Chapter Three

By the time Jacob returned to his shack with his bounty of weapons and food, the day was nearly over. Emily had done what she could around the farm while he had been away, but this had only served to make Jacob feel immensely guilty. In order to save time, and to give his all too pregnant wife a break, he convinced her to use one of the MRE’s he had found. This way, they could have a meal together without her having to go to the trouble of preparing it.

To their delight, the MRE was better than anything they had eaten since… well… they could remember. Because this was their first year on the farm, they were still reliant on the city for food allocation. Until they had their first harvest, they would remain dependents of the state. Only after they had a yield of their own could they experience the freedom of a fresh meal prepared by their own hands. But even this came with a price; because—despite their hard work—up to sixty percent of their crops would go to the state for redistribution. 

And that’s the way things worked. If you wanted the freedom of the countryside, you had to help support the State. The city itself didn’t receive food from its own outlying farms. No, its nourishment came from other farms from other cities. The process was a tangled, encumbered mess. Ripe with delays and erroneous execution, the redistribution process kept most everyone in a near state of starvation. 

With his stomach full and his energy restored, Jacob set himself to the task of catching up on his chores. He told Emily to rest. She agreed and retired to bed, where she propped her swollen feet onto a pair of pillows. Jacob returned to the fields. After a few hours, night fell and he could no longer see his own hands in front of his face. He retreated to the shack, where by candlelight, he and Emily spent the remainder of their evening reading weapons manuals. 

Emily was astonishingly receptive to the material. Jacob smiled affectionately at her as they lay together in their lumpy bed. But when it dawned on him how he hadn’t asked his wife’s permission to bring weapons into their home, weapons that would immediately get them killed if a sentry or the wrong stranger happened across them, he felt another tinge of guilt. 

“Emily,” Jacob asked, his voice soft and inviting, “how do you feel about all this, anyway?”

Emily shrugged her small shoulders.

“I don’t like to think about it,” she answered simply.

Jacob wrinkled his brow in confusion. 

“Why not?” he pressed.

“Because,” Emily responded, “it just makes me nervous. In the city, I was always afraid. Afraid of my neighbors. Afraid of sickness, disease. Out here though, I thought things would be different. But it wasn’t two weeks and a sentry came by. Now things have escalated to a whole new level. So no… no… I don’t like thinking about any of this. In fact, I’ve stopped thinking.” 

Jacob chewed thoughtfully at his lower lip. His eyes narrowed as he studied his wife’s enigmatic face. Something about her reaction alarmed him. She was shutting down. Emily had done it once before after her miscarriage. It took her a good three months to smile again after that. During the spell, Emily had been a pale shadow of her former self. She didn’t talk much, and she ate very little. Her miscarriage was the sole reason for their departure to the countryside. Fresh air, less stress, and fewer safety concerns would make carrying a baby to full term less difficult. But so far, all they had was the fresh air.

Jacob didn’t blame Emily for retreating into the part of her mind that was walled off from the outside world. Even before her miscarriage, Emily had experienced a lifetime’s worth of tragedy. To think, plan, and plot a counter-revolution was definitely asking too much of her considering the mental scars he knew were there. Sometimes, in the solitude of the night, he would listen to her as she thrashed in her sleep calling out the names of her deceased family members. It had been like that for years. After the miscarriage though, she started calling out their son’s name—Tyson. Hearing that was almost too much for Jacob to bare. 

 “At least, we know now there is someone else out there fighting… resisting,” Jacob offered.

“Jacob, you know the State likes to set traps,” Emily countered. “Remember that old man who offered us a place to stay? Half our block burned up in a fire and he let us stay in his loft.”

“Yeah, we were so upset by what happened we started venting our frustrations.”

“Yes. We thought we were alone, but that room was bugged. Thank goodness there was a rolling blackout that day. If the State had heard what we said we would have been sent away to a Reeducation Camp.”

Jacob chuckled lightly. 

“Yeah, but we found the listening device and we started singing the State’s praises. Someone on the other end must have heard us because we got assistance right away.”

Emily didn’t laugh.

“I don’t ever want to go to a Reeducation Camp,” she said, her voice falling flat.

Jacob’s brow wrinkled with concern.”

“Never,” he declared in a whisper.

“I hear they’re so hungry there the mothers eat their own babies.”

Instinctively, Jacob and Emily’s hands moved to her belly.

“Never,” Jacob said again, “you hear me? Never.”

That night, Jacob and Emily fell asleep with their hands intertwined. Jacob dreamed about the girl he had seen in the river. She floated through the water of the river under a thick layer of ice. Her hair was blonde and her eyes were blue. Staring up at him through the frozen barrier, she pounded hard against the ice as she violently drowned. Jacob tried everything in his power to break through the barrier between them, but it was to no avail. He was forced to watch the murky darkness of the river pull her young body deeper into its bottomless, icy depths. When he awoke, a pair of cold tears lay resting in the corners of his eyes. 

Jacob shook his head free of the dream. Emily was still asleep beside him. He got of bed and tucked the blankets around her body. He then dressed himself and put another log in the stove. Burning wood was forbidden since it released carbon into the air, but because electricity only came on windy days when the windmills could generate enough electricity for everyone, Jacob—like most everyone else—ignored the ban during the cold months. This is why sentries and other overseers were such terrifying people. There was always a reason for them to fine you or arrest you. It was only by their good graces or their distaste for paperwork that they allowed anyone to go on living. 

Once dressed, Jacob checked the weapons, the ammo, and the rations. To his relief, they were unmoved from where he had last left them. The very sight of the stockpile empowered him. For the first time in his life, he had more than he needed. He paused a moment to hover over the cache. He admired it and then stepped into the kitchen. After grabbing a quick bite, he proceeded outside and started working on the morning chores. As he toiled, his mind pondered his next course of action. 

Gather others if you can, but protect yourself first and foremost.

Jacob wanted to gather others, of course; but he also wanted to protect his wife and unborn child more than anything else. Still, it was a shame to be selfish with this opportunity when he had someone in mind to collect. It was his neighbor Hank and his seven boys. They weren’t all his boys, though. They were mostly children he had adopted from the city. Jacob knew this because on his first day at the farm Hank had sent one of his actual sons to see him. Their exchange had been brief and cautious the way most conversations with strangers went. In it, Jacob learned how Hank’s wife had died while giving birth to their third son; how Hank was trying to teach his boys the value of hard work; and how if Jacob ever needed advice on farming he was at liberty to stop by anytime he needed.  

Jacob liked what he had heard about the hard work. Strong work ethics was something you didn’t find in just anyone anymore. Still, all those boys, Jacob couldn’t help but wonder if Hank was a pedophile. It wasn’t an absurd thought. In the city, men were allowed to have boys. Rape and incest occurred on a far too frequent basis. And monogamous relationships were in the minority since most people had multi-person relationships. Jacob had a particular distaste for the two bisexual men-and-a-girl relationships since they were always the most flamboyant and obscene. 

When it came time for lunch, Jacob returned to the shack to check on Emily. She was on her feet again with a meal waiting for him. He thanked her and ate quietly. Afterwards, he returned to his chores. His activities around the farm eventually took him to the edge of his field. At the fence line, he could see Hank and his boys on their own plot of land. Hank sat on the porch giving orders. The boys obeyed obediently and with noticeable cheerfulness.

Jacob must have been staring at them for longer than was considered normal, because eventually one of Hank’s boys came running up to him. He was a short boy of about 10 who had a disheveled patch of brown hair curling wildly around his head. 

“Can I help you, sir?” the ruddy boy politely asked.

Jacob blinked with surprise upon hearing the word “sir.” It was a formality one did not hear often. The fact Hank’s kid was using it now perked Jacob’s interest and gave credence to the hope that Hank may not be the monster he feared. 

Option 1: turn the boy away.

Option 2: follow the boy to Hank.

Option 1:

Pending.  

Option 2:

 

“Sure,” Jacob answered. “I need some farming advice.”

The boy nodded his head and ran off to the porch where Hank sat. Jacob waited patiently by the fence. Hank and the boy exchanged words; after which, Hank raised his hand into the air and beckoned Jacob to join him. Jacob hopped the fence between their fields and proceeded to the shack. 

The structure was larger than Jacob’s dwelling. Several rooms had been added to it. The craftsmanship was on a level much higher than Jacob’s home. This only served to raise Jacob’s suspicions since servants of the State were often rewarded for their malevolent deeds. 

“Hello,” Hank said in a booming voice.

Hank was a tall man in his late 40’s with lanky legs and a thin frame. He had smooth brown hair that was combed over his head in a thick wave. His eyes were deeply set and dark blue. They projected both compassion and warmth. When Hank stood to his feet and offered Jacob his hand, Jacob immediately shook it. 

“Nice to meet you finally, Hank,” Jacob said in greeting. 

“Yes, and you, too,” Hank replied in a voice that was charming in its slowness. “You must be Jacob. How’s the wife?”

Without knowing it, Jacob was disarmed by Hank’s pleasantries. He answered without hesitation. 

“She’s nearing the end of her pregnancy,” he said. “Could be any day now.”

“Well, I see. You’re about to have a tough go at it then. If you need some help with that too I’ve been there for all my boys’ births. Well, these aren’t all my boys. Four are from the city orphanage. Here, I’ll show you the whole rat pack.”

Hank reached past Jacob to a triangle that dangled from a chain on the porch. He grabbed a metal rod and whacked the inside of the triangle several times. A loud ring sprang from the device. Then, from all corners of the farm seven boys came running up to the porch.

“Here,” Hank started, “get in a line from youngest to oldest and introduce yourself to Jacob here by stating your name and age.”

The boys lined up in a row in front of Jacob along the porch. As their age increased so did their height. The boys that belonged to Hank by blood were white; while the rest were either black or dark brown. Jacob didn’t let the discrepancy go unnoticed. In fact, he thought it was a nice touch. Past the color, people were all the same, anyway.

“George,” said the first and youngest boy in a high pitched voice. “I’m seven.” 

He was black.

“Albert, I’m nine.”

Dark brown.

“Antonio, thirteen.”

Light brown.

 “Roberto, fourteen.”

Dark brown with a burn mark across half his face. 

“Tim, I’m ten.”

White. He was the one with the curly brown hair.

“Atlas, seventeen.”

Pale white.

“Leon, nineteen.”

White, but with a noticeable tan.

Jacob gave each boy a polite nod. 

“Pleased to meet you all,” he said. 

Jacob’s gaze returned to Hank.

“You mind if I speak to you in private?” he asked.

“Well, sure-sure,” answered Hank. “Boys, you all got things to do, even you Tim, so run along.”

The troop of boys broke into a sprint for the fields, leaving Hank and Jacob alone on the porch. Hank took a seat on an old lawn chair while offering Jacob the better looking rocking chair. Jacob obliged and sat down. 

“So, what’s on your mind, friend?” Hank inquired. 

Jacob just looked at him. He studied Hank’s features hard for some kind of giveaway. Hank stared back—unblinking. Everything about Hank was in direct contrast to the city. He was polite, patient, accommodating, and personable. Maybe living in the country tamed a person… made them more agreeable.

Eventually, Jacob allowed a sigh of frustration to escape his lips.

“How do you gain a stranger’s trust?” he breathed, “when you don’t know if that stranger is worthy of trust?”

Hank pursed his lips thoughtfully.

“Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm,” is all he said in response. 

Jacob fell quiet as he mulled over what next to say. He studied Hank a little while longer; but the man was expressionless--betraying nothing. All Hank did was direct his gaze downward to his hands where he silently studied the wrinkles in his palms. 

“Everything points to you being a trustworthy person,” Jacob continued, “but the city has hardened me to others.”

“Are you trying to see if I work for the State?” Hank surmised. 

“Yes,” Jacob answered. 

“How do I know you don’t work for the State?” he countered.

Jacob was caught off guard by the retort. It made him pause.

“So… we’re two men who want to trust the other but don’t know if we can?” he clarified. 

Hank continued to study the swirling lines in his palms.

“You came to my farm. I’m not seeking your trust,” he clarified.

“Yes, but what if I came because I want to help you? You and your boys?”

“Help me?”

“Yes, to live a better life.”

“I see. Don’t you have family of your own to worry about?”

“I do—very much so. But I’ve been given an opportunity and I don’t want to be selfish with it. That opportunity expires in less than thirty days.”

Hank clasped his hands together. He sat up straighter in his chair. He looked Jacob square in the eyes.

“So you found the gun I gave you? And the stash of weapons?”

Jacob stiffened noticeably. 

“What? Th-they’re yours?” he stammered.

“Yes,” replied Hank, “but now… they’re yours. And don’t worry. This isn’t a trap. I’m a genuine enemy of the State. I appreciate you going out on a limb to offer my family freedom. That’s very noble of you. At least, I assume you were about to offer me and mine that opportunity. I had to cut you short, though. I could tell you were getting upset.”

Jacob’s body remained stiff, but he managed to slowly recline back into his chair. He continued to stare hard at Hank, as if waiting for a reason to bolt.

“Look, everything you have gone through this far has been a test—a test designed by my own hands. Maybe I’ve been a bit romantic about the whole thing; but for the past year I have been leading people out of this area. We’ve been going South.”

Jacob’s eyebrows raised in interest.

“South? I thought there wasn’t anything South of here.”

Hank smirked.

“You’ve been told a lie. A lie is all that keeps you here in this place. The oceans did not rise and swallow up the land. No. The ocean is where it’s always been. What’s South of here is beautiful clean cities; nice homes; automobiles; airplanes; fresh air; modern comforts. An entire nation of hardworking, good-natured, and truth-worthy people live South of here.”

Jacob shook his head in disbelief.

“How is that possible?”

Hank’s smirk broke into a smile. Whatever he was about to say next, it appeared he enjoyed repeating the tale to willing strangers. 

“Civil war is what happened,” he explained, “a second one in fact. Now, I know you don’t know about the first or the second since you’ve been fully indoctrinated. Your parents weren’t, but you are. You’re the first generation to be completely clueless to this history. So, I’ll explain things as I go along. Just save your questions for later.

“All right, now, about fifty years ago our Nation was made up of fifty states. We called it the Union, or the United States. The government functioned as a Republic. That means elected politicians represented the will of the people. Well, eventually the government stopped serving the will of the people and it started serving itself. When that happened, we went broke. The first to fall were states like California and New York. When they did, they demanded the other states bail them out. Thirty-seven out of the fifty states refused to pay for that debt. So, it was civil war. Luckily, the majority of the armed forces and several very influential generals sided with the thirty-seven states—and that was all it took. The war was over before any real bloodshed began. 

“After that, everyone got together and a Second Continental Congress was held. California, New York, and a few other states were expelled from the Union. Left to their own devices, food riots and anarchy broke out. It was a bittersweet time, really—bitter because the Republic was diminished; sweet because it was good to see those Socialists finally get what they deserved. I remember watching on the flat-screen how the military and the state militia tried to keep the expatriates from entering the New Republic. We built barriers. Ran patrols. You see, because of the food riots, the anarchy, and the lack of jobs; the Ex-Pats were looting our towns and immigrating illegally. Things got pretty ugly. But after we established a national ID card, it became impossible for the Ex-Pats to get a job in the New Republic. And after we started repelling their incursions into our land, they eventually stopped coming.

“After enough people on their side starved and died off, the expelled states reformed themselves into a Liberal utopia. Now, everyone is happy. We leave them alone. They leave us alone. We prosper. They flounder. Did you know a recent survey done by our own operatives actually showed seventy-two percent of the people who live in these cities are happy? They’re happy being lazy, without proper nourishment, protection, and care. It’s laughable, but the propaganda has worked."

Hank sighed and slapped his knees with his hands. 

“And that is the history lesson in a nutshell," he said. "Any questions so far?”

Jacob’s gaze shifted to a spot past Hank. He stared distantly at it, as if looking through space and time itself.

“So it really is all a lie,” Jacob mused. “We were told the Earth rebelled against the human race. Storms destroyed towns, cities… nations. The oceans rouse and engulfed the Southern regions. Giant glaciers the size of moutains sprang forth and covered everything North of here. The old cities... people had to abandon them because they were harmful to the Earth. The Earth made a toxin… I’ve seen it… the green smoke coming out of the cities. It kills you as soon as you enter. We had to make new cities… better cities… cities Nature could agree with. Now, we live in those cities… and I live on a farm outside one of those cities.”

“Lies,” Hank bluntly replied, “the smoke is just that—smoke. They make it and shoot it into the cities from time to time using a device called a mortar. They do that to deter you. They don’t want you digging into the past. You wouldn’t want to go in there anyway. A lot of gangs and criminals still live in the old cities.  As for what’s North of here, well… it’s the same as what’s South of here… there’s a nation called Canada. It’s a Capitalist society like the New Republic, so it’s doing quite well for itself.”

Jacob shook his head slowly from side to side. 

“If you are who you say you are, and the past is what you say it is, then why are you even here?”

A wry smile slowly spread across Hank’s lips.

“Because,” he answered, “I’m a missionary—a fisher of men! I’m here because I want to bring back future Capitalists to the New Republic. The blood that runs in your veins is American blood. That means something to me. And you deserve to know what that means. My team, we’re just normal guys who work behind enemy lines trying to free those who have become enslaved by the State. We can’t save those who are in the city—they’re too indoctrinated. And we can’t save the ones who are in the reeducation camps, either. The staff there play mind-games against the prisoners all the time. We have literally liberated entire camps but the prisoners there are so confused, so untrusting that they stay with the guards because they don’t want to be punished in event what they're seeing is a ruse. I have had to drag people away from those camps kicking and screaming in order to save them. No… it’s the farmers. Only the farmers are truly salvageable from this broken land. I’ve been working the farms in multiple cities for years. I've got a great network going. But now, it’s time to hang my hat. You’re my last pick-up. Well, you and the neighbor on my other side here. They're a married couple like you, but with children. They've already passed my tests and agreed to come."

Jacob nodded his head thoughtfully. But a thought crossed his mind, and his expression darkened noticeably.

"What is it?" Hank asked.

"Here I was thinking I was going to save you," he answered. "And now it seems I have to rely on someone else again. I'm so sick of being... dependent."

Hank leaned closer to Jacob. His voice softened.

"My friend," he began, "I promise you I will get you out of this place. And once you are out of here, you can go on and get an education, a real education, and learn a profession and support your family and become the true individiual you seek to become. In less than 30 days, we'll be out of here. In less than 30 days, you'll be free to be the man you want to be." 

"Maybe," Jacob sighed, "maybe... it all depends on whether or not what you say is true. Why am I your last pickup, anyway? Why stop now?"

Jacob was searching for a hole in Hank's story. He still didn't trust him, and he would not trust him. Actions speak louder than words. The proof is in the pudding. Whatever saying said it best, Jacob knew it would take seeing the cities of the New Republic with his own eyes to push the doubt from his mind.

Hank leaned back into his chair. A thoughtful look filled his eyes.

"Because, things are about to change," answered Hank. "When we get to the New Republic, I'll vouch for you and your family and we'll get you going into a program that will get you a type of National ID card. It won't be the full kind like I have. You won't be able to vote in elections or anything. But it'll be enough to get you a job. But that window of opportunity is closing. People in the New Republic are starting to talk about reclaiming the land held by the Ex-Pats. As Liberal as the Ex-Pats try to be, they're ruining farmland, draining lakes, wasting resources, abusing and torturing their own people, and they're working with terrorists and drug runners to cross into our lands. This isn't North Korea. This is America. We could steamroll them today if we wanted to, and with the way things are starting to sound back in the New Republic... we're just about ready to do that."

Jacob relaxed into the rocking chair. A dumbstruck look slowly spread across his face.

"Wow," he said, "that would be... wonderful."

Just then, several gunshots fired from somewhere behind the fence line. After a brief pause, several more blasts pierced the air. Both Hank and Jacob jumped in their seats, but when Jacob realized the sounds were coming from his shack, he lunged forward and grabbed Hank by his collar.

"Have you betrayed me already!" he roared.

Proceed to Chapter 4