Dystopia Chapter 17: What's the Play

Woke, pulling the covers over my head, seeking refuge from the blazing sun. Alone. Last night’s guest, gone.

Voices — a few — filtered through the adjacent compartments. No electronics, no notifications, no beeps interrupting the silence, no vehicles or aircraft polluting the air. Just a disturbing quiet. The technology that once kept us constant company, now artifacts of a failed past. The news, the talking heads, the self-appointed geniuses — always assuring us the next solution would be our salvation.

Others predicted the rapture, insisting the second coming was close at hand. Armageddon. Perhaps AI would deliver the answer. A miscalculation, I fear. Gray-bearded scientists and intellectuals, these great minds would lead the way, sharing their convictions with great confidence. Of course it would turn out well. Nothing will be impossible for us. There's always a silver lining, just waiting to be found.

We stopped looking years ago.

Every day mirrors the previous one. In the minds of most, the world collapsed quickly overnight. I remember someone always spouting off, “I feel optimistic. The cup was half-full.” Now depleted. Vaporized by the unknowable. The opportunity cost, never fully calculated.

Agitated by a recent pledge, I slipped out, avoiding everyone. Recalling the phrase “out-the-back Jack,” and rephrasing it in my head as “out-the-back Jesse,” I saddled up and returned to yesterday’s encounters. Told them I would be back in twenty-four hours. Here I was, idiot, on a fool’s errand. Promise kept.

I told them I would be back. Currently, waiting on our imaginary border. Wondering who would return, Team ‘Sure we will barter,’ or Team ‘revenge?’ I waited and waited. As I waited, I realized someone was approaching from behind. I spun the horse, hand on my gun, and saw Addison. Addison was petite, I guess mid-thirties, enigmatic, and I’ll admit, attractive. We hardly ever sought to know or impose on each other’s past. Having seen her practice on our sad-looking gun range, she was very capable. That’s all I needed to know. She was confident, and showing up today, devoted to a common cause.

“Afternoon. And what’s up?” I asked.

“I was wondering the same,” she replied.

“Thought there might be a trade possible with the first group, unless they don’t want to be seen working with us or trading with us,” I said, “that and avoiding the critical crowd.”

“Seems being here is above and beyond what one might deem reasonable,” she responded.

She was right. I was just steering clear of questions, criticism, and being given a new deadline.

Waiting, small talk, never revealing too much. Then I noticed pulling away from the stables a wagon and, seriously, the remaining team members, headed on our way. I’m sure Addison noted my irritation.

“We are a team, like it or not,” she smiled smugly. “Looks like we have more company.”

From the east, what appears as yesterday’s cohort moving in our direction. Eight yesterday, today, quick count eleven. In my head, struggling to form a plan, drawing a blank. Push up the trail, or stand our ground and play it out? Then a buggy appeared behind them, several more inside. They had us outnumbered.

“So, boss, what’s the play?” she asked.

“Don’t call me boss.” Eyes forward. “We wait.”

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