G Hopf - Driver 8 - A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

Portia recognized her. She was Number One’s top assistant and confidante. She went by the name Bravo One. No one knew why she used that name and for a vast majority, no one cared.

Bravo One tapped on the microphone, gently cleared her throat and said, “Years! It took years to build the past civilization.” She paused for effect and continued, “Minutes! It took minutes for the nuclear warheads to destroy it.” Another pause. “But we all know those minutes were but the last minutes in what really took years to destroy. Those bombs didn’t rain down because suddenly the nations of the world decided to destroy each other. No, the war came because of selfishness, because of a belief in self-determination, and because of greed. But out of the ashes came our hero, our savior; he stepped forward and in our hour of doubt and need showed us that the war, that the destruction of the old world was exactly what the human race needed.” She paused took a deep breath and chuckled. “And like a computer when it’s not functioning properly, all it needs is a reboot.”

Several people howled their approval from the audience.

She waited for them to calm down and continued, “Once we came to see that the reboot was a good thing, he set to making a new and strong society. One built on the needs of the many. One where the needs of the individual were tossed aside. He showed us that under the old system we weren’t really free, no, we merely thought we were. In retrospect, we had enslaved ourselves. We were prisoners in a prison of our own creation. Living lives focused only on our own needs while forsaking the greater good.” Once more she paused and took a long deep breath and appeared to get emotional. “I was there when the war came. I’ll admit, I was terrified. I felt certain death was around the corner for me, but then he came. His words brought light to the dark. He filled my heart with hope and I know he filled your hearts too. He gave us the tenents for which our new society was built upon. After many years of working together, we have a thriving community, a collective of singular focused people all working towards one goal, with one purpose. Collective, please stand and welcome to the stage…”

The entire crowd, which numbered in the thousands, rose to their feet. Many cheered, some cried and a few remained silent.

Bravo One turned and pointed to stage right, “The Number One!”

The crowd grew louder.

From stage right, a short and portly man appeared, his arms raised and waving. A single bright light beamed down from above and tracked him as he walked towards the podium.

Portia stood, applauding vigorously in an attempt to look overjoyed to see him but inside her stomach was tied in knots.

Number One reached the podium, gave Bravo One a warm embrace and took his place directly behind the microphone. Bravo One quickly raced off the stage.

One looked out on the cheering audience. A broad smile streaked across his face. His head protruded from the top of the green turtleneck sweater making it look like a small bowling ball sitting on top of a large green exercise ball. He started to wave his arms down, motioning for silence.

Ever obedient, the crowd grew silent and promptly sat down.

He looked from left to right and back to center. He leaned close to the microphone and hollered, “THE ONE FOR THE MANY…!

The crowd shouted, “THE MANY FOR THE ONE!”

His smile grew wider. “Yes, the many for the one, for the collective.”

“Long live the collective!” a man screamed from somewhere in the audience.

“Yes, long live the collective,” Number One repeated pointing at the man before giving him a thumbs up.

Whistles and screams of we love you , rang out from all around the forum.

Number One reveled in the praise.

Portia sat, her entire body now quivering at the anticipation of Number One looking down on her and accusing her of some unknown crime. She’d seen it before so it was possible. She searched her thoughts for what it might be, but couldn’t come up with anything she’d done that violated a law.

“Collective, I call you here this afternoon to give you some good news, some bad news and to give you an example of how a resident should live and shouldn’t.”

Hearing those last words amplified Portia’s fear.

“First the good news. Today we received word from Number Two that a new trade deal with the Rocky Mountain Republic has been secured. This will bring much needed items, mainly medicines like antibiotics here in exchange for some of our crops. Now that we have a surplus in our fields to the west, we can use that to make trades. This trade deal was critical and I am so proud of Number Two for securing this for us,” he hollered. As the crowd roared their approval, he glanced down at Portia.

Seeing he was staring, Portia shifted nervously in her chair. Why is he looking at me? She asked herself.

“Now the bad news. Our surgeon general has reported some unusual cases of an unknown virus…”

The crowd groaned and gasped.

“Settle down, please. Right now we don’t have anything to worry about. It appears this virus effects young children. Sometimes it doesn’t have any symptoms. Therefore, I am instructing the principals of our schools to schedule testing for all children starting first thing tomorrow. I am sorry but we must do this. It is the best thing for The Collective.”

A lot of cross talk erupted from the crowd.

Portia’s self-concern pivoted to the thirty-seven children she presided over. Knowing there would be a new round of testing meant some of the beaming faces she saw six days per week would be gone, forever. Her thoughts then shifted to one student she had grown immensely attached too. Melissa was her name and she held Portia’s heartstrings more than any student ever. had.

Raising his voice, Number One boomed, “Now I’d like to give you all an example of a good resident, a model resident, and then some that have violated the laws of The Collective and must be punished.”

Portia’s heart was beating out of her chest. She began to question whether she should just make a run for it. Her eyes shifted from left to right looking for potential exits and escape routes.

“I feel it is always important when we’re all gathered to recognize a resident that has gone above and beyond. This person has shown dedication to our Collective and without them, we wouldn’t thrive. They perform their duties with professionalism and has demonstrated the core virtues of our great society. Please let me call to the stage, Teacher Seven,” Number One shouted out while pointing to Portia.

A bright beam of light shot down on Portia, who sat in shock at the unexpected announcement.

“Teacher Seven, please, come to the stage,” Number One ordered, his tone jovial.

Portia stood, her legs felt wobbly so she steadied herself before making her first step towards the stage.

“Everyone, please give a rousing applause to Teacher Seven!” Number One shouted.

The crowd rose to the feet and applauded loudly.

Portia walked onto the stage and up to the side of the podium. She gave Number One an anxious look before bringing her gaze down.

“Teacher Seven, please come over and talk to The Collective,” Number One urged waving her over.

She walked over and stood behind the large black microphone.

Number One leaned in and whispered, “Say something, like hello and tell them why you love it here.”

Taking his cues, she did as he suggested. She lowered the microphone until it was near her mouth and said, “THE ONE FOR THE MANY…!

The crowd replied , “THE MANY FOR THE ONE!”

Her nervousness took over as she stood frozen behind the microphone.

One more time, Number One gave her a suggestion, “How happy are you to live here?”