Dystopia Chapter 40: Boundaries

Spent recent days in a daze avoiding everyone. People speaking at me like white noise. Congratulations, a high five, a pat on the back. Each an intrusion on my space. For what, a chunk of land? Still anxiously waiting for Brett and Cord to return. Addison’s advice regarding my past echoes in my mind: let it go. I may find them — my daughters — and try to explain what happened, seek forgiveness, or share our mutual despair. When alone, my mind imagines multiple outcomes. Addison’s words haunt me: “Family, look around. Today, this is family.”

Nights are getting cooler and longer while supplies dwindle. We have rarely been outside of our enclosure. You name it, everything is in short supply: wood, food, and solutions. Trouble aplenty, and each day lines form at the gate as strangers seek asylum. Families are desperate, becoming angry and aggressive, demanding admittance and tired of hearing “no, sorry, go away.” From the outside, we appear wealthy. Not true. Our “leadership” insisting that Scout Teams venture farther afoot, become belligerent… combative when necessary. The weak will not survive. Thirty-five percent of our protein is bug-based; most of the rest, potatoes. Our neighbors to the west are not pleased about our digging more latrines along their wall. When the wind blows, the odor is foul.

Within the “Well,” members are restless, angry, confrontational; everyone is on edge, combative. With the additional territory, our population now exceeds two hundred. Mr. Maddox stays busy reinforcing our perimeter and maintaining order.

Darkness has arrived with more rain. The evening is cool. The mood is more sinister each day. The masses huddle, keeping “Others” at arm’s length. Previously able to coexist, friends are now engaged in disputes over boundaries. Everyone on edge.

I’ve sought solace in my corner, eagerly awaiting sleep, a momentary escape from reality. I have claimed my territory when a stirring catches my attention. Without fail, someone seeking shelter each night, bringing with them a sad story. I sat up and armed myself for whatever crawled through the entrance.

“It’s me. Addison. May I come in?”

I did not know where the team members lived, slept, which seemed odd in itself, and this visit was unexpected, but, “Sure.”

She appeared slow, haggard-looking, hair mussed up, fatigued. Seeking refuge?

“Is everything okay?” I whispered.

“Just anxious,”

“Anxious,” we all are!

“I’m damp and cold. May I share your candle’s light? Is that really a candle?” she asked.

“It’s amazing what one can do with earwax.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Sorry, sure. Not much of a candle. I try to read by its light but usually end up with a headache after a few pages. So, what’s up?”

Addison crawled across the pallet and slid next to me, both now leaning against the wall, shadows dancing on the partition, prying ears listening beyond the flimsy separation. Once this building was a school filled with books.

Books once cherished. Classics now censured. Books burned because they were filled with dangerous ideas, books containing graphic violence, promoting disrespect for parents/family and authority, sexually explicit, exalting evil, glorifying violence, lacking literary merit, unsuitable for particular children, or including offensive language. Ban by the moral majority. Books now burned, used as kindling or as insulation for warmth. The few that exist, hidden.

“So, where have you been staying?”

“With Diana in the medical cage, but she has been shuttling between there and the new med tent across the way. Staff upset with my existence, apparently not pleased with me taking up space and… shady reputation,” Addison replied.

Scout Team members viewed with suspicion a love-hate relationship. Thank you for the supplies, but you need to go away.

“Jesse?”

“Sorry, guess I wandered off for a moment.”

Sitting next to me, I realized it had been ages since I felt another body; Emily being the last. I could feel Addison shivering. Her voice sounded muted, tired as she spoke. Her closeness stirred memories. Again she trembled. Not wanting to be heard, I whispered, “You need to remove the damp outerwear and crawl into the sleeping bag.” She did not resist. Clothes collected, hung near the chiminea, I added a small amount of wood, knowing other members would likely push back on ‘wasting’ wood on an uninvited guest. Lying on the pallet beside her, I could still feel her shudder.

“Disrobe and join me,” I heard her whisper.

I hesitated, but could see she was in distress. I acknowledged her request. Slipping into the sleeping bag, we spooned, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her close, breathing into her exposed neck. I felt her body relaxing; the tension slipping away.

Wet clothes hung, needing hours to dry. She pulled my arms around her while settling closer. It has been a while. Shared warmth. Memories stirring.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Tell me, who are you?”

Silence. Unsure if she had heard the question. I waited, feeling her rhythmic breathing.

“I was raised in Southern California; my parents were wealthy, my dad an engineer, my mom a writer. Some of our wealth, inherited.” She paused. Catching her breath, gathering her thoughts.

“Homeschooled with private tutors. And an only child raised to be self-sufficient. My dad, my dad, wanted me to seek new experiences, to live life to the fullest. Also, wanted to be sure I could care for myself. To defend myself from the depraved characters I would face, and he did, and I can. With all the climate change, California faltered, and we eventually headed east, ending up in northern Arizona. Lost my parents in the pandemic, feeling lost and alone, I wandered and, well, Dad was a fan of guns and taught me well. The world got crazier and crazier, and humanity followed along.”

Her breathing regular, she continued, “Men treated me like a treat to be used for their pleasure, single, alone, but that was their mistake. The son of a preacher-man made the mistake of abusing me, hit me once, paid the ultimate price. In return, his dad put a price on my head. So, I kept on the move, using what nature provided and my dad’s upbringing. Turned con artist — cunning and needing a trade — sold my skill set. Staying one step ahead of the preacher, his hired agents… private investigators.”

“How did you end up here?” I asked.

“Running away. Mr. Maddox hired me as part of his security cadre. The committee appreciated my expertise. One day will move on. Feel trouble closing-in. Today, this is family until it isn’t.”

“You need to stay.” I spoke impulsively.

“I’m not sure that is a…,” her voice trailed off. I’m sure she is right.

“Why here, tonight?”

“We all get you’re out-of-pocket about your family, daughters, but things are crashing around us, folks are increasingly pugnacious, and you’ve gotta come up with ideas and step up. The other Scout Teams are failing, and people are dying. We are dying from within.”

“I didn’t ask for this…”

“STOP! And I didn’t plan on getting beaten by a preacher’s son. Never thought I’d be running from the law. I… Just stop.”

Silence. Warmed breath regular… she slept.

My goal from day one was to keep my head down, avoid conflict, do my job, and move about incognito. Never thought I’d be running from the law.

Never thought I’d be spooning with Addison. Feeling the touch of another.

Return to Table of Contents