Detained

photo courtesy of usmarinesradio.com 2012

I kept to the Interstate on the way home, unsure of what I would say when I got there.

"Hey! Well. Things are bleak. I'm okay. Only had a couple of adventures. Found Scotty." When I imagined telling the story about Scott I couldn't help but choke up. Then I'd walk about half a mile trying to collect myself. Then I'd stop, kneel down, and cry. The only way to stop myself was to say over and over, "You're getting dehydrated doing this Martin. Stop crying." Over and over until the salt in my tears set off a kind of repugnance.

Trudge trudge. The heat baking off the concrete freeway, cooking me from the calves up. Every breath from an open oven. The sun, though. The sun made it worse. The air I can stand, but that summer sun beating down on you? It took awhile to accept that there would be no relief. I imagined myself a walking raisin with wisps of ginger hair fluttering in the desert.

Any more exposure and it was sure to become a reality. I turned off the Interstate and made for the foothills. I walked toward some scrub. It had a nice little alcove that was deeply shaded. A place that I would have avoided like the spider infested hole it was before the infection now looked like a welcome oasis in the middle of the Sahara. I was all set to cuddle up with the black widows and wait out the sun when the brush came to life.

It began to shift.

No breeze.

It ground against rock.

Gravity's good.

Then figures started to coalesce. Human. Armed.

"Hands up."

Okay.

I put my hands in the air, "Got any water?"
"Identify yourself."
"Ah . . . Martin. Martin Alan Ashton. Cedar City. Go Redmen. So!" I said, "One. May I have some water. Two. I can see six of you, how many can't I see?"
"Just stay quiet for now, Martin." said the one wearing the most beat up ghillie. He signaled all around him. Several more Marines rose from the landscape.
He walked toward me, gun still pointing in my direction, "Keep those hands up, kid."
He did a quick pat down. Took my gun. My knife. I wanted to protest, but I wanted to live more. And water. I wanted water.
"Alright," he said, "Hands at your side. Just remember how many sites are on you." He rose and looked me in the eye, "And my boys never miss."
I shrugged, "I'm cool. Kinda glad I ran into you. Now. Do you . . ."
He held up a canteen he had manifested from the suit. I drank. A lot. You know that feeling. It comes in steps.

1. Uh . . . so thirsty. I'd drool if I could over this wet, wonderful beverage.
2. Drink.
3. Man that feels great!
4. Body wants more!
5. More
6. More
7. More!
8. Breathe! (insert choking if you ignore this impulse)
9. Water settles a bit.
10. Satiated. For now.

I handed the canteen back a lot lighter. The Marine smiled, but gave me a look. I grinned and shrugged.

"Come with me." he said. He took the lead, and two more Marines followed. He led me up over a rise and down into a wash. They had a Humvee parked there. "Does that thing have air conditioning?" I asked. The boys behind me laughed. Mr. Light Ghillie suit signaled for me to halt.

He walked to the Humvee. Its diesel engine was clicking away, you know that sound. It's a rumble, but it's punctuated by clicks. The Marine walked up to the driver's side.  The window rolled down, and I saw the driver. Beneath the loosely worn fatigues I could see a blue shirt collar and black tie. Aviators. Lean jaw with a clean shave. He spoke tersely to the Marine, who nodded rapidly.

The Marine turned and walked back to me. As he did, Aviators looked straight through me. When the Marine was within a couple of feet I asked, "Who's that? This isn't the first time I've seen suits over the military."

The look I gave him told him I wasn't going to buy the superior officer/bureaucrat thing. Those aviators had that big screen sheen to them that told me they were ridiculously expensive.

The Marine smiled at me. He gestured with his head, and turned back to the Humvee. I was obviously meant to follow. As I walked Aviators never stopped staring at me. I lifted my chin at him. You know that gesture. It's a bit passive aggressive. It's like saying, "Yeah. I know you see me. What's up." I got no response. Just stared at. The closer I got the more I could make out my reflection in his glasses.

"Hi." I said.

He faced forward. The Marines helped me into the back of the Humvee, which was unusually clean and cool as a tomb. I leaned my head back, and placed my hands in my lap. Aviators put the vehicle in gear. As we bounced over the terrain toward Cedar City I drifted off. No one spoke.

It wasn't a long drive. I was only a few miles from home. We hit pavement. I woke up. As we approached the city I saw road blocks. Several of them. We drove a mile off the Interstate, and it took way too long.

"Hey, guys." I said, "I live just a few streets over."
"You're not going home." said Aviators.
"No?"
"No."
"Why."
Aviators adjusted the rearview so he could see me, "We have no record of you. You will be detained until we assign housing to you."
"Assign housing?" I said, "I have a house. A family. Surely you have the Ashtons on file."
He shook his head.
I about swallowed my tongue. I choked.
"What?" I gasped.
No answer.
"Hey, shades." I yelled, "Where's my family!"
He adjusted the rearview back to where it had been.
I looked at the Marine who had talked to me, "What does he mean?"
"Maintain silence." said Aviators.
"I . . ."
The Marine grabbed my arm. I looked at him. He shook his head briskly. I was pissed. I scowled at the back of Aviator's helmet, and sat quietly. We came up on a hotel. Obviously a headquarters of some kind. Armed Marines, sandbags, razor wire, check points.

"I'm bored." I said.
The Marine beside me snickered. Aviators brought the Humvee up to the entrance. The nice Marine got out and beckoned me to follow.
"Thanks for the ride, James." I smirked. I think I saw some color rise up that collar as I got out. Good. I hate talking to walls.
"What's your name?" I asked the Marine, "I'm tired of referring to you as the Marine in my inner monologue."
"You're a turd, aren't you Martin." he answered.
"Like I said. I'm bored."
"You can call me Alvarez."
"Alvarez it is."

I followed him into the elevator. We rose up to the fourth floor. I enjoyed the coolness of the building as the floors ticked by. Three dings later the door opened. Alvarez pointed me out the door. "Room 403." I shook my head as if to ask, "And then what?" but the door closed before I got a response. I walked down the hall and knocked on 403.

Another suit answered the door. While the door frame was a hard rectangle, the man himself was pear shaped. He leaned his pin head into the hall, and looked both ways. I ducked his wobbling chins, my mouth a tight line.

He looked at me like you'd look at a toddler who had just threw flour all over the kitchen. "I love it when they drop them off. Come in."

I smiled at him, "After you."

We walked to a circular table and sat opposite each other. He typed away on a Netbook. "Can I check my email?" I asked. His fingers paused for half a second, then he continued typing. I leaned back and counted the squares in the ceiling.

Then it came. That feeling like the boredom couldn't possibly get worse. I explored the options in my head. Get up and walk around? Boring. Stay sitting? Boring-er. Dig in my pockets? Worse, yet. I began vibrating in my seat.

"Please stop doing that." said Chins.
Apparently I had been sighing. I sat forward, and gave him a full sinus sigh, cascading my breath onto the table. Now his mouth was a tight line.
"What is your name."
"What is yours."
"I don't have time for this."
He removed a phone from his shirt pocket, fumbled around, and then put it to his tiny ear. After a couple of rings I caught a muffled voice.
"Freckles, red hair, looks like a NexGen . . . teenager. Yes. Just came in. Thank you." He hung up. "How do you spell Ashton."
S . . . c . . . r . . . e . . . w . . . u came to mind. I was antsy as hell. I spelled it for him, then added, "Like it sounds." just to be a smart-arse. "Why am I here? Why can't I just go home?"
"Where have you been?"
I rolled my eyes, "Out."
"Doing what."
I groaned, "I was trying to find my buddy, Scott. He and this chick took off from our house, headed north. I followed 'cause I felt bad. I was kind of a jerk." I winked at Chins to let him know that I knew that he already knew that. The pain of losing Scotty came back.
My smile faltered. A potent urge to cry took over. I leaned forward over the table. Some tears fell. Now it was Chin's turn to sigh. I felt him rise from his chair. He rested a surprisingly heavy hand on my shoulder.
"We've all lost somebody." he said. I wasn't cold to his comforting touch, but I was still angry about being here. He lifted his hand, and sat back down.
"I have a Martin Ashton, here, but he's twenty years older than you, son."
"Dad." I croaked.
"Sorry?"
"My dad." I felt an immense relief.
"Ah good." he replied. I was still staring at the table, watching the dance of the ceiling fan reflected in my tear drops.
"Holly?" I asked, "Bethany?"
Chins hummed as he typed. "I have three members of the Ashton family."
The tears really came, now.
Chins kept to himself.
I heard a printer start. He retrieved a piece of paper from by his foot. He placed it on the table between us. It soaked a couple of tears.
"This is your father's unit." said Chins, "We have collected the remaining population in a fortified area. An apartment complex on the south side of the city."
"Why." I muttered.
"Protocol."
"Protocol." I was irritated with him, again. My family and I had survived because we were on our own, isolated. These morons had just concentrated Zack's food source. That ought to make it easy for them.
"Yes." he answered. I looked up at him, wiping my cheeks.
"The martial law protocol calls for a concentration of the population. It makes it easier to defend, stand against Zed. And all citizens can have access to all the resources they need to survive."
I could tell from his voice he didn't believe any of it. But that small smile of his never faltered. He pointed at the paper, "You are in unit 716. Some of these units share a room with more than one family, so I don't know how crowded it's going to be. But you won't lack for anything while you are there. I'll have Alvarez take you there."
"Thanks."
He walked me to the door, "You know we're all dead, right." I said.
His silence was complete. He closed the door. I felt a palpable fear throbbing in my chest. The hallway was empty. The pinging of the elevator the only sound. I walked to the window and looked down on the city. Half of it was burned. It was all yellowed, and dead. The trees were dried up, great mummified hands straining at the sky. I looked north and east. I saw a bit of green. My little oasis where I had turned my jealous fury on Zed. I clung to that only sign of life. My eyes couldn't leave it.

The elevator door opened. I felt Alvarez, rather than heard him, walk into the hall. He let me have my moment. I was heading to a prison. A trap for Zack.

And I was the bait.

"Come on, Martin." Alvarez said. I held on to that green amidst so much burned desert for a second longer, then turned and walked into the elevator.