Dell

"Impressive"

Dell

The most complicated set of ties were the last ones: at the feet.  Dell looped the nylon rope through the hole in the tarp protected by brass rims.  The last function the body bag played was as a flotilla.  The speed of the Pan-Atlantic current was a jaunty six knots but it picked up to nearly thirty just before the waterfall, Dell knew.  He went through the blue parade in his head: after the waterfall the body bag would travel 90 miles in a quiet stretch between Bounty Falls National Park and the Broken Head.  Once they reached the fork nine out of ten flotsams would be taken down the western most branch out to the ocean.

                He stood up relieved to be done with the tedious task.  Looking around at nature and the sky he listened to the noise.  Some blue jays crowded around a lone spruce fifty yards away chirping, bickering.  Their chirps pierced the muffled roar of the river far, far below Dell.  When he looked back at the body bag he winced, wondering how the cargo would fair.  “Hold on,” he said and pushed it off before he could hear a response.  This is what they want, they want us to do this, and we are good at what we do. The phrase was all it took for Dell to coach himself around and start walking the way he came.

                The track back to the car was an extensive one.  It had to be.  They were called ‘Takers’ by politicians and TV stations, but Dell figured a better name was Hikers.  He would take a different path each time he smuggled someone out of Newtopia over a forty mile stretch of river, forest, valley, and prairie.  The prairies are the worst part Dell thought as he began to walk.  They were a peaceful enemy to them.  The companions who paid Dell and the Takers to help them would often delight at the prospect of leaving a dark forest for an open prairie expanse.  But for Dell and his colleagues it meant exposure to the sun, animals, and worst of all the Regulating National Resource Department the RNRD.  They couldn’t always evade the RNRD but the exposed stretch of river was too large to be covered completely or fence off.  Hiker is such a better name, the media just wants to paint a negative picture. 

                Dell’s route today took him south-east, a route mostly covered in woods.  It was longer than most but safe underneath the thick dark green cover above.  He stopped at an early checkpoint to manage his supplies which, if rationed appropriately could take him till Thursday.  Today was Monday and he meant to be home by tomorrow night.  Granola bars, fruit, dried fruit, and nuts were bread and butter out here.  Bread was like a t-bone steak and butter was unheard of.  Even back in his home town of Sam’s Town butter was expensive.  He repositioned his backpack and adjusted to the change in weight now placed comfortably against his back.  His strides became swift and long.  The day was fresh and his task half done.  The leafy floor was noisy to him but he still liked their crunch announcing his dominance over this foreign domain.  It was as if a silent ruler had stopped to watch him.  And that same ruler had held back his evil forces out of both fear and admiration.

                As the sun lowered and the first hint of dusk bled though the leaves Dell’s fatigue hit him all at once.  He looked at his plastic wrist watch and saw that it still said two thirty two.  The watch stopped working Saturday when his dad had grabbed him.  “Look son,” he said grabbing Dell’s wrist, “We’re the only ones who can do this.  We can do it well and everyone wants out.  There’s a war going on,” Dell knew the conflict in Europe was what his dad was bringing up, “but people don’t want to sit back like cowards.”  Dell then heard the crunch of the watch as his dad squeezed tighter, the smell of whiskey and bran on his breath. “Don’t let them drown.  Tie the knots tight.  The Americans will be there waiting for them in the Atlantic.” 

The last phrase echoed in Dell’s head as he admired a strange rock formation.  How could the Americans be trusted?  What if they weren’t there and all those people we send out just to end up drowning?  Where did this rock come from?  Dell investigated the rocks now in front of him not remembering the formation on the way in.  He moved to the other side and saw that they were covered in moss, thick as his dad’s chest hair.  He likely would have thought them a tree earlier that day.  He moved around it again, admiring the smooth surface of each.  The largest stone was brown marble that was wider than he could reach around and three times his height.  “Impressive,” he said out-loud.  More than anything he wanted to know if somebody made it and if so, who?  Was it an obelisk of the Grey Skins across the river?  The Grey Skins or Greysians were nomadic mostly to the area across the river and passed the mountains.  They were the only nomadic people who didn’t make peace or war with the Europeans when they arrived in 1415.  They didn’t have too; they were so inaccessible they didn’t have to worry.  Europeans didn’t stay long since most tribes had already developed hard metals equivalent to European copper and iron.  Total conquest of the large island nation between Africa and America would’ve been unlikely and costly.  So the Europeans left years later though some stayed and blood was mixed for the first time augmenting the skin color of typical Newtopians to a lighter shade. Little was known about the Greysians as the Newtopian tribes fought their own bloody conflicts for dominance.  But in later years sole explorers would make brief contact with the remote people. 

Maybe they had been here at one time but had to flee across the river for protection, Dell hypothesized.  He had always like stories about their cultures and beliefs.  Rundell, his older brother, had said the stories were all bullshit because the Greysians killed and raped and stole just like the rest of us.  “True,” his father had yielded, “They are humans just like the rest of us.”  He felt the stone and felt a welcomed chill run down through his body.  He heard something moving suddenly and turned only to stagger.  His vision was blurring but the noise was getting closer.  He got out his blunt knife he used to cut the rope but knew his defense was meager.  His gesture was mundane and the figure that approached him was anything but.