The War of Civlar Page 7

PART II

  3 years ago in the Realm...

  Sitting in the basement together, they were both shocked at their position. David had managed to find them accommodation in a basement, one that had been built without the approval of the planning committees and was owned by a dissident friend. The heavy built man, Gregory Smite was on the surface a regular miner, complete with scruffy beard and hair, but like their newly discovered awareness of David, he was in fact somewhat of a leader amongst the small group, yet unnamed, of theological separatists operating in Precinct 7. The house was empty then, as Gregory had already gone to work for the midnight shift, however both Joanna and Andrew were not inclined to investigate above since they knew of the dire consequences of being discovered, particularly at this sensitive time.

  Indeed they were prisoners of their own circumstances and although the basement was fitted with basic amenities, they knew that the boredom and desire for freedom would soon overcome them. How long should they wait? A week? Two? Could they go outside if they were disguised appropriately?

  Andrew looked around. In this area was a small bookshelf full of books, a toilet room, a small pantry for food, various items which had been stored haphazardly as well as strange vats and bottles aside one of the walls. Of these, the vats were certainly the cause for most curiosity since neither of them could read. Their minds ran with speculation about their contents. Perhaps they were explosives of some kind or a makeshift setup to store fresh water in the event of an extended period of civil unrest?

  Joanna was first in inspecting the vats. She picked up the bottles and inspected them by sight and smell – it was definitely some kind of chemical. The other vat she proclaimed was full of air since there was no discernible smells being emitted. Soon they were both deliberating about the contents of the first vat.

  “It smells...like some kind of solvent,” commented Andrew.

  “Then why put them in bottles? Who needs to dissolve anything so much?” queried Joanna.

  Then they discovered something that put light on the whole subject. A small glass nearby was also laced with the same strange odor, a clear implication that the substance was for drinking. They both concluded that it must be alcohol now. Alcohol was a known poison which was almost certain to cause death upon consumption. A suicide pact was silently brewing in both their minds, after all they were not going to fit in with their new landlords and even if they did their lives would certainly be boring beyond the extreme. They both looked at each other with an expression of guilt and anxiousness and they knew that their thoughts were aligned.

  “Look,” said Joanna, “There's nothing for us anymore, and we should take this and end it now.”

  Andrew nodded his consent. He picked up a bottle, opened it, and began to swallow the contents. He felt the sharp sting slide down his throat and the bitterness well upon his tongue.

  “I feel warm,” he announced.

  Joanna now started to join in, taking swig after swig against her friction point of nausea. Within moments they were both perilously drunk. Their moods had indeed changed and it wasn't long until another forbidden concept started to emerge as a satisfactory alternative to suicide. After all, the house was empty above them.

  What followed was a frenzy of hasty yet clumsy removal of clothes, kissing, fondling and then sex.

  As the morning dawned, they were both slightly intoxicated. Andrew had managed to put his shirt on backwards which was a cause for much amusement for Joanna. With a rapt on the trapdoor, George entered with some breakfast and was equally amused by the state of his guests.

  “I see you have made avail of my refreshments, I won't begrudge you that!” he chuckled while placing the meals upon the pantry.

  “What's the other vat?” slur's Joanna.

  “Nitrous Oxide!” boasts George, complete with a grin and a stroke of his beard.

  “What exactly is nitrous oxide?” Andrew asked - his crackled words forced out through a haze of hangover and headache.

  “It's better than the alcohol, that's what it is!”

  “By Aesuth! You work in a mine, don't you? How do you pass the weekly drug tests?”

  “You will find, my dear, that it is quite undetectable.”

  George explains that he works in a zinc mine and while stealing would be punishable by death under normal circumstances, he “accidentally” brings home enough zinc filings on his work clothes to make the nitrous, coupled with nitric acid from the batteries that his mine throws away. All this he had learnt from a rudimentary book about ancient medicine.

  While they eat their breakfast, Joanna eagerly, and Andrew with extreme care, their belated host commences to pump some N2O from the vat into a couple of party balloons. Soon they all had balloons in their hand and were inhaling the sweet contents.

  “You're right...” drifts Joanna, “that's better than” - she is cut short by a lapse into unconsciousness.

  Andrew on the other hand finds not only the extreme rush of the oxide but also relief from the hangover symptoms, a technicality he deliberates upon which he is most thankful for.

  George, on the other hand, continues to clean up around himself, the only indicator a massive grim appearing intermittently as he works.

  After eating breakfast, Andrew makes some further inquiries about the books.

  Karl Marx, The Holy Bible, My First ABC, Goldilocks, A Clockwork Orange, The Satanic Verses, The History of Medicine Edition 2, The Theory of Relativity Explained, Mechanical Engineering Unit 1...

  “I found them in a locked case underground while I was building this basement. For what reason I am not sure, somebody had felt the need to preserve them underground – not deep enough to have been detected by the subterranean layer of the Dome. They are from the 20th Century as far as I can tell. At first, my friend, I had the same problems as you, but you will find that one of the books is actually some kind of explanation of the system of symbols they used to write with. Perhaps it was intended for children – in any case after many successive nights of examination I had managed to learn how to read and I am quite happy to teach you everything I know.”

  They both agree that this would be very nice of him.

  2 months had then passed.

  The scene opens again at the basement. Seven people crowd around, sharing alcohol and nitrous. This was a meeting of the Precinct 7 Dissidents. At that moment the group officially includes George, Paul, Sam, David and Tom.

  The night was devoted to rambling conversations concerning what they had learnt – electricity, addition, new words, philosophical concepts.

  Andrew placed the 'Holy Bible' upon the makeshift table and points to a page.

  “You see that,” he stated with amusement, “it must be a mistake – there are three zeros. Surely they mean a hundred?”

  “No my friend,” interjected Sam, a slim and slightly nervous looking man, “That's a thousand. I have seen enough quota registers to have figured out that system of numbering...to an extent.”

  Andrew looked puzzled.

  “It’s ten lots of a hundred, that's the simplest way I can explain it.”

  “So what is the greatest number?” Joanna asked boldly.

  “I've been looking for that one everywhere,” George stated, pointing at the bookshelf. “Perhaps there is no greatest... maybe it just goes on forever.”

  “Like the Sun.”

  “On another topic,” Andrew queried, “is there any chance of getting out of here? It’s been 8 weeks now; perhaps the priests have stopped looking?”

  “It's not just you that you should be concerned about, friend, if you ever get captured they will extract the information about our group upon torture, then we are all doomed,” George expressed in a hushed tone of empathy.

  “Just wait a moment,” interjects Tom, “How do you feel about joining us on a mission? You see, being fugitives does not preclude you from covert activities, since it is all our collective ambitions to go undetected.”

  Although he talked in a
sophisticate’s style, this new man's meaning was quite clear to both.

  “Yes!” they both burst together in a kind of hushed shout, “What are we going to do?”

  “There is a train that we are planning to derail. It is a military supply train.”

  “That sounds futile,” Andrew stated bluntly, “The military have plenty of supplies.”

  “Yes, but we don't.” Paul explained.

  Without access to explosives, derailing the trail would be a hit and miss affair. They had already found the right spot however, a section of track that intersects the two Precincts that was uninhabited grassland, with some small section of forest for cover. With some luck, there would be a boulder or some kind of obstruction they could use for the derailment. Under cover of darkness, the group needed to make their way there but were not inclined to take one of their own vehicles, firstly because it was too small and secondly due to the risk of detection.

  David and George were assigned to commandeer an appropriate vehicle. After walking a few blocks away from their respective houses, they waited patiently for an ambush opportunity. David had his trusty knife and George was armed with a crowbar. They watched taxis buzz past intermittently but after several hours they heard the distinctive sound of what could only be a truck.

  George hastily rushed from their position towards the road and began to lie down, feigning unconsciousness. As the truck emerged from the crest of the hill it hit the brakes, screeching to a halt. The driver emerged from the cabin and started stepping towards the stricken man he could see on the road, his outline a blurry contrast against the headlights and the mist.

  As he bent over to inspect he received a swift blow to the head with a small rock, rendered by David, and with a small gasp he then passed out. The body of the unfortunate truck driver was then dragged and placed on the side of the road. They made their way back to the house to retrieve the others. Their first objective had been accomplished.

  Moments later they were all making their way to the paddock. As they arrived at the location, George quickly gets out and David is given the wheel – he would be in charge of hiding the truck somehow, ensuring that the robbery and the action they were about to embark upon couldn't be linked by the authorities. Later he should arrive to retrieve his friends and whatever bounty they had managed to procure.

  Six figures rushed through the pitch darkness across the field and towards the forest which due to some immense luck was then adjacent to the railroad tracks. They had needed to wait for hours for the train. George had spent the previous night studying the position of the moon and was sure he could now approximate the 4am by which the trail was anticipated to be passing by. Meanwhile Andrew and Joanna were sent to scout for an appropriate boulder to carry onto the track – large enough for a derailment but small enough that 6 men could carry it without too much difficulty.

  They waited in the silence. After a few moments, Joanna returns and motions towards a direction.

  “There's a good one there.” she whispers.

  They all scurried towards Andrew and proceeded to pick up the boulder with some difficulty. With muffled grunts they carried it slowly towards the edge of the forest section, about 5 meters from the track.

  “Let's put it on now,” Andrew implored.

  “How fast do you think you can carry this thing? The train will stop if it sees the boulder,” reminds George, “we've got to put it on just in time.”

  “And alert all the guards on the train? Its suicide!” snaps Tom.

  To this, Joanna proceeds to take off her coat. It is navy blue and specifically chosen to blend in with the night. “Look, this will cover the front section of that boulder since it's longer than it is high...hopefully it might just look like an abandoned coat.”

  Clearly this was the best plan on offer. After moving the boulder to its appropriate position on the track, dressed in a navy blue overcoat they scurried back to their hiding place. Andrew cuddled Joanna who was now shivering against the night air.

  More hours passed.

  Finally, the train's approach could be heard. All members of the group waited with anticipation as the single glaring beam got closer. It rushed past and with a massive clap and a spray of sparks the boulder was decimated - but not before causing the engine to tilt and wobble dramatically, emitting the sound of flexing metal all across the paddock. A wheel came loose and the carriage jack-knifed across the tracks, the drag of which caused the engine to finally come free from the tracks several dozen meters later and begin to slide down the embankment.

  The dust cleared to depict the train engine now stranded on an embankment. While most of the carriages remained largely intact there was one carriage that had split open – enough to facilitate entry without opening the locked doors. It was clear then that this carriage would be their only viable target for theft. It was almost certain that there would be guards on the train and although they were likely to be injured by the collision it would not be long until some armed opponent would be inspecting the scene.

  They rush for the cabin and hurl themselves inside.

  Machine Guns! Grenades!

  “Everybody take a machine gun!” George instructed.

  Andrew was about to grab his gun when he noticed something else. It was a large rectangular case which had caught his eye due to its shiny metallic color that gleamed in the moonlight. He picked up the case.

  “What are you doing? Take a fucking gun!” George snapped – but they then hear some noises coming from the front of the train. “Let's get out of here!”

  They sprint back to a hiding place in the forest and take a defensive position barricaded behind a fallen log. The next stage would be to pass undetected back to the road and wait for David to return.

  “I'm in trouble!” gasped Sam after the sprint, “I've done my ankle in.”

  “Shit! We've got to get out of here; David should be at the road doing laps by now!” George growled.

  “Look, I can crawl but I can't run. I know we can't wait that long, just leave me with my gun and we'll see what happens.”

  They all agree they need to make a run for it immediately. After a hug and a slap on the back, Sam is left behind to crawl slowly towards the road while the rest of the group bounded through the grasslands, weapons in hand.

  They collapse at the edge of the grasslands exhausted. The familiar grumble of David's stolen truck could then be heard in the distance.

  They had made it.

  Back in George’s basement the group, minus David who was now disposing of the truck, inspects their loot. 5 machine guns, 2 grenades – and that 'stupid' case. Andrew had not been able to overcome his fascination with it and the group all looked at him in disgust over this lack of discipline.

  Andrew was ashamed.

  “Let's at least see what's inside it!” Joanna chirped cheerfully to break the mood.

  George produced his crowbar and began to pry open the case. As they opened it they were presented with two spherical metallic balls.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Look there's a manual.”

  Suicide Bomber Kit SBK-801.

  “We need to look at this later. We should check the news on the radio to see what the authorities have discovered,” George stated somberly, “Sorry Andrew and Joanna, we'll be going upstairs now. Maybe we will find out what happened to poor Sam.”

  In the study room the remaining men listen to the radio.

  “...The news reports that in Precinct 6, a man in a stolen taxi car with a machine gun has been going on a rampage. Several officials have been killed during the spree until the offender was eventually killed early this morning. This action seems to be related to a terrorist action against a military supply train which also happened last night and believed to be the source of the weapon.”

  The husky voice of the chief of police followed:

  “This is indeed the work of our great enemy – Blaspemoth! We all knew it would only be a matter of time, until
their warped ideas started seducing our own people and bringing forth actions such as this one. In response to this outrage we are conducting a complete audit on Precinct 6! All citizens will be rounded up and interrogated, their premises searched... ”

  “Ha!” boomed Tom, “Did you hear that – Precinct 6, we are in Precinct 7! That Sam was a clever bugger!”

  “True,” replies George grimly, “but we have signed the death warrant of any alcohol maker in Precinct 6. We're going to have to lay low for a long time after this one.”