David Robbins - Atlanta Run

Blade complied.

“Raise your arms straight out and turn around slowly,” the guard directed.

The Warrior obeyed.

“Okay, stranger,” the guard said when the giant had made a complete revolution. “Come here.”

Blade walked to within a foot of the head guard. “Hello,” he said pleasantly.

“Where are you from?” the man demanded.

Obviously, they knew he wasn’t from Atlanta. “I’m from Miami,” Blade replied.

“Miami, huh?” the guard commented. “We get about a dozen from the Miami area each year. What’s your business in Atlanta?”

“I’m trying to find a cousin of mine,” Blade lied.

“You have a relative here?”

“I was told that my cousin lives here,” Blade answered. “Maybe you know her. Her name is Llewellyn Snow.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” the man said. “What’s yours?”

“Jack. Jack Snow.”

“Well, Mr. Snow,” the guard stated, “I’m Officer Connery. And I’m going to tell you how it is. Although you’re not a Citizen of Atlanta, you’re entitled to certain rights by decree of the Civil Council. You have the right to an attorney at any time. Should you violate a law, you have the right to a preliminary hearing within twenty-four hours of the offense. Bear in mind, an accused person is always considered guilty until proven innocent. This—”

“Guilty until proven innocent?” Blade repeated. He had the impression Officer Connery was reciting memorized information. “Isn’t that backwards? Before the war, a person was viewed as innocent until proven guilty.”

Officer Connery studied the giant. “You must be literate.”

“I can read,” Blade acknowledged.

“Be sure and tell that to your Escort,” Officer Connery suggested. “If you decide to apply for Citizenship Status, it will be a plus in your favor.”

“My Escort?”

“Every visitor to Atlanta is assigned an official escort,” Officer Connery said. “The Escort will be with you at all times. After all”—he smiled—“we wouldn’t want you to wander around by yourself and get lost.”

“How very thoughtful,” Blade noted dryly.

“Now where was I?” Connery commented. “Oh, yes. An accused person is always considered guilty until proven innocent. This is because the Civil Rights of the majority outweigh the rights of any one individual.”

Blade listened in fascination, now convinced the officer was giving a standard speech, one delivered by rote to each newcomer.

“If you have any questions, ask your Escort,” Officer Connery said. “All visitors are granted a forty-eight-hour stay in Atlanta. Should you desire to stay longer, you must receive permission. Ask your Escort about the procedure.”

“Will the Escort help me find my cousin?”

“Yes,” Connery answered. “Your Escort is at your service. Anything you need, the Escort will provide. The Citizens of Atlanta want your stay here to be a happy, memorable experience.”

“I didn’t expect such courtesy,” Blade mentioned.

“Those who serve are those who are happy,” Connery remarked as if he was quoting from a book.

“Where do I meet my Escort?”

“Wait over there,” Officer Connery instructed, pointing at the elderly man sitting to the left of the gate. “A patrol will conduct you to the Visitors Bureau in the Civil Directorate in a few minutes. You will be assigned to an Escort there.”

“Thanks,” Blade said, and took a stride toward the wall.

“Just a moment,” Officer Connery declared, holding aloft his right hand. “There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“You must be frisked. Weapons are not allowed in Atlanta. You can declare any arms here, and they will be held until you are ready to leave the city. Do you have any to declare?” Blade hesitated. If he said yes, they would take his Bowies, leaving him unarmed. If he told them no, they might discover the knives while frisking him and confiscate them or refuse to admit him, or both. There were only six, and he was confident he could take care of them if violence erupted. He glanced at the three on the rampart, startled to observe AR-15s in their hands. Where did the guns come from? Chastity had claimed the police force carried black-jacks, which explained the thin leather holsters on the six officers outside the gate. Was Chastity mistaken, or did only the wall guards use AR-15s and she was unaware of it? This changed the entire situation. If he said no and they found the Bowies, they might shoot him on the spot. Better to lose the knives than risk death or imprisonment. But before he could open his mouth to reply, Officer Connery reached out and patted his waist.

“This won’t take long,” Connery mentioned.

The Warrior tensed as the officer’s hands expertly probed his belt and roamed over his black leather vest.

“Most travelers do carry weapons,” Officer Connery remarked.

“Although someone your size might not need any.” He leaned down, his hands pressing against the giant’s pockets, feeling for a pocketknife or a derringer.

Blade casually gazed up at the trio on the rampart.

“The crime rate is very low here,” Connery went on. “The Orientation and Community Directorates see to that.”

“What are they?” Blade asked, girding himself to make a bid to escape into the nearby forest.

“Your Escort will explain everything,” Officer Connery said, lowering his hands to the giant’s knees.

Blade focused on the right side of the officer’s neck. A single, well-placed strike should do the trick.

Connery’s hands hovered inches from the Warrior’s ankles.

There was a sudden commotion at the gate as a half-dozen men in blue marched up to the metal bars. The gate was arranged with the vertical bars spaced six inches apart and with thicker horizontal bars at the top and bottom. A huge, square lock secured the two sections in the center.

“Sergeant Connery! Open up!” a tall man with a clipped brown mustache and short brown hair bellowed.

Connery straightened and stood. “Yes, sir.” He hurried over, produced a key ring from his right front pocket, and unlocked the gate. “You’re five minutes early, Captain.” He grabbed one of the vertical bars and pulled the gate open.

“There were no visitors at the other gates,” the captain commented as he stepped out, his brown eyes raking the giant. “Who is this?”

“Mr. Jack Snow,” Officer Connery answered. “He’s here looking for a relative.”

The captain nodded. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Captain Yost.” He caught sight of the elderly man and frowned.

“Long time no see, Yost,” the elderly man said sarcastically.

“Glisson!” Captain Yost snapped. “I’d given you up for dead.”

“Not yet.”

“What are you doing here?” Captain Yost questioned.

“The usual.”

“Once a leech, always a leech,” Captain Yost declared.

“Is that any way for a Citizen to talk to a visitor?” Glisson retorted.

Captain Yost took a stride toward Glisson. “Have a care, old man. And I do mean old.” He paused. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Sixty-four.”

“Do tell?” Captain Yost grinned and looked at Blade. “We will take you to the Visitors Bureau.”

“Thank you.”

Captain Yost motioned for Blade and Glisson to precede him through the gate. “After you.”

The man called Glisson rose slowly and shuffled forward. “If it’s any consolation, Captain,” he said, “the last thing I ever wanted to do was come back here.”

“Are you becoming noble in your old age?” Yost cracked.

Glisson walked inside, his lean frame stooped at the waist, his shoulders hunched. His brown shoes were cracked and discolored, his tan pants sported ragged holes on both knees, and his olive shirt had seen better days decades ago.