Nation Divided Read online

  "Now, get out of my presence."

  Without a word, he stood and rushed out like a whipped dog, tail tucked firmly between his legs. I watched as he left the room and closed the door lightly behind him. I imagined his heart all but exploding from his chest when he exhaled a stale breath from his lungs the second he was out of my sight.

  "Was that completely necessary?" my wife, Victoria, said as she entered the room. I turned around and faced her. She was wearing a light blue blouse and khaki pants which showed her figure well. Her pale skin and red hair made her look more distinguished than most women in my life, and for that, I loved her more. There was a fire to her, and it burned with intensity.

  "A man must be aware of what is at stake, lest he fail by not committing fully to the cause," I answered.

  "And what cause would that be, Caleb?" she asked as she wrapped her arms around me from behind, rubbing my chest with her delicate hands. I could smell her perfume, the sweet smell of lavender and vanilla. I lifted my lips to kiss her cheek and let it linger there for a moment.

  "An indomitable power," I whispered in her ear and then nibbled at her earlobe. She giggled playfully and pressed her lips to mine. We kissed and I could taste her cherry lip balm.

  She pulled away first, but only an inch or two before saying, "Amen."

  4

  CHAPLAIN HARRIS

  I entered the transport and felt the landing gear lift as it left the ground before I had fully settled in my seat. Others were inside with me, but I could not face them. I felt shame for my position; my conviction was weak. I rested my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, wanting desperately to remove any vision from the massacre out of my mind. Remembering was my hell in this life, though.

  I rubbed my stubbly chin and remembered the blood on my thumb. I looked at it and could see that the blood was now dried and made my thumbprints more distinguishable. I brushed my hair out of my eyes and rested my head against my fist as I leaned to the left. It had been a long night and I needed about three hot showers to get the vile feeling off of my skin. Too bad it stained my soul. I didn't think any faith would wash that clean again.

  "Hey, Chaps," the man next to me said, drawing my attention to him.

  I looked at his young face and estimated him to be about nineteen or so. His brown eyes were searching mine.

  "Yes?"

  He licked his dry lips, "I was wondering if you could take a confession," he said nervously. He rubbed at his neck and shoulder with his right hand, presumably just to have something to do.

  I groaned at the thought of hearing another confession. Couldn't we all just settle into the fact that we were fiends destroying God's creation? We didn't deserve an opportunity to confess. I imagined that if I were God, I would close my eyes and my ears to humanity altogether.

  "Yes, son, I will listen to your confession. Would you like to do it now, or in private?"

  He smiled. "Here is fine, sir."

  "Very well, I'm listening."

  "Thank you. I've never given a confession before, but I feel the need to tell God that I'm sorry for picking this line of work. Things are not what they should be, and I don't support it. We are killing people for their opinions. What makes anyone feel they can dictate that kind of thing?" he asked as I nodded my head. My heart sank as he continued. "I don't feel comfortable with what is going on, it's wrong on so many levels. This isn't how I was raised. I was taught to be a Christian. Love thy neighbor, not murder them for thinking differently," he whispered his confession, which had been a wise decision on his part; unfortunately, this confessional would be detrimental to his wellbeing.

  "I'm sorry, son, but if you do not agree with the course of action mandated by our President then I will have to report you."

  His eyes bulged from his head and he stammered, "I thought we had confidentiality?"

  "Those days are so long gone that I doubt anyone truly remembers them," I answered. I looked at his name. It was Bronson, and he looked half ready to jump from the airborne vehicle we were in.

  "If you report me, then I will be executed!" he forced himself to whisper, but even over the noise of the transport he drew attention to himself from others.

  "If I don't then I will be executed. This is the law of the land, Bronson. I'm sorry."

  He shifted back in his seat, repulsed by me. I was repulsed by myself. It was a damned shame what I was forced to do, but self-preservation reared its head. "Chaplain Harris to dispatch, we will need security upon recovery. I have received a verbal confession from someone siding with the 'Outliers'. The soldier’s name is Private Bronson." I set the radio back into my lap and closed my eyes to avoid the gaze of the condemned. I took no solace in my act. Living with what I had done and continued to do was sometimes unbearable.

  "I just received confirmation that security will be in position, sir." The radio squawked as the dispatcher relayed his message to me. I did not respond. It didn't warrant a response, though I did think my actions warranted a bullet to the head. I felt like a traitor, but not acting would mark me one as well.

  I could hear Bronson crying next to me. I had shattered his entire world by my actions, but surely he knew that I was a pawn of the government. I was a Chaplain for the American Union, not a pastor of a church as it used to exist. I could not help him any more than I could help myself. I wiped a tear from my eye and clinched them tighter, forcing the tears to subside.

  Within minutes the transporter landed and the bay doors opened, heralding the arrival of a security team who approached Private Bronson, aiming their weapons at his head. I forced myself to look away, but I still saw them shackle his hands and feet and escort him to his imminent execution. It was a cold thing to do, but at least his suffering soon would be over. Mercy would be not having to live with the regrets of sending a young boy to his death.

  5

  JAMES KYLE

  The buzzing of the alarm pulled me from sleep. My tired eyes struggled to focus on the screen showing the "outlier" Victor Johns no longer resting in his bed. It was three hours past curfew and he was gone, outside of his residence, outside of the perimeter prepared for monitoring him. I pulled the bud from my ear to get rid of the alarm sound and scrambled to sift through all the still frames in order to figure out where he went.

  I realized moments later that I had an audience. My supervisor and other coworkers hovered over me while I put the puzzle pieces together.

  "What's the situation, James?" Captain Troy asked as he leaned closer.

  "Victor Johns left his residence, sir."

  "And you didn't see this while you were monitoring him?" he asked.

  "I was...distracted, sir," I answered in an attempt to hide the fact that I had dozed off. I looked at the time and realized I had been out for almost an hour. A lot can happen in that time frame.

  "Distracted, huh? Peter, get your ass over to your monitors and bring up Victor's scans. We're gonna track this dirt-bag down and arrest his ass."

  I could feel the Captain's hand, which rested on the back of the chair, squeeze the cushion to vent his frustration at the situation. I just hoped that he would not press the issue about my lapse in monitoring. Dereliction of duty was punishable by death.

  "Everybody, get back to your monitors. Johns might not be the only one breaking curfew," Captain Troy called out to the large room.

  "Here, sir," I said as I finally found a still image of Johns leaving his home and turning west. He was on foot and luckily for me the image was captured less than five minutes before the alarm sounded. I could at least blame my lapse on monitoring other "Outliers" during that time.

  "Good, I'm gonna make a call to the military to track him and pick him up. I want you to retrieve the memory data from your computer and burn the file to a driver."

  "Why is that, sir?" I asked.

  "Because I said so, James. That is all you need to know. Are there any other questions you'd like to ask your superior, or may I carry own about my business?"


  "No, sir, I'm sorry, sir." I said nervously. I was screwed. If he reviewed my files he would know that my computer screen hadn't changed the entire time and that I must have been asleep. My heart began to race as I downloaded the data to an external driver. I would not be able to cover up my mistake. My only hope was that he would not review it and I would get a pass. The last guy, though, was killed within the hour.

  I clicked through the file saving procedures and watched as my entire shift’s worth of data was collected and moved to the external driver. Each file moved from one image of a box to another on my screen.

  "James," Peter said as he peered over the cubicle.

  "What?" I asked, distractedly, not having time to deal with him now.

  "I saw that you were sleeping and went over and put your monitors to auto-scan. You should be alright if he checks the file." Peter smiled warmly at me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt that maybe he was a good guy after all.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, I figured if something like that was to happen then it would cover your ass."

  I didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Peter. I appreciate it."

  "Yeah, no problem," he said as he slumped back into his cubicle. I could hear him whispering, but I couldn't make out about what.

  The next thing I heard was the marching footsteps of security agents entering the room, along with Captain Troy. "Officer James Kyle, you are under arrest for dereliction of duty while monitoring the terroristic activities of persons known as "Outliers". This is an enormous security risk for our country, and in doing such, you have proven yourself to be a non-supporter of our President, Caleb Fulton. You are hereby condemned to die by execution. Please rise," one of the security men said with a sneer.

  I looked around and could see many of my coworkers staring at me. I felt like I was no longer in my body as I looked at each face that beheld me with condemnation. I was shackled and led from the room, but I looked back once more to see Peter staring at me, a grin on his lips. Captain Troy moved over to him and shook his hand, patted him on the back, and praised him for turning over one of his own.

  The streets were empty outside when they led me to the open courtyard. There was no ceremony for a traitor’s execution. I would not be allowed to say a few last words. I was no longer considered a citizen of the American Union. One of the guards pushed me to the ground and I knelt, facing the ground. My thoughts drifted to the diner I had been in earlier. The waitress and her wink, her loneliness obviously turning her into an outwardly sociable person who craved companionship. I understood her at this moment as the cold stock of the rifle pressed against the back of my head. I understood a lot of things in that moment. We were no longer a free people. We were now slaves to a dictatorship which oppressed a people who were once strong. We were defeated. We were no longer what we wanted to be.

  The rifle shifted slightly when the man pulled the trigger. It barely moved, but, I felt the tickle at the base of the neck just before an intense heat radiated through my body. Then I was no more.

  6

  STEPHEN O’NEIL

  I could taste the bile from my stomach as I left the President in his quarters. Looking back, I could never have imagined I would be standing here today. When Mr. Fulton's people approached me years ago, I thought it was just for a TV spot, like a commercial. Little did I know that I was to be the face of cultivated slavery.

  I tried desperately to push my fears aside before I was exposed to the elements of the media. The last thing I needed was to have my image plastered to the media outlets with a look of sickened fear etched across my face. I didn't want one of my children to suffer because I had failed them. I had seen firsthand the way Caleb Fulton, the real Caleb Fulton, handled his supposed adversaries by destroying their loved ones. He enjoyed the suffering of others as much as he enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh.

  I swallowed hard and took a deep breath before opening the main doors into the lobby area. Of course, the flashing bulbs of the cameras lit the room, and the media staff clamored for more information about the most recent executive order which had resulted in the evening's recent massacre. I lifted my hand to deny questions at the current time and ascended the stairs to my family's private quarters.

  My wife and three children waited for me in the luxurious common living space that the position as President had awarded us, though my family knew that I was not who I pretended to be. The worry lines on my wife's face had increased since I took this position. She knew the risks and together we shielded our children from the dark reality of it all.

  "What did he want this time?" she scoffed. She could see the expression I was fighting to hide behind my eyes. I found it incredibly difficult to hide my fear in front of her and the children. Luckily our kids were not at an age to be perceptive of such things. Or at least I hoped so.

  "He wanted to discuss the press conference," I answered.

  "What about it? You didn't deviate from the script."

  "He said that I hesitated and showed a moment of resignation which he found distasteful. He believes that I am revealing a weakness which could result in the loss of his reelection."

  "Unbelievable. I wish that he would lose the reelection so we could be done with this," she said under her breath.

  "Don't say that," I said. "You know what will happen then."

  She looked at me with tears in her eyes. "You think this is living? Do you really think that this existence is suitable for our family?"

  I looked down and fought back the anger and bitterness that I felt. "I don't want any of this, but I want my children to at least have a chance."

  We both stared at the TV and watched the program with disinterest. Our kids watched gleefully, unaware of what horror lay below us. And I hoped to whatever God was above that they would never have to become aware of it.

  7

  TRAVIS WILLIAMS

  I had just emptied the syringe in my arm when the shots were fired. The sound echoed in my head for what felt like several minutes, but I knew it was impossible for it to last that long. I was slumped against a brick wall across from the open courtyard in front of the precinct. My eyes were immediately drawn to the splattering of blood as the bullet penetrated and demolished the man's skull. Even from thirty yards away I could hear the thud of his lifeless body against the cement, with the chorus of gunshot still lingering in the air around me.

  I saw the uniform, now covered in blood. He was one of them, one of the onlookers of degenerates and "Outliers" alike. I was both. I craved the freedoms valued ten-thousand-yesterdays’ ago. I remembered being told that the future looked bright. What does a man have to look forward to if his past was brighter?

  I longed for the hand of God to come down and save us all, or kill us all. Either way was more merciful than inaction. I wished I could see my mother and father once again. Their faith had brought them martyrdom. It had brought me depression and isolation. Perhaps instead of a needle to dull my pain I should use a gun, I thought, a generous gift inside a generous world.

  A commotion drew my attention back to the assembled crowd. The body of the man was lifted and placed on the hood of one of the vehicles. The arms and legs were tied to the vehicle, a cross between a jeep and a tank, and the driver paraded it around with a blazing siren.

  I wished at that moment I had found a safer place to get my fix. I knew if I overdosed, one of the officers would call for an ambulance, but what if these military types were aiming to shoot everyone they considered a lower life form. I knew that I would be in the company of the already-dead man ahead of me.

  I tried to hold my breath as I drifted deeper into the effects of my drug-addled high. I kept my eyes open, staring at the ever-increasing distance between myself and the corpse. My focus was intense as I stared, unblinking, unfaltering. I counted my breaths, first by ones, then by twos. Then I was unaware of the world.

  8

  PETER DRAKE

  "Woo!" I screamed with siren blasting to
the stratosphere. The kill shot still rang deep in my ears, but I did not care. I had done my country proud. I had identified a suspected "outlier". If he wasn't, then at least I caught him neglecting his duty. It served the smug bastard right.

  I took a hard right as I drove the military vehicle down the street. I was glad the soldiers offered me the opportunity to parade the body around. It would teach those other ungrateful degenerates not to mess with social norms. I was a teacher if nothing else. No! An educator is what I was.

  "Alright, buddy. Time to come back to the precinct so we can dump the body," Captain Troy's voice came over the radio with a piercing squeal.

  I picked up the mic and spoke, "Yes, sir. I have two right hand turns and I will have completed the block and will park in front of the precinct."

  "Roger that, Peter. I'll let the men know."

  I regretted how short a parade I was allowed, but the military was ripe for unleashing hellfire on anyone they saw fit to kill. I didn't want to test them by putting myself in their crosshairs.

  I made the last turn and pulled in front of the precinct as I was instructed. Several men surrounded the vehicle and waited for me to exit it before jumping in it themselves and pulling out.

  "How'd you like that?" Captain Troy asked after a long drag of his cigarette.

  "It was marvelous, sir," I said with grin.

  "Uh-huh, now get back to your duties and try to track down this Victor Johns character. I don't want to have killed an officer on a night when I don't get to kill one of them damned 'Outliers'. It doesn't make for a productive night in the eyes of the mayor."

  "Yes, sir," I said and left the old captain behind to his smoke and anger.

  Did I regret having James reported and killed? Hell no. Did I now fear the swiftness of the law if I was found unsavory to the administration? You bet your ass.