Dystopia Chapter 17: What's the Play

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

Voices, a few, filtered through the adjacent compartments. No electronics, no notifications, no beeps interrupting the moment, no vehicles or aircraft cacophony polluting the air, just disturbing silence. The technology that once kept us constant company, now artifacts of a foiled past. The news, talking heads, geniuses, always assured us the next solution would be our salvation. Others predicted the rapture — the second coming was close at hand; our salvation would soon return from the clouds. Perhaps AI would launch the eventual solution. A miscalculation, I fear. Gray-bearded scientists and intellectuals, these great minds would lead the way voluntarily and share their convictions. Of course, this will turn out well. Nothing that man proposes to do will be impossible for us. There is always a silver lining, just waiting to be corralled.

Who really cares? 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 is half-full,” now depleted, vaporized by the unknowable. The opportunity cost never fully calculated.

Agitated by a recent pledge, I snuck out, avoiding everyone, recalling the phrase as out-the-back-Jack, rephrased in my head as out-the-back-Jesse, 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 waited 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 a petite, I guess mid-thirties, enigmatic, and dare I say attractive woman. 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 shared, “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 history, we noticed a wagon pulling away from the stables. Seriously, the remaining team members headed in our direction. I’m sure Addison noted my irritation.

“We are a team, like it or not,” she said, smiling smugly, “and looks like we have more company.”

From the east, what appeared as yesterday’s cohort moving in our direction. Yesterday eight, today, quick count eleven. In my head, struggling to form a plan, drawing a blank. Could hightail it up the trail or stand our ground and play this out, hoping for the best? Behind this group appeared a buggy with several others. They definitely had the upper hand.

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

“Don’t call me boss. We wait.”

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