Alright, so, there's still two people overseeing operations in Lancastle - Remus and now Deiana Wilson. But if this Deiana is Vanguard, I'm sure that her mentality must be similar to Xan's, so that shouldn't affect the plan much. The idea behind the whole thing was rather simple - the execution of the operation was to be much more difficult."
"The two sides of rule, the Collective and the Vanguard, don't cherish much love for one another. Because the Vanguard holds all of the government's military technology, the Collective has built a tenuous relationship with the leaders of the army - one based on mutual preservation through power and glory. By infiltrating government ranks, and after building layer upon layer of trust within the Collective, the Returners were prepped to breed distrust and dissent into the administration through Councilman Remus. Once Remus had become convinced of the Vanguard's corruption and an impending coup d'etat, the Returners would arrive and be secretly accepted into the sector by the Collective. Our operatives would be given code keys to the sector's power stations. By sabotaging these stations - I think there were three of them - the entire sector would be destroyed."
There was deep silence in the meeting hall now - every member of the Returners present was hanging on Allyson's every word. She felt confidence seeping into her mind, and throughout her body. For the first time as long as she could remember, Allyson felt like she knew who she was. And she felt like herself again.
"By 'destroyed,' I mean that the land would not be harmed - only the buildings and infrastructure of the city - Gladefall would be preserved through our post-operation undertakings. The Collective would, of course, be assured of their safety by our agents - however, we never planned to let them live. Anderson and I were to escort the Councilman out of the city moments before the explosions. Instead, we planned was to incapacitate him and leave him to die with his own kind."
Tyler was nodding at them from his seat, he began to stand up and move back towards the front of the room as Allyson concluded.
"Of course, now that Anderson and I are out of Lancastle, and because of my ... incident ... I don't see how this plan can still work. Tyler, this is all that we had planned out - I don't know what you have in mind at this point." At this point, Tyler had regained his place with them at the front.
"I know Allyson, and thank you - you too Anderson - for outlining your plans. You're right, Allyson, the plan can't work exactly as you originally intended. But, the ultimate goal of the plan can still be realized."
"How?" Allyson wondered earnestly. She wasn't sold on Tyler's confidence yet - it had taken her and Anderson months to outline the specific details of their plan. But then, she realized, it had been over a year since then...
"Well, Allyson, since you've been gone, a lot has happened. As you now know, Xan is gone from the Vanguard. And you were almost right about him, Anderson - not many people know where he's gone. But I do. And we've been in contact for the past two months." Gasps of shock rose all over the room - Sandra was the first to speak.
"What the hell is this, Tyler? You've been in contact with the Vanguard? What are you trying to do to us? If he knows where this place is, we're all dead! And it'll be on you, Tyler! If -"
"Sandra!" Tyler shouted, "Sandra, calm down! Sit down and keep quiet until I've finished."
Sandra stood there for a minute, her eyes flaring and her breathing heavy. Within moments, however, she had regained herself, and was returning to her seat - small tears welling up in her eyes as she looked down to the floor.
"Yes, I've been in contact with General - or should I say - ex-General Xan. And he's left the Vanguard. And the Collective. He's just a civilian now, and he's sympathetic to our cause. Now, I know this sounds unbelievable, but I trust him. And he's given me information vital to the success of our plans - of your plan, Allyson."
Allyson didn't know what to think at this point. She remembered Xan as being a monster of a human being, committing so many atrocities that she had fought against over the years. She shared Sandra's disbelief, but not her anger. She didn't have the capacity to feel angry yet. She still wasn't comfortable with her life again. She wanted to trust Tyler, so she did.
Archer, who had not spoken for some time, interjected at this point. "Tyler, if Xan's defected, how can he be of any help to us in Lancastle? It just doesn't make any sense - and I just can't trust him at this point."
"I know how you feel, James," Tyler was sympathetic to his friend's concerns, but he hadn't yet revealed his big secret. "I know how you feel, but hear me out. You're right, Xan can't help us in Lancastle directly. But he can give us something of great importance: the code keys to the power stations. As a Vanguard general, he was privy to this information, and he took them with him when he left the sector because he felt that they could help our cause. We need only rendezvous with him, get the codes, and then we're in!"
Tyler looked out among the others. Their emotions ranged from Dorian's vivid disbelief to Sandra's quiet tears. He knew that this wasn't easy to swallow, but he also knew how important this operation was to the success of the Returners. They would have to understand him, they would have to trust him. And that trust would have to be the most complete that they had within them. But Tyler knew that this meeting had brought up a lot of bad blood, and a lot of concerns and emotions. He knew that the planning would have to be finished later - that night, perhaps, if it was possible.
"Listen, there' s been a lot said here this morning. Let's adjourn for now, and return to this plan tonight. Let's all get a little more rest, and then we need to organize for patrols, recon, and raids. We'll be using Epsilon Routine rotation this week, so you know where you'll need to report and when. Until then, let's break for now."
Even though emotions ran high throughout the room, they all reiterated their mantra:
The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.
Then they dispersed. When the noise of movement quieted, and the Returners had returned to their own dreams and restful (and restless) sleep, Allyson and Tyler remained in the meeting room. They both had more to say to one another.
For them, the meeting would continue into the rising sun's dawn.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Chapter Twelve: On the Mend
Allyson awoke to a heavy knock on her door. She rose and answered it, slowly remembering where she was as the dank odor of the underground world she now lived in reinhabited her nostrils.
"Sorry Allyson, but it's time to get up," It was Archer, come to get her for the meeting Tyler had arranged. Despite her condition, he felt it was necessary to have her in attendance as well.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"A little before five in the morning. Come on now, Tyler won't wait long."
She dressed quickly in some clothes left by Sandra, then stepped out of her room, realizing she had no idea which way to go. Archer was still standing there, waiting patiently. A smile grew across Allyson's face as they began to walk up the long hallway.
"Good morning, James," she said. At that, Archer stopped. He began to say something but paused, as though unsure of how to say it.
Finally, he said, "You...You have no idea how long it has been since have heard you call me that." Archer flashed Allyson a smile that was almost too close. Clearly old wounds had been scarred over between members of the Returners and herself, and even amongst each other. If only Allyson could recall any of those memories.
Were they happy memories? Did she love any of these men at some point? Did she still, somewhere inside her? Did any of them still love her?
"How are you feeling?" Archer asked her.
"I'm not sure. I haven't been since I woke up."
"Probably just getting used to a new place all over again. This isn't the easiest place to adjust to. None of us had it that easy when we first..."
"No, I mean since I woke up from the coma," she said, cutting him off.
"What do you mean?"
"I've felt numb this whole time. I should be more frightened by the fact that I know so little about what's going on, but I just kind of let it slide off of me."
"It's probably the sedatives and pain killers from The Inn. We grabbed some with us in case you're still hurting when these completely where off," Archer explained.
"I feel empty inside too," Allyson continued, not sure if she should be revealing this information to Archer. "There's something missing that I feel must have been there before any of this happened. Something big in my life that made it whole, or someone..."
She stopped there. She knew she probably should have stopped before that. Archer began to say something when he heard something behind them in the hallway.
"Good morning Allyson, James." It was Dorian. He had apparently been walking behind them, perhaps following them.
Allyson quickly cut off whatever Archer was going to say. "Good morning Dorian. Are you on your way to meet Tyler as well?"
"Of course. I hear he's made some important decisions that he's going to relay to us. I'm excited to hear what the Returners next move will be."
The three of them continued into the large hall, which seemed to have been carved out of the rock underground. They filed in, seeing Sandra and Anderson sitting across the way, ready for things to begin. Some others were also there, who Allyson did not know, or remember. She consistently forgot that she was supposed to be one of the four leaders of the Returners.
"Ladies and Gentleman, let's get started. There is much to discuss," Tyler said, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall.
"As you all know, we've been without a mole inside the government for over a year now," Allyson knew Tyler was referring to her, recalling the serial number still tattooed on her foot. The essential brand of the enemy was on her forever. A sacrifice she had made for the Returners. She began to remember it being the most difficult part of transforming herself from an anti-authority, underground type to portraying the motivated and social government employee who had worked her way up through the ranks, only to have it all come crashing down when...
"Lancastle Sector has almost completely insulated itself from those opposed to the government during that time," Tyler said. Allyson had lost herself in thought.
"What do you plan to do about it?" Anderson asked eagerly. He had acted as a mole himself, but quickly disappeared from sight after Allyson's tragedy.
"Destroy it." Tyler responded.
"How will that make us any better than the tyrants running the place? There are innocent people living there still," Sandra demanded.
"The Vanguard has bought up almost all of the land in Lancastle Sector. Everyone in there is government, and we know that none of our people are there right now. The few people we've reinserted as spies are still at the lower levels. None of them work in that sector."
"Think about it my friends. The guise of this dictatorship is that there is no dictator. The Committe runs the show as a whole, benefitting themselves and their friends, as we all know. How do you decapitate something with no head? Chop off the neck. Take away their ability to congregate. Make them scramble. They will lose control quickly."
"We don't have the manpower to defend this hole if it is found, nevermind take Lancastle!" Anderson said heatedly.
"We're not going to take it, we're going to convince them to give it to us."
"I thought you wanted to destroy it," Archer said.
"I want to destroy Lancastle, not the beautiful Gladefall land it sits upon. I want to destroy the idea of it," Tyler answered. "We need to create the illusion of insecurity in them that they have drilled into the heads of our fellow citizens. Make them think they are as unsafe as they let on to the public. Make them question their own loyal colleagues and as to their true allegiances. They will crumble before your eyes, my friends.
"How did you conceive such a clever plan?" Dorian asked.
"It wasn't his," Anderson answered, then looked directly at Allyson.
The entire time Tyler explained the plan, memories came crashing back. The images she recalled, drawing up the scheme she and Anderson devised while on the inside. They would be the last to leave Lancastle before it went down.
A knowing smile and sense of accomplishment appeared on Tyler's face as Allyson displayed no signs of confusion from Anderson's revelation. Somehow he knew exactly what to say to bring her memories back.
"So Allyson," Dorian asked, "when do we begin?"
"Sorry Allyson, but it's time to get up," It was Archer, come to get her for the meeting Tyler had arranged. Despite her condition, he felt it was necessary to have her in attendance as well.
"What time is it?" she asked.
"A little before five in the morning. Come on now, Tyler won't wait long."
She dressed quickly in some clothes left by Sandra, then stepped out of her room, realizing she had no idea which way to go. Archer was still standing there, waiting patiently. A smile grew across Allyson's face as they began to walk up the long hallway.
"Good morning, James," she said. At that, Archer stopped. He began to say something but paused, as though unsure of how to say it.
Finally, he said, "You...You have no idea how long it has been since have heard you call me that." Archer flashed Allyson a smile that was almost too close. Clearly old wounds had been scarred over between members of the Returners and herself, and even amongst each other. If only Allyson could recall any of those memories.
Were they happy memories? Did she love any of these men at some point? Did she still, somewhere inside her? Did any of them still love her?
"How are you feeling?" Archer asked her.
"I'm not sure. I haven't been since I woke up."
"Probably just getting used to a new place all over again. This isn't the easiest place to adjust to. None of us had it that easy when we first..."
"No, I mean since I woke up from the coma," she said, cutting him off.
"What do you mean?"
"I've felt numb this whole time. I should be more frightened by the fact that I know so little about what's going on, but I just kind of let it slide off of me."
"It's probably the sedatives and pain killers from The Inn. We grabbed some with us in case you're still hurting when these completely where off," Archer explained.
"I feel empty inside too," Allyson continued, not sure if she should be revealing this information to Archer. "There's something missing that I feel must have been there before any of this happened. Something big in my life that made it whole, or someone..."
She stopped there. She knew she probably should have stopped before that. Archer began to say something when he heard something behind them in the hallway.
"Good morning Allyson, James." It was Dorian. He had apparently been walking behind them, perhaps following them.
Allyson quickly cut off whatever Archer was going to say. "Good morning Dorian. Are you on your way to meet Tyler as well?"
"Of course. I hear he's made some important decisions that he's going to relay to us. I'm excited to hear what the Returners next move will be."
The three of them continued into the large hall, which seemed to have been carved out of the rock underground. They filed in, seeing Sandra and Anderson sitting across the way, ready for things to begin. Some others were also there, who Allyson did not know, or remember. She consistently forgot that she was supposed to be one of the four leaders of the Returners.
"Ladies and Gentleman, let's get started. There is much to discuss," Tyler said, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall.
"As you all know, we've been without a mole inside the government for over a year now," Allyson knew Tyler was referring to her, recalling the serial number still tattooed on her foot. The essential brand of the enemy was on her forever. A sacrifice she had made for the Returners. She began to remember it being the most difficult part of transforming herself from an anti-authority, underground type to portraying the motivated and social government employee who had worked her way up through the ranks, only to have it all come crashing down when...
"Lancastle Sector has almost completely insulated itself from those opposed to the government during that time," Tyler said. Allyson had lost herself in thought.
"What do you plan to do about it?" Anderson asked eagerly. He had acted as a mole himself, but quickly disappeared from sight after Allyson's tragedy.
"Destroy it." Tyler responded.
"How will that make us any better than the tyrants running the place? There are innocent people living there still," Sandra demanded.
"The Vanguard has bought up almost all of the land in Lancastle Sector. Everyone in there is government, and we know that none of our people are there right now. The few people we've reinserted as spies are still at the lower levels. None of them work in that sector."
"Think about it my friends. The guise of this dictatorship is that there is no dictator. The Committe runs the show as a whole, benefitting themselves and their friends, as we all know. How do you decapitate something with no head? Chop off the neck. Take away their ability to congregate. Make them scramble. They will lose control quickly."
"We don't have the manpower to defend this hole if it is found, nevermind take Lancastle!" Anderson said heatedly.
"We're not going to take it, we're going to convince them to give it to us."
"I thought you wanted to destroy it," Archer said.
"I want to destroy Lancastle, not the beautiful Gladefall land it sits upon. I want to destroy the idea of it," Tyler answered. "We need to create the illusion of insecurity in them that they have drilled into the heads of our fellow citizens. Make them think they are as unsafe as they let on to the public. Make them question their own loyal colleagues and as to their true allegiances. They will crumble before your eyes, my friends.
"How did you conceive such a clever plan?" Dorian asked.
"It wasn't his," Anderson answered, then looked directly at Allyson.
The entire time Tyler explained the plan, memories came crashing back. The images she recalled, drawing up the scheme she and Anderson devised while on the inside. They would be the last to leave Lancastle before it went down.
A knowing smile and sense of accomplishment appeared on Tyler's face as Allyson displayed no signs of confusion from Anderson's revelation. Somehow he knew exactly what to say to bring her memories back.
"So Allyson," Dorian asked, "when do we begin?"
Monday, March 5, 2007
Chapter Eleven: Living Twice
Dorian helped Allyson down the dank hall toward a room that had once been hers, lost in thought. He had walked this hall many times. It was familiar, safe, almost loving, or at least a hall that brought about feelings of love. He had loved her once, loved her still, not that it mattered in all of this mess of amnesia and war.
It was not a world to love in, Dorian thought imagining Pakistan exploding off the radar in a blinding flash of light, the new Hiroshima-agent orange-napalm all in one. The world had seemed so vivid that day, ever building and person awash in an almost iridescent light. The world had seemed too real, as Dorian came to the realization that his family, his entire family, had perished, he being the only one to emigrate from Pakistan, leaving tradition and unrest behind.
Had his mother been alive, she would have peered out at him with no recognition of her son. In another life, a fabricated life, in which he could have brought Allyson home with him and talked of love, his mother would have wept and wept not understanding his new existence.
He felt Allyson shutter on his arm, and brought himself back into focus with reality. They were at her room, he was opening her door, and trying so hard not to imagine nights here, Allyson laughing into the pillowcase.
They had not moved her things, had not dusted for fear of disturbing what they had previously believed was a shrine to the dead. That was until they heard from Archer, station Montgomery Sector - they had all been stationed in various hospitals looking for her. Dorian's relief at hearing Allyson was alive had been mixed with jealousy. Why Archer? Why did Archer have the be the one calling him a bit of snide pride mixed with the joy at having found her first.
Allyson was moving slowly through the room in what seemed like a sort of mix between a Zen and numbly shocked state. "Don't worry, Baby," he thought, "Everything is going to be all right." But he could not bring himself to utter such platitudes, such falsehoods. Not to her, their golden girl who had come back from the dead.
"I'll leave you now," Dorian said, instead.
"Yes," Allyson almost whispered.
"I would stay... - I have to meet with Tyler. There is a lot to be done before - Don't worry; just rest, okay."
She was sitting down now, at least. The sheets, he knew, were clean, Sandra having changed them when she heard the news, having cleaned like a manic person in laughter and tears all at once. Not knowing what to believe. In such a time there were always lies to keep one believing.
"Right," Dorian steeled himself, "Just rest," he said again, smiled in a way he thought was kindly.
He concentrated carefully on trying to close the door without a sound.
It was not a world to love in, Dorian thought imagining Pakistan exploding off the radar in a blinding flash of light, the new Hiroshima-agent orange-napalm all in one. The world had seemed so vivid that day, ever building and person awash in an almost iridescent light. The world had seemed too real, as Dorian came to the realization that his family, his entire family, had perished, he being the only one to emigrate from Pakistan, leaving tradition and unrest behind.
Had his mother been alive, she would have peered out at him with no recognition of her son. In another life, a fabricated life, in which he could have brought Allyson home with him and talked of love, his mother would have wept and wept not understanding his new existence.
He felt Allyson shutter on his arm, and brought himself back into focus with reality. They were at her room, he was opening her door, and trying so hard not to imagine nights here, Allyson laughing into the pillowcase.
They had not moved her things, had not dusted for fear of disturbing what they had previously believed was a shrine to the dead. That was until they heard from Archer, station Montgomery Sector - they had all been stationed in various hospitals looking for her. Dorian's relief at hearing Allyson was alive had been mixed with jealousy. Why Archer? Why did Archer have the be the one calling him a bit of snide pride mixed with the joy at having found her first.
Allyson was moving slowly through the room in what seemed like a sort of mix between a Zen and numbly shocked state. "Don't worry, Baby," he thought, "Everything is going to be all right." But he could not bring himself to utter such platitudes, such falsehoods. Not to her, their golden girl who had come back from the dead.
"I'll leave you now," Dorian said, instead.
"Yes," Allyson almost whispered.
"I would stay... - I have to meet with Tyler. There is a lot to be done before - Don't worry; just rest, okay."
She was sitting down now, at least. The sheets, he knew, were clean, Sandra having changed them when she heard the news, having cleaned like a manic person in laughter and tears all at once. Not knowing what to believe. In such a time there were always lies to keep one believing.
"Right," Dorian steeled himself, "Just rest," he said again, smiled in a way he thought was kindly.
He concentrated carefully on trying to close the door without a sound.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Chapter Ten: The Reunion
"Oh my God, Allyson!"
The sentiment echoed on the lips of those present in the meeting hall. Acting first, Sandra rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Allyson's frail-looking figure, almost knocking her down in the excitement.
"Whoa, Sandra!" Dorian exclaimed. "Hold up, she's still not well, she's -" Tyler's hand found Dorian's arm softly.
"Easy Dorian. You know how they feel, don't you? Don't take this away from them."
"But..." Dorian started. Then he realized - like it always seemed - Tyler was right. He knew exactly how Sandra and the others were feeling. He had felt that surge of quiet excitement fill his lungs when he heard Archer confirm that Allyson was still alive. It was like taking his very first breath all over again. And, seeing her now, seeing Allyson standing there again - the feeling had not left him yet.
Sandra released her grip on Allyson cautiously, not realizing the state of affairs. "Sorry Allyson, I didn't know how things were. I was just so excited to see you again. I ... we all thought you were ..."
"Dead?" Allyson said the word with curious apprehension.
Sandra looked into her friend's eyes, surprised at how fast Allyson had finished her sentence.
"Well ... I mean, you're not - so everything's alright now. Right?" Sandra looked around her - she didn't know how to act, not right now. No one else did either.
"Calm down, Sandra," Archer motioned his words with his hands, trying to bring her down out of her fear.
"Archer's right - we all need to calm down," Tyler stepped into the conversation for the first time proper. "Allyson's back, but she's not completely well yet. The Vanguard sacked The Inn in Montgomery and we had to get her out. This is the only place where she can stay for now. The only place that they won't find her."
Tyler moved over to stand behind Allyson, and leaned in to speak quietly to her.
"You should get some rest - we might need you healthy faster than expected."
Allyson nodded slowly in acknowledgment - as Tyler's words entered her ears, she felt her body's weakness for the first time since they had arrived at the hideout. But his voice gave her strength - a feeling she hadn't felt in so long. It was like a lifetime ago...
"Dorian, please escort Allyson to her room -" Tyler leaned back to speak to Allyson one more time.
"- Everything's just like you left it. Maybe more of your reality will reveal itself to you when you see it again."
"Tyler," Archer said, "maybe I should take Allyson. I am her doctor, and I was able to procure some medication as we made our way out -"
"No Archer." Tyler was firm. "No medication tonight. Tonight, Allyson will have no trouble falling asleep. Not here. Dorian, go ahead."
Archer gave both of them a look that was selfish and defeated. Tyler looked away from him in disgust - he realized that this was not the time for personal feelings to get involved. He immediately regretted his actions, but knew that the others wouldn't understand. Especially Dorian. So much had happened between them - and Allyson. How could it be alright, anymore? he asked himself as he looked away from his friend. Dorian took Allyson's left arm gently in his hands. As he wrapped his fingers around her sleeve, he felt so many memories taking over - he forced them out of his mind, for now.
"This way, Allyson." He led her slowly out of the south exit of the meeting hall, leaving the others standing in silence.
***
Anderson watched the whole scene unfold from the east wall. Throughout the reunion, he had been silent. This had been mainly due to the disbelief of seeing Allyson again. However, it also had to do with the Inn. He hadn't said anything to Tyler or Archer yet - he hadn't asked them about Deiana. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. Irony shook him when he found himself speaking out into the dead silence of the meeting hall.
"Was it Deiana?"
He wasn't looking at anyone in particular, but the whole room swiveled to meet the gaze of his words.
Archer answered after a short pause.
"...Yeah. Yeah, it was. I'm sorry, man."
"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the Inn. I can't understand why she would do all of that - all of those people ... dead."
Archer began to move nearer to Anderson as he spoke. "Anderson, we don't know her anymore. She's not the person that we thought she was. She's one of them now. She's -"
"Damnit Archer! - I know that! I know what she is ..." Anderson could feel himself falling apart - he tried to stop it but couldn't. "But ... I know who she was, and I can't forget that."
"Well," Tyler said, stepping forward as well, and moving out into the light of the hall for the first time, "you've got to forget. We all have to. What Deiana did is over now. She's gone. Allyson is back, and we that's all that matters." Tyler began to pace around the center of the meeting hall - he felt as though the situation was beginning to get out of control. He needed to institute some kind of order - get things figured out. "The Inn is gone. The Returners have lost a great deal from this - people, resources, facilities. But we have Allyson back - and we have to move on. There's still so much to do - so much is still in the works. Earlier today, I received a correspondence from Triss. The Vanguard attacked Edenmore earlier this week, and plans have changed. The operation has had to move to a more secure location. I've been assured that when we are able, we will be able to rendezvous with Triss and her people and carryout our plans. But we have to remember, Allyson isn't all of herself, yet. She still has a lot to figure out. And we have to help her as best we can. But we can't do it all. She's got to do this on her own."
Tyler's pacing had left him at the head of the long, rectangular operations table. He leaned down his hands onto the cool metal surface and looked out amongst his people. He saw a lot of confused, scared - but determined faces in front of him. People he had known all of his life. Friends he had gained to help replace the gaps left by the ones he had lost. The time was coming near - the plans were in motion. The time for action had arrived. And they would be counting on him to make the decisions. The right decisions. The life decisions. But he couldn't do it alone, and everyone knew that. He looked out and knew that the time to act had come.
"We need to be prepared for what lies ahead. I'm calling a meeting: here, sunrise. Everyone, be on time - we need to be ready. The time is drawing near. We're adjourned for now - Deacon, take the watch. Everyone else, get some sleep. "
In response to his words, and in unison, the room spoke out the solemn reminder of their mission:
The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.
As the words left his mouth - it was a reflex at this point - Tyler could see them all clearly. The roomful of nods and smiles gave him strength. He knew that they were all behind him. And, now Allyson was back. He felt like things could start getting better now.
The sentiment echoed on the lips of those present in the meeting hall. Acting first, Sandra rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Allyson's frail-looking figure, almost knocking her down in the excitement.
"Whoa, Sandra!" Dorian exclaimed. "Hold up, she's still not well, she's -" Tyler's hand found Dorian's arm softly.
"Easy Dorian. You know how they feel, don't you? Don't take this away from them."
"But..." Dorian started. Then he realized - like it always seemed - Tyler was right. He knew exactly how Sandra and the others were feeling. He had felt that surge of quiet excitement fill his lungs when he heard Archer confirm that Allyson was still alive. It was like taking his very first breath all over again. And, seeing her now, seeing Allyson standing there again - the feeling had not left him yet.
Sandra released her grip on Allyson cautiously, not realizing the state of affairs. "Sorry Allyson, I didn't know how things were. I was just so excited to see you again. I ... we all thought you were ..."
"Dead?" Allyson said the word with curious apprehension.
Sandra looked into her friend's eyes, surprised at how fast Allyson had finished her sentence.
"Well ... I mean, you're not - so everything's alright now. Right?" Sandra looked around her - she didn't know how to act, not right now. No one else did either.
"Calm down, Sandra," Archer motioned his words with his hands, trying to bring her down out of her fear.
"Archer's right - we all need to calm down," Tyler stepped into the conversation for the first time proper. "Allyson's back, but she's not completely well yet. The Vanguard sacked The Inn in Montgomery and we had to get her out. This is the only place where she can stay for now. The only place that they won't find her."
Tyler moved over to stand behind Allyson, and leaned in to speak quietly to her.
"You should get some rest - we might need you healthy faster than expected."
Allyson nodded slowly in acknowledgment - as Tyler's words entered her ears, she felt her body's weakness for the first time since they had arrived at the hideout. But his voice gave her strength - a feeling she hadn't felt in so long. It was like a lifetime ago...
"Dorian, please escort Allyson to her room -" Tyler leaned back to speak to Allyson one more time.
"- Everything's just like you left it. Maybe more of your reality will reveal itself to you when you see it again."
"Tyler," Archer said, "maybe I should take Allyson. I am her doctor, and I was able to procure some medication as we made our way out -"
"No Archer." Tyler was firm. "No medication tonight. Tonight, Allyson will have no trouble falling asleep. Not here. Dorian, go ahead."
Archer gave both of them a look that was selfish and defeated. Tyler looked away from him in disgust - he realized that this was not the time for personal feelings to get involved. He immediately regretted his actions, but knew that the others wouldn't understand. Especially Dorian. So much had happened between them - and Allyson. How could it be alright, anymore? he asked himself as he looked away from his friend. Dorian took Allyson's left arm gently in his hands. As he wrapped his fingers around her sleeve, he felt so many memories taking over - he forced them out of his mind, for now.
"This way, Allyson." He led her slowly out of the south exit of the meeting hall, leaving the others standing in silence.
***
Anderson watched the whole scene unfold from the east wall. Throughout the reunion, he had been silent. This had been mainly due to the disbelief of seeing Allyson again. However, it also had to do with the Inn. He hadn't said anything to Tyler or Archer yet - he hadn't asked them about Deiana. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. Irony shook him when he found himself speaking out into the dead silence of the meeting hall.
"Was it Deiana?"
He wasn't looking at anyone in particular, but the whole room swiveled to meet the gaze of his words.
Archer answered after a short pause.
"...Yeah. Yeah, it was. I'm sorry, man."
"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the Inn. I can't understand why she would do all of that - all of those people ... dead."
Archer began to move nearer to Anderson as he spoke. "Anderson, we don't know her anymore. She's not the person that we thought she was. She's one of them now. She's -"
"Damnit Archer! - I know that! I know what she is ..." Anderson could feel himself falling apart - he tried to stop it but couldn't. "But ... I know who she was, and I can't forget that."
"Well," Tyler said, stepping forward as well, and moving out into the light of the hall for the first time, "you've got to forget. We all have to. What Deiana did is over now. She's gone. Allyson is back, and we that's all that matters." Tyler began to pace around the center of the meeting hall - he felt as though the situation was beginning to get out of control. He needed to institute some kind of order - get things figured out. "The Inn is gone. The Returners have lost a great deal from this - people, resources, facilities. But we have Allyson back - and we have to move on. There's still so much to do - so much is still in the works. Earlier today, I received a correspondence from Triss. The Vanguard attacked Edenmore earlier this week, and plans have changed. The operation has had to move to a more secure location. I've been assured that when we are able, we will be able to rendezvous with Triss and her people and carryout our plans. But we have to remember, Allyson isn't all of herself, yet. She still has a lot to figure out. And we have to help her as best we can. But we can't do it all. She's got to do this on her own."
Tyler's pacing had left him at the head of the long, rectangular operations table. He leaned down his hands onto the cool metal surface and looked out amongst his people. He saw a lot of confused, scared - but determined faces in front of him. People he had known all of his life. Friends he had gained to help replace the gaps left by the ones he had lost. The time was coming near - the plans were in motion. The time for action had arrived. And they would be counting on him to make the decisions. The right decisions. The life decisions. But he couldn't do it alone, and everyone knew that. He looked out and knew that the time to act had come.
"We need to be prepared for what lies ahead. I'm calling a meeting: here, sunrise. Everyone, be on time - we need to be ready. The time is drawing near. We're adjourned for now - Deacon, take the watch. Everyone else, get some sleep. "
In response to his words, and in unison, the room spoke out the solemn reminder of their mission:
The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.
As the words left his mouth - it was a reflex at this point - Tyler could see them all clearly. The roomful of nods and smiles gave him strength. He knew that they were all behind him. And, now Allyson was back. He felt like things could start getting better now.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Chapter Nine: Shadow Stepper
The man in the shadows was back. But this time, he was running about ten feet ahead of Allyson, and still hidden by darkness. Allyson herself was riding in a wheelchair being pushed by Archer, with Dorian running alongside them.
"This way, hurry!" The shadowed man was leading them down this alley way and that, trying to escape the Vanguard as the hospital now lay in ruin. The man in the shadows, Allyson had learned his name was Tyler from Archer and Dorian, brought to light that the hospital was going to be destroyed regardless of whether the Vanguard captured Allyson. Now way would they let the building remain a refuge for enemies of the state.
Tyler stopped for just a second as the others caught, but then quickly picked up again, leading the escape. In that moment, Allyson saw his face, and something else.
"That scar," she thought. Indeed, Tyler had a gruesome, but clearly old, scar across his face that traveled from over his left eye to his cheeck and upper lip, ending to the right of his strong chin. For some reason, there was a fleeting moment of recognition in Allyson's memory. She had touched that scar the last time she saw it. It was much newer then.
She barely knew who the man was, but a single moment in time had come back to her. She could recall the remorse she felt when she discovered he had suffered the injury. Remorse, though? Had she given him the scar?
"Come with me, please! They cannot see where we are going," Tyler hastened them. Archer was getting tired, pushing Allyson's wheelchair, but her legs weren't strong enough yet for a full sprint through a city.
"Let me, James, I'll push he the rest of the way," Dorian said, once again eager to come to her aid.
Suddenly, Tyler had stopped in front of them. Lights could be seen ahead of the four in the distance. Tyler had to react quickly.
"This way," he said. Leading them through a door to what appeared to be a closed down shop. Plywood covered all but one window. The original door remained on its hinges, rotting. The climbed over rubble and dust-covered furniture through the shop to the back entrance of the building."
"Allyson, my dear, you'll have to part with you chair," Tyler said as softly as he could.
Without responding she stood, uneasy at first, but gradually more sturdy. She did not know where she kept finding this inner resolve. He led them to a bulkhead in the back of the building, obviously to the basement underneath the shop. The crept swiftly down the stairs and into the basement. In the darkness, Tyler found another door and they went through it onto a metal, spiral staircase.
When Tyler reached the bottom, he splashed into ankle-deep water. They were in the sewers.
"Where are we going?" Allyson asked.
"Home."
Allyson was puzzled, but Archer and Dorian followed without question. They must know where he's going. Or at least have an idea. They walked for what seemed like hours. It was probably more like 20 minutes.
Finally, Tyler found the door on the right side of the tunnel that he was looking for. He knocked three times, then four. The door opened and he stepped through. The door closed behind him.
They remaining three stood there and waited. Allyson was confused, but once again her escorts were calm. A few minutes later Tyler returned and waved them in.
The passed through the door and past a man stading to the side with a rifle. The traveled down a rounding ramp to another level of the sewer system, this one a little dryer. It was warm and musty; Allyson wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"Allyson, I'd like to re-introduce you to Sandra and Anderson. We're all very happy to have you back after so long," Tyler said, with explanation.
Once again, clouded recognition filled Allyson's mind. She had know idea what was going on or who these people were. But... she knew, somehow, she was in the right place.
Tyler, Allyson, Sandra, and Anderson. Allyson was unaware at the time, but it was the first time in more than a year that it was safe enough for the four of them to be in the same place again.
The Returners had arrived once more.
"This way, hurry!" The shadowed man was leading them down this alley way and that, trying to escape the Vanguard as the hospital now lay in ruin. The man in the shadows, Allyson had learned his name was Tyler from Archer and Dorian, brought to light that the hospital was going to be destroyed regardless of whether the Vanguard captured Allyson. Now way would they let the building remain a refuge for enemies of the state.
Tyler stopped for just a second as the others caught, but then quickly picked up again, leading the escape. In that moment, Allyson saw his face, and something else.
"That scar," she thought. Indeed, Tyler had a gruesome, but clearly old, scar across his face that traveled from over his left eye to his cheeck and upper lip, ending to the right of his strong chin. For some reason, there was a fleeting moment of recognition in Allyson's memory. She had touched that scar the last time she saw it. It was much newer then.
She barely knew who the man was, but a single moment in time had come back to her. She could recall the remorse she felt when she discovered he had suffered the injury. Remorse, though? Had she given him the scar?
"Come with me, please! They cannot see where we are going," Tyler hastened them. Archer was getting tired, pushing Allyson's wheelchair, but her legs weren't strong enough yet for a full sprint through a city.
"Let me, James, I'll push he the rest of the way," Dorian said, once again eager to come to her aid.
Suddenly, Tyler had stopped in front of them. Lights could be seen ahead of the four in the distance. Tyler had to react quickly.
"This way," he said. Leading them through a door to what appeared to be a closed down shop. Plywood covered all but one window. The original door remained on its hinges, rotting. The climbed over rubble and dust-covered furniture through the shop to the back entrance of the building."
"Allyson, my dear, you'll have to part with you chair," Tyler said as softly as he could.
Without responding she stood, uneasy at first, but gradually more sturdy. She did not know where she kept finding this inner resolve. He led them to a bulkhead in the back of the building, obviously to the basement underneath the shop. The crept swiftly down the stairs and into the basement. In the darkness, Tyler found another door and they went through it onto a metal, spiral staircase.
When Tyler reached the bottom, he splashed into ankle-deep water. They were in the sewers.
"Where are we going?" Allyson asked.
"Home."
Allyson was puzzled, but Archer and Dorian followed without question. They must know where he's going. Or at least have an idea. They walked for what seemed like hours. It was probably more like 20 minutes.
Finally, Tyler found the door on the right side of the tunnel that he was looking for. He knocked three times, then four. The door opened and he stepped through. The door closed behind him.
They remaining three stood there and waited. Allyson was confused, but once again her escorts were calm. A few minutes later Tyler returned and waved them in.
The passed through the door and past a man stading to the side with a rifle. The traveled down a rounding ramp to another level of the sewer system, this one a little dryer. It was warm and musty; Allyson wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"Allyson, I'd like to re-introduce you to Sandra and Anderson. We're all very happy to have you back after so long," Tyler said, with explanation.
Once again, clouded recognition filled Allyson's mind. She had know idea what was going on or who these people were. But... she knew, somehow, she was in the right place.
Tyler, Allyson, Sandra, and Anderson. Allyson was unaware at the time, but it was the first time in more than a year that it was safe enough for the four of them to be in the same place again.
The Returners had arrived once more.
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