This is going to be a bit long – but bear with me. I don’t normally share this much, but I hope you feel it was worth it at the end.
* * *
We lived in a self-contained Complex with nothing but trees and mountains around us.
When you walked into my dorm-like room, you would find a small bathroom tucked in on the left. Next to it was my wardrobe and then came a double sized bed. The bed could be latched up against the wall, like a Murphy bed, to make more space. To get from the door to the bed, you walked along the pathway on the right wall.
Not all of the rooms in the Complex were this small, just those for single people. The rooms varied depending on how many people were in the family. More people, bigger living quarters.
We had a large cafeteria that we all used – eating in shifts.
Every adult had a job, and most of the jobs revolved around the maintenance and upkeep of the Complex.
I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t unhappy either. I felt kind of stale and a bit agitated.
I left my room and headed for the auditorium to find a seat. It was time for our weekly gathering and community updates. I found a seat at the top level, which made it easier to escape when the gathering was done.
The auditorium filled up pretty quickly, and our Commissioner quieted the crowd and began his weekly droning.
I looked around me at the people up on the top tier with me. I caught a glimpse of someone I thought I knew. People shifted in their seats, moving around, so I had to wait for another glimpse to confirm. I did! I waved frantically, trying to get her attention. She finally saw me waving.
“Rosa! Rosa! It’s me, Jan!”
She squinted through her glasses. “Who?”
“Jan. Jan Toomer!”
She shook her head and turned back to the person next to her. Rosa turned back to look at me again, took her glasses off, cleaned them and put them back on. She looked at me again. Recognition eased her face, “Oh! My Christmas visitors!” She smiled, waved and turned back to the person next to her.
My stomach dropped. “Her Christmas visitors?” I had a flash of my husband and I going to her place on Christmas. She’d been my best friend.
Wait! Grief and sorrow snatched me. My husband! My deceased husband. I stood on shaky legs and fled the auditorium.
When I got back to my room, I leaned against the wardrobe, then slid down to the floor, sobbing.
How the heck could I have forgotten my husband? How could my best friend have relegated our friendship to “Christmas visitors”?
What the heck was going on?
As I sat on the floor, I struggled to remember before. Before the Complex. Where was I? What did I do? I couldn’t remember anything before the Complex.
I withdrew over the next few days. I felt numb, confused and struggled to find “me” before the Complex. And yes, had a bit of a pity party mixed in.
That morphed into watching and observing. If I had no pre-Complex memories except for those brief flashes of segments with people and life pre-Complex, did the others here have pre-Complex glitches as well? If so, why? Why don’t we remember?
I was in the cafeteria line when someone nudged me. “Hi, Jan.”
I half-smiled at my co-worker. “Hey, Jenny.”
She moved closer and spoke softly near my ear. “Are you okay? You’ve been a little…off…lately. What’s going on?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine, Jenny. Just tired.”
The look on Jenny’s face told me she didn’t believe me. Jenny nervously looked around, then focused back on my. She pasted a fake smile on her face, “Well, okay then. I’ll see you back at work. Enjoy your lunch.”
Over the next few weeks, I kept watching people and realized no matter how content or happy everyone appeared, there was an uneasy, unsettled undercurrent.
I tossed and turned night after night, my mind screaming, “This isn’t right!”
Maybe I was becoming Feral like the Commissioner had warned us about. Though no one I knew had ever seen or met a Feral. That’s what the Commissioner called those who rebelled against the establishment, the Commissioner or the Complex. He intimated that “Ferals” weren’t right anymore. Something had gone wrong within them, and they became dangerous to the rest of us.
My mind was relentless, bombarding me with questions. Why don’t we see anyone beyond the Complex? Are we imprisoned here? If so, why? Is there some type of fencing set up to keep us here, or are we “maintained” by the fear of becoming – or being labeled – “Feral”? What does a Feral look like?
The more the days piled up behind me, the more restless I became. And my brain, my glorious brain, began developing a plan to leave the Complex.
* * *
It had taken a lot of planning and exploring the lower level tunnels of the Complex and not get caught. I slowly started sneaking some changes of clothes and shoes that I could fit in a backpack and stashed them in the tunnels.
And finally, one late afternoon, carrying my coat, I went back down into the tunnels. I grabbed my backpack and headed out of the tunnels, coming out on the back far corner of the Complex. And I kept walking into the forest and started walking up the incline.
By nightfall, I hunkered down to rest. I woke abruptly to the feeling someone was closing in on me. I grabbed my stuff and continued to climb the incline of the gently sloped mountain side. I walked all night and was exhausted by dawn. I found a small overhang nestled in the mountain and stretched out under it to get some rest.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept, but I jerked awake to the sound of a man clearing his throat. I saw him standing down the slope looking up at me. Panicking, I tried to push myself back against the rocks.
The man was average height, had slightly long dark hair with half curls. He wore jeans, boots, and a long sleeve flannel shirt and carried a backpack as well as a walking stick. Dang it, a Tracker found me.
His voice was soft but gravelly. “You made a good distance, lady. But I’m a Tracker and have been sent to bring you back home.”
My panic turned to anger. “No! I don’t choose to go back.”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “Like you have a choice?”
I stood up and strode towards him, but stopped well out of reach of his arms and his walking stick.
“I said ‘No’. No means no. Now, please leave.”
All traces of humor left his face. “Sorry, lady. You’ve no choice here. I have my orders, and those orders are to return you – preferably in one piece and unharmed…”
Part Two next week.
By Jan Toomer
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