When he bought the rifle, he told himself it would be protection from all the wild animals in the jungle. There were tigers to fear; and of course rumors of giant mutations that had spawned from the cesspools of radiation. City dwellers were “protected” from these horrors. Even after their own city, New Savannah, had been invaded by the Great City States, the invading troops were kind enough to keep its citizens “protected” by the high defensive walls. As a price, each citizen was expected to work in one of the many factories to produce ships, weapons, and food in order to maintain order and prosperity. Bays’ attention deficit led to a lack of performance on the assembly lines, and he had found himself demoted to bike messenger–needless to say one of the most dangerous jobs and without a glorious paycheck. In a way the constant change of atmosphere and fast-paced driving of hover-bike messaging was perfect for his short attention span. The city was situated on the eastern boarder of South America, bordered on the east by the Atlantic, and on the west by the protective wall and the wild jungle. North of the Jungle was the arid desert of America. In school, Bays had been taught that this place was nothing but dust bowls and pits of waste that were as big as oceans. He had heard the myth of a great and terrible nation that had sucked the life out of the world, and eventually themselves. And so New Savannah stretched for 4 days ride along the coast of South America, one of the last habitable places on Earth. And Bays worked the long and tiresome job of relaying communication and important packages across the city using his bike. The job, though brighter and more entertaining than the bogs of industry, was hazardous. On average, hover-bike messengers worked for only 3-4 years before they died, or were seriously injured, in traffic accidents. The highways were overfilled with large trucks, transporting to and from the sea tankers, and double-decker buses. Since very few civilians were granted permission to have their own automobiles, traffic laws were rarely enforced or taken seriously. Bays had been a bike messenger for 4 years, and of the few friends he had made in this profession, most had been run over or fired. When someone wasfired from a bottom-rung position, there was no other place for them in society, and they were sent to die in the jungle.
Some believed that to face the harshness of untamed nature meant certain death. Most would even argue that the stories of colonies of humans living outside the walls of the Great City States (GCS) were fantasy. Bays knew that people did exist in the jungle, and supposed the GCS was denying this fact to keep the general population from becoming interested in this alternate way of life. It was, in fact, hard for humans to survive in the jungle. Without armor or weapons, the human body could easily fall victim to the radical weather, vicious beasts, blood sucking insects, or debilitating diseases. As hard and resourceful as the Jungle Dwellers were, they needed help. They sought out bike messengers, who were licensed to drive fast delivery vehicles, and often in need of extra money. And that was why, one day, Bays got a knock on his door.
He had worked with Ralph before, on numerous delivery jobs, but had not known him very well. He hadn’t even known that Ralph had been expelled from the city by the time Ralph had snuck all the way back in to see him. The tribe had selected Ralph to go and convince Bays to help them with their smuggling projects, hoping a familiar face would help their case. Bays agreed, upon hearing how generous the compensation would be. Yet he was nervous about sneaking in and out of the city. He would be taught several different secret passages by the tribes’ top spies. Ralph, having recently come through one of them, insisted that they were “safe-as-houses”. But there was still the possibility of getting caught by the Enforcers, or of being ravaged by animals and insects in the jungle. But what scared him most was the dwellers themselves. What kind of people were they–tough enough to live in that dark and dangerous world?
Ralph told the story of how he had been fired. He had beat a trucker after the trucker had cut him off and nearly killed him. The trucker had “fallen” off the bridge where the scuffle had taken place, and lost his ability to walk after injuries sustained the fall. Ralph was exiled for pulling the trucker out of the cab of his truck and instigating the fight. Crippled and no longer able to perform his job, the trucker also was exiled to the jungle. Ralph said that the trucker died in the jungle, but wouldn’t say how.
As long as it would be safe, and Ralph insisted there woud be minimal danger involved, Bays agreed. His first run had gone off without a hitch. He had met Ralph in the parking lot, about 150 Km from the city wall. He traded medicines and candies, and recieved his reward in return. This was just a trial run, he was told, to see if they could trust him. And he could feel the other tribe members watching. They hid in the shadows of the thick leaves that bordered the parking lot, peering out at him, and staying eerily quiet. There had to be at least 30 shadowy figures, just watching him. Even the black crows, lining the rows of street-lights, did not chat. They could have been sleeping under the pale glow of the moon, but Bays felt as if they were watching him too, waiting for him to fall over so they could start picking the meat from his bones. And so in general, he felt very uneasy about their transaction, and the next day he promptly spent what money he had made on an unlicensed fire-arm, curtosy of the China-town bazaar. It was bigger than what he wanted, and hard to conceal, but there wasn’t much of a selection of unlicensed weapons.
And it was this rifle that he held out nervously before him, as he crept through the ruins of the office complex. For the first night in over two dozen missions, Ralph and his entourage of hiding jungle creeps had not been present for the schedueled trade. The thought of bugging-out had more than just occurred to him, but he was bothered by the nature of his particular delivery for this trip. “Urgent” read the note attached to the messenger pigeon (which was how they got their grocery lists to him). “Rubbing alcohol, binoculars, tongs, sharp knife, polyester string, needles, bandages.” To Bays, it sounded like surgery. So he had slept in the parking lot, in hopes he could assure the delivery of the “urgent” package. But now it was daylight and still no sign of his contact Ralph, or any of the Jungle Dwellers. The building was overgrown with moss, vines, and decaying furniture, but there was no sign people had been inside of it since The Great Collapse.
He returned through the hallways, making his way back to the parking lot with the intent of hopping back on his bike and leaving the bag of supplies. It meant not getting paid, but if he took the bag with him, and one of the dwellers died because of a botched surgery, he assumed he would lose his job, and possibly even become the target ofspies for not completing his mission. So he would leave the bag and bugger out. Mission acomplished.
He stepped into the sunlight, blinded at first, and taking a few steps down the stairs before stopping dead. His eyes slowly became accustomed to the mammoth shape in front of him, standing between him and his bike. The beast was huge–its skin, fur, and armor plating were all black. Its hind legs were similar to a horse’s, and its four frontal limbs were strong and trunk-like. It had a lion’s mane, all black too, that surrounded its long, rhinoceros-like snout. Its face was a mess of eyes, similar to a spider, but in no way symmetrical. Even its jutting ugly teeth were black. It was a mutant, the first Bays had ever seen. And there, high upon the strong arch of it’s spine, a dweller rode it bare-back. His toes gripped the sides of the beast, and he held a long metal spear. Unlike his creature, this man had creamy-white skin, and long blonde hair. He wore no armor, only leather leggings. His face was painted with geometric shapes.
The beast-rider said nothing; hefted the spear and prepaired to throw it. Bays shuffled backwards and tripped onto the stairs, dropping his rifle.
4-30-08 xwestx TO BE CONTINUED
