Dystopia Chapter 32: You Were Warned

The air filled with the hum of voices as we — Mr. Maddox and his team, and I — anticipated our guests. By late afternoon, the once-cooling breeze had completely vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable stillness. The air felt stagnant and unmoving, thick. The crickets abruptly ceased their song; an unsettling silence fell, a warning of predators approaching.

Hiding in the darkness, committee members watched to see the outcome, hoping for the best, expecting, maybe hoping for our failure.

Some visitors are new, first timers, some are regulars. In single file, one at a time, enter the gate, accept the presented terms, including weapons to be secured upon entrance to the dining area, and then step through the interior gate. Few ever walk away from a meal and an evening’s entertainment.

They produce, in some form, the payment. They all grinned, thumbs up, willing to oblige. Expectations clarified again in today’s confrontational world, handing over your weapon to strangers, awkward. Still, imagine a bunch of paranoid guys with too much testosterone all competing in a small space—someone’s bound to mess up and something will go wrong. It was just a matter of time.

The mortician and his staff are on call. Just hoping it’s not on my watch.

Controlled admission. Joshua led our guest to the dining area and returned. All going well: a family of four, a couple, and several single males. So far, nine guests. Should we call it a night? Mr. Maddox checks in a family of three: mom, dad, and daughter. In the dark, a single figure stands at the gate. “What about me?”

“Sorry, we’re full up for the night. Try again tomorrow.” Mr. Maddox announced.

The stranger, reaching into his pocket, we all flinched. Slowly, he pulls out a leather pouch, tossing it between the gate post. We all watched it hit the ground at our feet.

“What’s that?” Joshua asked.

“My ticket in… hopefully, medications.”

Brett collects the bag and hands it to Diana for her to inspect. “These are medications, most expired but likely usable,” she exclaims. “Where did you get this?”

“Does it really matter?”

“For a meal and company, I’ve got another bag.”

Diana and Brett exchange looks, shrug their shoulders and say, “Mr. Maddox, your call.”

“Let him in.”

A feeling, something ‘told’ me the next man through the gate was trouble. Just a feeling. This evening would not end well. Send him away.

Number thirteen, Mr. Smith. “Joshua, stay here! I’ll escort Mr. Smith to the dining area.”

John Smith, according to the ‘paperwork’, cleared the hoops leading to his admission. Young, gregarious, escorted to the eatery. He stepped into the dimly lit space, eyed the room and the occupants, and slowly approached the table. Smiling, “Evening.”

Frank greeted him as if they had been friends for ages. They engaged in a brief exchange; meanwhile, I moved around the table to observe their interaction.

Collection time. Frank requested he surrender his gun, including the holster, repeating politely and calmly the policy. John hesitated, then looked at me as if I were a long-lost friend. Smiled, nodding. The tenor of the room changed. It felt as if I should know him, recognize him, should extend some respect induced by fear or a reputation of which I was unaware. He stepped back and said calmly, “Only if you can take it off my person.”

Frank pushed forward while I intervened.

“I’m sorry, but you will need to leave all weapons prior to entering. We’ll return them at the close of the evening or whenever you leave. Whichever takes place first.”

“Not mine.”

Silence, I paused, scanning this threat. Weapon hung low, hand at the ready, confident, showing no fear. Clean-shaven, clothes immaculate, boots new, someone who has a steady income, a professional, and now I slowly realize he is the threat. I had received a warning.

“Yes, yours.”

From his pocket, he pulled out an egg-timer. Déjà vu as I look about for Addison. He placed it on the table near a lantern, adjusted his stance, and focused his gaze in my direction.

“Three minutes,” he stated. “You were warned.”

“What?”

“When the timer empties, I’ll not hesitate to drop you where you sit… or stand, your choice, and anyone else that intervenes.” I realized Cord and Addison had entered the room. “I promise to fulfill my contract. Simple. Time is running out; move or get out of my way. I’m hungry.” Mr. Smith said.

This entire scene felt familiar, like something I would do, or I had actually done in the past. What was hard to understand? Did he not realize this was a suicide mission? Did he really think I would fold? Then again…

…I might.

Frank stepped back, ready, evaluating what was unfolding. Cord and Addison nearby, somewhere.

I was confident my skills were lacking, and as they say in Texas Hold’em, he was playing a better hand. And surely, he would call any bluff.

The room behind me cleared as players collected their plates and slipped out of the line of fire. Perhaps wondering if this was the evening’s entertainment. The sand timer continued to empty. The room, despite two wood-burning stoves, felt cold — lit by lanterns on half a dozen makeshift tables, rain tapping on the roof, felt forbidding. Beyond that, silence. My heart pounding.

With two minutes remaining, images flickered through my mind: pastimes, events, images of family gone, promises unfulfilled, and the note. My life was winding down. Could he be bluffing? The last grains of sand dropping. He was not bluffing. Crazy but…

He pulled his weapon well before I could respond, everything in slow motion now. As his barrel cleared the leather, I wondered if in death I would find peace? What I was leaving behind was brutal, filled with grief, heartache, and despair.

Survival of the fittest? The last man standing. As a child, I thought if I closed my eyes no one could see me; maybe now I could disappear.

My hand has yet to move. I heard the shot as it echoed through the room. I felt no pain. Was there no pain in death? Was it over?

I opened my eyes to observe John, his smile now replaced with bewilderment. Looking down, he viewed blood as it slowly soaked through his shirt, surely wondering how. Our eyes met as he dropped to his knees, falling forward, slumped to the floor. Voices quietly filled the room, asking the same question.

As if she materialized at my side, Addison pulled my weapon and whispered, “leave, without a word, now.”

“Now!” she repeated, nudging me aside.

I forced myself to walk without looking at the guests, exited through the supply room, climbed up the ladder, crossed the roof, and went into my corner. I felt dizzy and bewildered as I reflected on recent events. In my head, I’m brilliant; in fact, in reality… cockeyed.

I now recall the words, “You were warned.”

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