Dystopia Chapter 52: The Plot

With the sun setting, Cord found me topside, on the roof, watching the sky change colors: reds, oranges, and pinks. The desert’s ever-blowing dust plumes and pollution play a significant role in this. The drier air allows for more vivid color wavelengths to shine through. Pretty, offering a moment of peace. Still, many wear masks, and many struggle with asthma and respiratory issues. They struggle for their last breath. I knew why he was here. Turning, he looked worn out. A weariness that creeps in with boredom. Every day is the same as the one before. I knew he had met with Susan. Finally, I asked, “The plan?”

“It’s crazy… actually suicidal.”

“Some folks call that Tuesday.”

“Whatever,” Cord mumbled.

He laid it out, beginning to end, when, where, even what to expect. I was comfortable risking my safety. I had no intention of jeopardizing his well-being, or that of any individual on the team. This remained my issue, although in my thoughts, it appeared to be a fruitless effort.

Cord looked at the horizon, the sun leaving us in darkness, hands folded. “This is likely a setup.”

Minutes passed until finally. “This is my problem. I need to go it alone. You need to promise to keep this between the two of us. It’s her play now, right, …Cord? I’ll just have to trust her.”

“Well, seems… I might have mentioned it to Addison.”

“What the…”

“And Brett, Joshua, perhaps Frank, but no one else!”

“And they’re staying far away, right, …Cord!”

“Well, Susan is expecting I’ll be with you, which is a good thing. Any hitch in the plan would just make her suspicious. It’s possible Brett might watch from a nearby hilltop, and the others, scouting the desert, hunting small game, out of sight.”

“Scouting about in the middle of the day? How could this possibly go wrong?”

“A dozen different ways, but who knows? I mean, it might go perfectly. But just in case, we will be accessible. There is no backing out. Whether or not you go, I will meet with Sandra and represent.”

What could I say that would alter the future? It will be what it will be. The truth, this path, was inevitable. Like Joshua said, I’m tired of running. We all are. Returning home, I sat contemplating the likely results, like a poker player calculating the odds of survival, reconciliation, harmonization, or death. My hand was not looking good. Make the most of the cards you have. Even the best hand, pocket Aces, would lose 19% of the time.

I heard someone entering the cubicle, guessing Cord, maybe Addison, but prepared for anyone. Always better safe than sorry. It had been a while since I’d spent any time with her alone. Hoped. Crawling in without an invitation, she smiled, then crossed the space and sat next to me on the north wall and sighed. She always smells… floral. It stirs memories. I do my best to push it away. Quiet for the moment. We had spent time together, relaxing, socializing on multiple occasions; relationships, even in this world unavoidable, natural, never ended well. We both understand this. As bad as the world has become, the sun still rises in the east and sets in the west, and humans still seek each other out for social contact. I’ve spent recent years keeping everyone at arm’s length, never over-committing or building relationships. Afraid. Feelings are dangerous.

She began, “A boatload of truth does not guarantee trust. Trust is an elusive creature. Your life, our lives, are but a puff of smoke, here, and then gone… with a passing breeze. What I cannot understand. You have always held a losing hand, always playing the odds. Never have you set others up. Lucky. This plan is risky. Still, you’re asking a lot for any of us to just stand down.”

“I’m a conflict avoider, always have been, and that should be evident. I didn’t ask to be who I am. Just a victim of circumstances, as we all are. And to be honest, afraid to live, afraid to die.”

“This plan, Susan’s plan—” I shook my head, searching for the right word. “Asinine. But trust? How could I expect her to trust if I don’t?”

“I’m staying tonight,” Addison concluded.

I was not about to counter that decision. Although I hadn’t expected what was about to unfold. A mistake? Slowly, sitting across from me without a word, she carefully removed her clothing and slipped into the sleeping bag. Moments later I followed, skin on skin, entangled, gentle touches exchanged, silence filled the air, leaving the world behind. There is a voice in my head, whispering. This will not end well. The sun rose. She was gone. And I felt… regret, a longing.

Over the next several days, we bantered about ideas, each one in direct conflict with the directive left by Susan. As a Scout Team, we ventured out, revisiting “safe” areas and gathering what usable materials still exist.

We avoided the “house” thinking that maybe Susan tipped her hand. Her words, “One final warning from Susan: you know that house you were seeking to annex. You were being set up.” Something felt off. Did she have prior knowledge?

The week dragged on. Individual team members, disguised, wandered by the cafe, viewing the terrain, the city, outside the building. More ideas bounced about. Ultimately, a plan formed. Good or bad, it was what it was.

The building, two-story with multiple entrances, few windows, most boarded up, the interior poorly lit (with lanterns and candles), a front dining room, and an area in the rear, a kitchen/storage space with a back service entrance.

Eight tables in the dining area, each with four chairs. Sandra will sit facing the entrance, on the far side of the room; Susan will have her back to the door. Sandra will have a weapon.

Susan’s words. Please do not cross me. The date and time, set. The table. She always brings a bodyguard or two. Maybe more. But they wait outside. The cafe would be empty. Cord and I will arrive through the back. At exactly 2:10, to talk.

Do not bring your crew. I will warn her about what is about to happen. That the two of you will arrive to talk. She will not be happy. I will intervene, standing in the middle. If someone dies, I will be the first.

I expect Susan will explain the purpose of our attending and ask that Sandra listen to our account. At that point in time, it’s impossible to know what will happen next. Too many what-ifs to plan for; just hope for the best while expecting the worst.

Game day approached. Addison remained aloof. I’m unable to sleep. I wonder, should I just wander off during the night? I’m a conflict avoider.

Who did we think we were fooling? They were watching us. The twelve on the hill — watching. Someone from within the Well — watching.

Tomorrow is the day.

Tonight, alone.

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