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Member
Join Date: Mar 2003
Location: San Diego, CA
Posts: 18
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I'm in a quandry about what this needs...
New Immigrants
Ortiz came up behind Smith intent on slitting his throat in the same way he'd seen the slaughter of cows, pigs and sheep while growing up in rural Mexico, from ear to ear, soundless, swift and merciful, but instead he lay down next to his friend and cursed him. "Pinche, pendejo chicken shit. You came to us, remember. I gave you two choices then and you've got two now. You're either in or you're out. And now," He winked tilting his head a bit, "It's too late to get out. You wanna keep moving, it's a go, but there ain't no going back, Sammy. You got that?"
The night folded around them in fine tailor's cloth, sewing cool air and sweat under their garments to heated skin. Smith stood and brushed the valley's bedding from his clothes, untangling loose dirt and twigs as if were pillow lent stuck in his hair. From where he stood, the sky above him had filled with stars. "Stars" he smiled, realizing he had not seen them for many years. The illuminated firmament had all but disappeared since the last Great War and to catch glimpses of stars at night felt like finding buried treasure. The smog from the capital did not reach out this far and he thought about the life behind him.
Smith yawned, his eyes opening as wide as his mouth. He had been there for more than an hour before Ortiz arrived and could not remember if he slept or not. His eyes open and shut, open and shut until he rubbed them hard. Ortiz rambled on about doing him in, and the eyes, still heavy, closed while he stood there as if to sleep. "Ortiz shut up."
They were just outside of the first barrier leading away from the last guard tower when the shots rang out. "Mierda, they got off a signal." The capitol's increasing blackouts had made it easy for them to move past the perimeter, but there was this now, and here they thought the only problems would be moving through the last checkpoints, never anything this far out, the area peppered with patrols. This land, Smith, remembered had belonged to his family. He closed his eyes one last time and saw it the way he remembered, from rise to fall, -- "Vamonos, Smitty." -- vast vineyards, orchards and orange groves converted into minefields and prison camps, until finally it opened onto a barren wasteland.
Ortiz rose and ran past him. He was a small man just barely five and half feet tall, very thin, but very fit. He looked five years younger than Smith but was actually that much older. His years were hid well. His steps were small and quick. He dodged nopales, and avoided rattlesnake holes. Smith waited a few seconds then ran behind him. His steps matched his height, long and gangly and it took some effort to stay exactly six feet behind Ortiz without wanting to pass him. Smith watched Ortiz like a shopkeeper watching a thief. He outweigh him by close to sixty pounds, was taller and had muscles that filled his plant uniform nicely, but this would not be a boxing match organized by plant management, nor the wrestling matches from childhood. "If he has to" Smith ran now trying to keep up "he might kill me." For half a mile Smith considered this, then began to breathe hard. He was falling ten, fifteen, sometimes twenty feet behind then he fell. His work boots pinched him when he got up. He realized he was out of shape. Ahead of them, about twenty miles away, lay the last mountains to cross before they would see the land of their new life and hear the electric fences crowned in concertina. "In the mountains we'll be safe." When he finally caught up and got back to the agreed upon spacing, Ortiz hadn't even noticed Smith had fallen behind. They both ran smoothly now breathing in unison.
He thought about the train; what he said to Ortiz that angered him enough to abandon protocol and change things enough for him to confront the guards. The plan had been to travel as far as the last checkpoint. From there they would jump off and go the rest of the way on foot. Soot faced workers came and went from twelve-hour shifts, minds placid, eyes empty orbs reflecting the blank space of night they stare numbly into. The plant jumpsuits, all specific to this region, were darkened with production grime and sweat, also of the region and known for it toxicity. The travelers ignore the clean-shaven odd couple seated separate but obviously together. The two wore identical black jumpsuits with identical plant insignia.
One of the workers sitting opposite Smith nodded in acknowledgment. He noted Smith's plant insignia and clean jumpsuit, and forced a smile from his tired face. "He thinks I'm an inspector." Smith thought and nodded back at the man trying to appear stern but caring.
The workers in this section did not seem as bad as Smith had expected. The waste from the capital had been mixed and shipped to the outskirts for recycling and he expected them to be like the product the refined and reissued for the capital inhabitants to use. Smith trembled a little watching the men come and go. It was then that he decided he wanted out, and too realized he didn't want to return to what he saw before him.
"Look, José," He said in what sounded to him matter-of -factly, "Go on without me." Which raised suspicion in his old friend, but knowing Ortiz as Smith believed he did he felt he would understand. "This isn't for me, man. It's not that bad for me here. I'm comfortable. I won't be able to go back to the plant of course, but I won't need to work right away. I've got some credits stored and I'll hang out a while and then, when it's time, I'll get a new job in another city. That way no one will know. You're not worried about that are you?
Ortiz had worried from the moment Smith opened his mouth. He'd watched him quietly, without speaking, until two guards came through a door at the opposite end of the train and poked Ortiz asking in metalic and automated unison, "Where are your papers?" Ortiz had stood quickly, the guards towering over him, and nodded to Smith who the guards seemed to ignore while he found the quickest exit off the train.
Running through fields and hiding from patrols, Smith knew that if he were seriously considering going back, now would be his chance. Instead he headed to the last checkpoint and waited for Ortiz. After an hour with no shots fired, no patrols near where he lay, he rested his eyes. "I'll give him another fifteen minutes. Then, go back to the capitol."
His head swam in the days before the Great War. Back to childhood romps were he stole away to run through his grandfather's fields. These were among the last publicly owned land; all belonging to his grandfather. The old man was ruthless enough in his youth to build and maintain a small farm empire. Samuel... Samuel, are you out there? I'm over here. Samuel, it's getting late and I need you up here, don't go off too far, boy, do you hear me?
The porch radios broadcast the news about the oncoming threat...Our soldiers are still defending the borders coming from the east. It would serve our great nation if any landowners who have not done so, to surrender the land to our side before it is taken by opposition forces.
I won't go far, you lied, already halfway down to the worker's quarters. I know where you're going, and since you're headed down there, tell Martinez to get up here. You listened to the men speak from behind the shed with some of the migrant boys who had finished their shift and were still energetic enough to play with you. Grandfather was always in charge. Even when the soldiers came to get him, he seemed to have that same air of authority. He made Martinez his right hand. Get the rest of the workers up here. Have them bring up the crates they can carry and gather their things from the rooms, tell them the trucks have been detained, you know what else to do.
They were three clicks away from the patrols and several from the other side of the first border separating New California from the rest of the Union. Smith remembered when it had been formed. Before the peace treaty, New California had consumed a few of the western states existing before the last Great War. Oregon, Nevada, and Arizona, had all been conquered for resources, no matter how limited. The Armies were stopped at New Mexico from the south and after that defeat the regime had simply abandoned the idea of going further north or east. Both sides seemed to agree on stopping the bloodshed. That's when the Peace Treaty had been signed.
Smith and Ortiz had been soldiers in the acquisition campaign. Before that, Ortiz's family worked on Smith's grandfather's farm. After the war they worked at a plant that made and shipped weapons, bombs, clothing and uniforms, and anything else the allies who had taken Hawaii needed. For many years they believed in the new regime. Believed in the men who led them. Then one day they awoke to chaos. There were more armed guards. The rations were issued not because of any battles that were still being waged. Rations were the way things were to be handled from that day forward. It became a complete and total siphoning of resources. The ruling population got very wealthy. They were traveling across what had come to be known as "El Rio", a void between the fences of border one and border two. At times, they moved like animals, rabbits chased by coyotes. Ortiz would be the rabbit for a few miles, then they would switch and continue to do so until they felt no danger from the skys.
Smith stopped worrying about Ortiz and started thinking about the 'Moscas'; huge apache choppers that patrolled El Rio and shot down everything that moved; everything except wildlife. The states new president's orders strictly forbade the killing of any wildlife. Any individuals who disobeyed the no kill order, soldiers included, were severely punished along with their families. The decree stated that nothing in the wild was to be harmed. This included foxes, skunk, deer, bears, coyotes and rabbits. The idea being that these creatures formed part of our great history before the war and that only through the carelessness of the past had they been wiped out. We shall let them prosper and procreate, the president said, so that all New California inhabitants will know the land of our forefathers. We shall become self sufficient from the rest of the Union and more prosperous. The goal, the president went on, during the same assembly meeting where there had been an attack on his life, is that we make this land our land again. The viewing was mandatory. Smith and a group from the warehouse had gathered to watch it in the break room. Everyone believed it was staged. They noted that the soldiers subdued the assailant too quickly and without harming him at all. It was later found out that the gun used was made from hemp and only produced the sound of gunfire. It came from a novelty shop, manufactured in a factory south of Irvine and a plant owned by the president's sister-in-law. We shall return to a supreme democracy the president continued without skipping a beat, that will allow families the right to move freely within this new establishment we have developed. We will give out land to those who know how to farm. We will regain the life of our forefathers by any means necessary. The ruffian who has threatened my life threatens your lives. He must kill because he cannot stomach the freedom I offer you. Look at him. The crowd turned to where the soldiers had subdued the assailant and, before they could turn back, the president had vanished, though his voice still echoed in their ears. Do not worry. I am safe he said. Though you do not see me. I am in your hearts and minds and always with you. His aides and several well paid stage men had prepared a trap door beneath the stage that the president quickly feel down through and exited to the back entrance of the building. "Parlor tricks," Smith thought watching the broadcast,
"Is this what we fought to defend; cheap parlor tricks?"
"Cayete, ya!"
Overhead a patrol of three 'Moscas' flew behind them. They side stepped quickly to separate themselves. Achieving a space of at least thirty feet before the lights reached the spot where they had stood. Smith tucked his body into a ball, as he had been shown. He came to rest near a huge boulder. Ortiz had not been so lucky. Smith saw no cover other than a huge fruit bearing nopal which Ortiz's body came to rest alongside. Ortiz lay casually in a ball against the cactus needles. The 'Moscas' flew off, and up ahead, about a mile, they heard concentrated machine gunfire, the whimper of an injured animal then the sound of choppers speeding back towards the direction of the capitol.
"Pinche Rookies" Ortiz said.
"Who'd they get"
Ortiz smiled. "Unless the others left ahead of schedule, no one. Looks like some soldier just signed their families death certificate. Come on," Jose laughed. "Help me pick these fucking needles out of my ass and let's go and eat."
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