The Cloud Seeders, page 13
*
We've stopped naming the other prisoners.
Dustin says he doesn't feel right about it, so we just use numbers now. Truth is, I've sort of gotten used to them. And I think they've gotten used to us.
Even Shakespeare seems bored of the situation.
I've caught him daydreaming more than a few times, his eyes all moist and distant looking. He doesn't write anything when he's like this.
It's almost like he disappears.
*
The cages, the glass box, everything has gone black.
"Dustin?" I whisper and feel for him next to me on the couch. "Dustin?"
"What the…?"
"I don't know. They turned the rain off again, too."
"Maybe the power went out."
"Maybe."
There's a noise. Like something being slid open.
"You hear that?"
"Uh-huh," D says and scoots closer to me. "What if they let them out?"
"Then you take 1 thru 9. I'll take care of the rest."
"Yeah, sure."
I can still hear the refrigerator humming away.
So no power outage.
My eyes are slowly adjusting, the outlines of things coming into focus, when something flutters past my head. For a second I think maybe there's a giant bird in the room, but then I see a shadow moving in front of us.
There's more fluttering.
The couch shifting just a touch.
Like someone's sat down.
Or gotten up.
"Dustin?"
Nothing.
"Dustin?" I say again and reach for him, but all I get is a fistful of couch. I stand up, banging my knee into the coffee table, and suddenly the lights come back on.
Dustin's gone.
And we have a new nanny.
Dumb cop has replaced Shakespeare.
"Where is he?" I say to the glass, and, for a response, get a finger pointing across the room.
Dustin hasn't gone far.
He's number 19 now.
"I guess I should thank you for letting him keep his clothes on."
Dumb cop nods, then pushes a button and the cells all go black again.
All but Dustin's.
"And I guess I should thank you and your girlfriend for leading us straight to that Leftover jackpot."
I walk up to the glass, try to keep the shaking in my knees out of my voice. "You spiked her car, didn't you?"
"Not me, personally. But yes, it was spiked. We tend to take certain precautions after Citizens spit in our faces."
I watch helplessly as Dustin bangs and kicks at his new glass home.
"What do you want from us?"
Dumb cop pushes another button and cell number 20 lights up. The rain comes on again, too. It took awhile, but they finally managed to ruin one of the most beautiful sounds there is.
Was.
"We just want you to see the greater good. Once that's accomplished, we'll let you and your little brother go. Simple as that."
"Simple as that. Right. If I knew what the fuck you were talking about."
Dumb cop stands, places his hands on the back of his chair like he's about to give a sermon. "If you want to play games, we can play games."
Dustin's cell goes black.
"Last chance," Dumb cop says.
"I swear on my parent's grave, you know, the one you dug up, that I don't know what you want from us."
"It's nothing personal," he says and shakes his head. "Wait. Yeah, no, actually it is."
He pushes another button and Dustin's cell lights up.
Only Dustin's not in it.
"Time's up, Officer. We hope you enjoy the show."
What have I done?
Buddha Complex
i am a lotus
thumper.
i have belly
envy.
i am the sound of one ego
clapping.
13 Reduce Your Water-Footprint, Re-use Your Fluids, Recycle Your Life
The curtains have all been drawn.
I know the catalog of tortures used by the Sustainability Unit. They practice everything from Water Boarding to Teething. Teething, I'm guessing, is what they used on Teeth. Still, I can't imagine them trying any of that with Dustin.
I bang my fists on the front door, call out Dustin's name even though I know it won't do any good. I even kick Shakespeare's empty box a few times, expecting what, I don't really know. Maybe a voice to come on over the intercom and tell me to stop, that all of this has been one big misunderstanding.
But there's nothing.
I give up, flop down on the couch.
That's when I notice the TV.
They've set up another one.
I go to pull the plug but before I can, it turns itself on.
There's Dustin, strapped into something like a dentist's chair, a metal band tightened around his head.
Like the kind you see at electrocutions.
Only they aren't going to kill him.
They're going to Stamp him.
Dumb Cop is holding an electric prod, turning it over and over in front of Dustin's face, smoke from the red square billowing. When he walks behind the dentist's chair, his footsteps fill the room.
Surround sound.
They've rigged the Panopticon like a home theatre.
I can hear Dustin's ragged breathing, like he's trying his best to hold it in but just can't. Even so, he's completely stone faced, his eyes locked straight ahead, not a single glance at the prod.
"Officer Thomas," the room says. "Did you find a good seat for the show?"
"Dustin," I say to the TV. "You're going to be okay. Just think of something else, okay? Think of home."
His face cracks a little, winces, like what I just said was more ridiculous than what they're about to do to him.
"Think about Mom."
This time he rolls his eyes.
"Tell us where we can find the rest of your father's research and this all goes away," Dumb cop says and dangles the prod an inch from Dustin's neck.
That box Twink had with the Do Not Open on the front and Dad's initials. I'd forgotten all about it.
Could that be what they're after?
"I don't know anything about any plans," I say and grab hold of the TV. "I'm telling you the truth."
A gloved hand appears in front of the screen, wags a finger from side to side.
"Last chance…"
"Dustin," I say, my voice cracking. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do."
Dumb cop rubs some jelly on Dustin's neck, turns his hand up like he's offering me one last chance.
"Wait!" I yell and run to the wall with the button on it. "I'll push this thing. I swear I will."
Dumb cop looks off-screen, then slowly backs away from Dustin. "Wait a minute now. Let's not do anything rash."
"I'll do it," I say, my hand hovering over the button. "You let him go. Right now. I mean it."
"Okay, whatever you say," Dumb cop says and turns to somebody standing nearby. "You heard him. Let him go."
I watch but nobody moves.
Dustin, too, is frozen, his eyes staring straight into the camera.
"I'll push it!" I say again, my voice quickly losing whatever conviction I somehow managed to fake earlier.
Then I hear it coming from all around me.
Laughter.
"I'm sorry," Dumb cop says, sniggering. "I can't keep this up any longer. Wow, you really are fun to torture. Most of the others just cry and beg. It's a real drag." He clears his throat like he's trying to regain his composure. "Go ahead and push the button, Officer Thomas. Unfortunately, it's not going to help your brother one bit."
My throat feels like it has a rock in it and my hands are shaking. I push the button and there's a banging sound inside the wall before something rolls out and hits my foot.
It's a bottle of water.
A fucking vending machine.
The other prisoners were trying to help us.
"Just for the record," Dumb cop says, the poker raised chest-high. "Most of the others push that button on their first day here. A little paranoid, don't you think?"
He turns to Dustin, smears the jelly around on his neck some more. "I'm sorry about this, little buddy."
"Don't you fucking touch him!" I yell as loudly as I can, but my voice is trembling, closing up on me.
It doesn't matter. All I'm doing is adding to their pleasure. I have no choice but to sit and watch as he presses the metal into Dustin's neck. I can see smoke curling off the prod, hear Dustin's flesh sizzling.
His tears fall and turn to steam.
But not once does my little brother cry out.
*
I don't know how much time passes, but at some point they cut the lights again. There's more scuffling in the black, something being dragged, then dropping onto the couch. I want to swing at the air, but I know it'd be pointless. Chances are they have night vision or something, can see me just fine.
When the lights come back on, Dustin is sitting on the couch, tape across his mouth. I'm not sure why they didn't put him back in his cell, though I'm guessing guilt or sympathy wasn't much of a factor. His neck is swollen and red. It looks like he has a gobstopper lodged in there.
I carefully peel off the tape, ask if he's okay.
"Do I look okay?"
"No."
"Then I'm not okay."
Shakespeare is back now, too, watching and scribbling away in his stupid notebook. And, as if the Stamping wasn't enough, Dustin's got a fever now, too. He spends most of the day on the couch sweating. The thirst is setting in hard now. I periodically push the button on the wall, but it's gone dry.
Sold out.
I can't remember the last time we ate.
We've moved beyond mere hunger.
I'd kill for a salal berry.
Me and Dustin had a conversation before they abducted him, about the possibility of one of us having to eat the other. He said if I ever took one bite out of him, he'd make sure I had diarrhea the rest of my life.
At some point I must fall asleep because I wake up to Dustin shaking me, asking what I think his face will look like when he's older. He wants to know if the Stamp will fade like tattoos do.
"I don't know," I tell him. "But try to think of it as a war wound. A badge of honor. Because that's what it'll be when this is all over."
"Right," he says and tries to smirk, but it only makes him wince. "A stamp of honor."
He picks up Mom's book, pulls out the yellow piece of paper I put back in earlier.
"I threw this out for a reason," he says. "Mom didn't write it."
"How do you know that?"
"It's a shitty poem, that's how I know."
I tell him my theory about the small i's, how she wouldn't suddenly stop using them, especially not in a suicide note. I do not go into my other theory about suicide being a selfish act.
The ultimate in capital I.
"I bet these assholes staged the whole thing," he says and crumples the paper up again. "Mom and Dad wouldn't ever kill themselves. No matter how bad it got."
And just like that, Dustin figures out something I should have realized a long, long time ago.
Still Life with Jacket
i can smell my death
in the morning
when the backyard is thick
with pines and sparrows.
i become a child camping
with meals-ready-to-eat,
and my father laughing, saying,
"Don't tell your mother"
when he turns the packet of mashed potatoes
into soup.
Or my father drunk and getting a ticket
for not wearing a life jacket
on his hand-made fishing boat
and later grumbling around the campfire
about how nobody's allowed to be a man anymore.
And now that grumble
is in me,
on mornings like these,
when my children
feel like jackets
i'll never be able to take off.
14 Green Energy Means Moral Energy
I'm asleep next to Dustin, our new favorite pastime, when he starts tugging at my pant leg.
"Wake up. We've got mail."
On Dustin's lap is an envelope, the word SHAKESPEARE written across the front.
"Where'd it come from?"
"Don't know. It was here when I woke up."
"Well, open it."
"Might be a bomb or something," Dustin says, gingerly fingering the corner of the envelope.
"Give it here," I say and take it from him. Inside there's a hand-written note…
We are being watched. Please do not act like anything out of the ordinary is happening. And whatever you do, do NOT stare at me. Here's the deal: I want to help you. I read your dossier and have come to understand that your mother was the poet Margaret Banks. Let me just say that I'm a huge fan. I'm also a bit of a closet poet myself so giving me the nickname Shakespeare was really quite apropos (and funny)!
Sadly, there's only so much I can do for you. All the doors here require codes. The code for the lower security areas are all the same: H20. I've left cell #19 slightly open so you two will be able to crawl under. I'll claim it was a mechanical malfunction or something. The door on the other side will be open, seeing as the cell is empty. After that, you're on your own. I can only leave the lights off for about an hour. After that they'll get suspicious.
Please destroy this letter as soon as you can. My life depends on it. I'm sorry about what happened to your parents. It wasn't right. They were amazing people. And I'm not alone in thinking that. We aren't all bad!
Shakespeare (Elliot)
"I bet it's a trick," Dustin says. "Once we leave, they'll toss us in a pit like Mom and Dad."
I hesitate, then take Mom's book from the coffee table, stuff it into my jacket.
"Let's go."
"But Thomas…"
"D, we're going to die in here. You want that?"
"But what if this guy's lying? What if this is just more bullshit?"
"Then at least we tried. C'mon. Before I change my mind."
I'd be lying if I said it was easy leaving the other prisoners there. I try to tell myself they aren't real, that they're just emotional props set here by our captors, that maybe they're actors used by the government to push me and Dustin over the edge.
But I know that's not true.
We're leaving them here.
To die.
Shakespeare, seeing me hesitate, pushes a button and bottles start dropping into their cells. As they rush to collect the water, I find myself having the ridiculous urge to wave goodbye.
Mercifully, though, Shakespeare cuts the light and everything goes black except for Shakespeare's box and Dustin's old cell.
We walk over as casually as possible, and, before we crawl under the raised glass wall, Dustin and I both give one last look at Shakespeare. Elliot. But his face is as stony and impassive as ever. I wonder what one of his poems would look like.
Fun stuff, no doubt.
Mom probably would have loved him.
"Ladies first," Dustin says.
I'm too nervous to think of anything even remotely resembling a comeback, so I just go ahead and crawl into the cell. Dustin follows after me, his butt barely making it under before the glass slides down again.
Maybe it was another trap.
I crouch down by the iron door, give the handle a slow turn, and it opens just like Shakespeare said it would.
"Wait here," I tell Dustin. "And not a peep."
"This is fucked," Dustin whispers and I'm about to tell him it's not any more fucked than being treated like cattle when we hear voices outside. Dustin presses his ear against the door and I'm about to pull him away when the handle gives a jerk, turns halfway like somebody's trying to open it.
I grab Dustin's arm, squeeze.
We hear a soft thwump as something hits the door and slides down on the other side. The handle then returns to its original position.
I have to force myself to breathe.
"We're dead," Dustin whispers and I'm trying to muster up something positive to say, something about guards being notorious narcoleptics, when the handle starts to turn again. I grab Dustin and we stand with our backs against the wall as the door swings open. It comes to a stop against my foot and we watch as Dumb cop drags something in, leaves it in the middle of the cell.
He's holding a syringe in his hand like a six shooter and there's a crumpled, unconscious mass of woman on the ground.
Jerusha.
"Almost show time, honey," Dumb cop says and starts to take off his belt.
I've seen enough.
I give the door a little shove with my foot and it swings shut. When Dumb cop whips around, Dustin says, "You want to let us go," and takes a step toward him.
Unbelievable.
He's channeling Obi-Wan.
"You?" Dumb cop says. "But how'd you…?"
Before he can say another word, the lights cut out.
Shakespeare. He's still looking out for us.
Seconds later, the cell is filled with growling and grunting and I start swinging my arms out in front of me, high, since I'm assuming Dustin's got his knees. That is, until I hit something dumb and solid. I grab hold of what might be Dumb cop's ears, but before I can twist them off, he trips over either Dustin or Jerusha and we all come crashing to the floor.
Somehow I've managed to keep hold of his face.
I know this because the douche-bag bites my hand.
I let out a yelp and poke my finger into something mushy that I'm hoping is his eye. Whatever it is, it does the trick. His teeth release my hand.
"I've…got…the needle," I hear Dustin rasp out from somewhere nearby, and, before I can tell him to be careful with it, Dumb cop screams.
It's a girly scream.
So much so that it makes my earlier scream sound like it came from a lumber jack.
The lights come back on just as I'm tightening a strangle-hold around what I hope is Dumb cop's neck. The first thing I see is the needle sticking out of his thigh, blood staining his government-issue pants.
The second thing I see is Dustin standing beside him with a gun in his hand.
"You can let him go now," Dustin says calmly.
"D," I say as I scoot away. "Be careful with that thing."
