G Hopf - Driver 8 - A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

“That one sounds nice,” Melissa answered.

Loud banging came from the door.

“You stay in here, let me see who that is,” Portia said getting up and going to the front door. “Who is it?”

The door burst open striking Portia, causing her to fall backwards onto the floor. Guards raced in, rifles at the ready. “Portia Grant you’re under arrest.”

Melissa emerged from the bedroom to see what all the noise was. A guard spotted her and yelled. “Take the girl into custody too.”

“Leave her alone,” Portia yelled now on her belly as a guard cuffed her.

Melissa stood clinging to her doll as a guard walked over and picked her up.

Cuffed, Portia was pulled to her feet. “Where’s Number One? He put me here.”

The guards remained silent.

“Talk to Number One, he knows I’m here,” Portia yelled.

Barry walked into the room. “Hi Portia.”

“Who are you? Wait, you’re Number One’s son,” Portia said. “Tell him what’s happening, please.”

“Unfortunately, that’s now impossible on account of your husband murdered our dear leader,” Barry explained.

“That’s impossible, Kyle is dead, your father told me this morning.”

“You must be confused. Your husband is very much alive and my father is very much dead. I was with him when Driver Eight came into his office and gunned him down in cold blood.”

“Impossible. Even if Kyle was alive, he’d never kill Number One, never.”

“Again, you’re mistaken. He did kill him,” Barry said. He cleared his throat and continued, “Portia Grant you’re being arrested for high treason, conspiring to murder our dear leader and kidnapping.” Barry looked at Melissa and said, “Take her back to her father. Tell him she doesn’t have the virus and that I expect his loyalty."

"Are you sure?" the guard asked.

"Yes, you see, I’m merciful," Barry laughed.

“Why are you doing this?” Portia cried.

Barry gave Portia a toothy grin and said, “Take her away.”

The guards escorted Portia from the room.

Knowing he needed to proceed rapidly, Barry turned to the lead guard and ordered, “Call a mandatory gathering for first thing in the morning. We need to give the residents of The Collective swift justice.”

“Yes, sir.”

The other guards left leaving Barry alone in the room. He walked to a large window and looked out on the picturesque scenery of the sloping mountain. The ski runs that once graced the north facing slope could still be made out, though they were overgrown with thick vegetation and small trees. The high speed quad which used to ferry happy skiers to the top sat silent. For Barry it represented a by gone day, a reminder of a time that had run its course. Not far from the quad sat the magic carpet lift used for new skiers to access the bunny slope. He remembered riding that for the first time when he was six, life was happy for him then, though his father and mother both spent most of their time working, leaving him to sit alone in his room playing. His dad took him out that day after his first ski lesson. He was so happy to be spending time with him, and proud to show how good he was after one lesson. But it was fleeting, he never went again after that and six months later the world he knew ended. It was ironic he called an old ski town home, since he couldn’t even ski. But who skied anymore? He rose his chest high and smiled for everyone had underestimated him. From Kyle to his father, he had outmaneuvered everyone. Soon he’d get his payback against Kyle for the disrespect he suffered from him. Once he was gone, he’d take full control of The Collective and lead it the way he saw fit.

A loud clang woke Kyle. Groggy, he slowly opened his eyes and looked around but saw nothing. Shuffling feet stirred his curiosity. He sat up and to his surprise saw it was Portia being escorted down the walkway. He got to his feet and briskly walked to the end of his cell. “Are you okay?” he asked, his arm dangling between the bars hoping to touch her.

She took his hand in hers and said, “I’m fine. I’m so happy to see you. I was told you were dead.”

“Move along,” a guard barked and shoved her.

“You hurt her, I’ll…”

“You won’t do anything Driver Eight, just shut up and sit down,” the guard mocked taking Portia by the arm and placing her in the cell next to Kyle.

When the guard disappeared, Kyle called out, “Portia, are you there?”

“Yes.”

Six inches of reinforced concrete separated them. Though they couldn’t see the other, they could hear.

“Kyle, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out,” he answered.

“I’m so sorry, I got you wrapped up in this. It’s all my fault,” she moaned.

“Stop it, this has nothing to do with you. These was a scheme by Barry to take control of The Collective.”

“Is it true Number One is dead?”

“Yes.”

“And is it true you killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I wish I could see your face and hold your hand,” she complained.

“The fault is mine, if I hadn’t been on the road all the time, this wouldn’t have happened,” he said.

“No, it’s my fault,” she countered.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. We’re in this situation, but I’ll figure something out,” Kyle said hoping he could find a way to reassure. While he gave her hope and an optimistic appraisal, deep down he knew their situation was almost untenable.

“He told me you had been killed. Why would he do that?” she asked.

“Because that’s what his plan had been. He wanted me dead so he could have you, that’s how simple this is. One man’s desire for another man’s wife has set off a chain of events that finds us behind bars and…” he said then stopped from finishing his thought.

“Are we going to die?” she asked.

“No, I will find a way,” he replied.

She wanted to believe him but just couldn’t put all her feelings into that prospect.

They sat and talked for what felt like hours. Though he reassured her, he talked in ways to let her know how he felt just in case there was no way out of their situation.

“Do you remember when I slipped on our wedding day?” she asked.

“Do I? I felt so bad for you. I’ll say this, you were the most beautiful bride that I’ve ever seen, falling or not,” he replied.

She paused, her thoughts went to the one question she’d never gotten him to answer. If there was a time to answer fully, it was now. “Who was Tiffany?”

He sighed. Thinking of how to answer he attempted to blow it off. “Now isn’t the time to talk about that.”

“Actually, there’s never been a better time,” Portia fired back.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But I do.”

“Why?”

“I know you love me, but sometimes I feel I wasn’t or maybe even was never your true love. On the night we were married, just after you fell asleep you had a terrible dream. You were thrashing and calling out her name.”

“I told you before, I knew her before the war.”

“Did something happen to her?”

Thoughts of that day came rushing back. He could see her smiling face punctuated with those deep dimples on both cheeks. Her green eyes with the yellow specs and that auburn silky hair she often had pulled into a long pony tail.

“Kyle, are you there?” Portia asked.

Her question jolted him from his daydream. “Yeah.”

“Did something happen to her?” she asked again but this time more delicately.

Sensing Portia was not going to take no for an answer, he said, “Yes.”

“What?”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”