Spring At The Compound

Spring Harvest Festival had arrived at The Park again, the watered down Easter-without-religion distraction they established to keep the peasants of The Compound docile. I paid no attention to their bright banners, light soulless jazz, or the pastel clothing of the milling throng. My attention focused on the brass plaque they had beside the Parrott guns in the Civil War display, far from the central plaza.

The Mayor wouldn't advertise secret tunnels out of The Compound on a map like this, of course, but a trained eye could see certain gaps, or irregularities in the landscape, indicative of a secret tunnel long enough to lead out of my prison's confines. I'd heard rumors of connections with the Underground Railroad, or Prohibition era liquor routes, and wanted to see for myself.

I've made a few attempts above ground, but they invariably fail. Well meaning Compound dwellers called me out, summoning agents with tranquilizer guns. I've stolen vehicles, hid in foliage...I needed a more creative approach.

A masked child in a rainbow striped shirt darted around my legs, snatching a non-Easter-Easter-egg cleverly hidden behind the gun's roller. A second he found in the mouth of the cannon. "Happy Spring Day to you sir!" the child exclaimed before running off. I tipped an imaginary hat.

I at last found the irregularity I sought in the Flower Garden, an asymmetric break in the otherwise perfectly geometric pattern of limestone and concrete. It seemed I would be participating in this farcical celebration after all.

I tried to act unhurried, to avoid attracting suspicion. An armada of waterfowl inhabited The Park's kidney shaped lake. One luxury of having no streets or traffic, I suppose. Ducks paddled by the stone bridge, geese congregating on an island beneath a willow tree.

A crowd had gathered in the amphitheater in the center of the park, ever last person clad in pastel faux-Easter attire. Shirts with eggs and bunnies on them, or Easter egg designs, many of them bearing messages like, `YOU MUST FEEL GUILT,' `FEEL GUILT ABOUT WHO YOU ARE,' `REGRET YOUR RACE' and `FEEL SORROW FOR YOUR GENDER.'   Adults held watery green and purple beers in translucent cups, pulling back their masks to drink like visors on knight helmets. Children had chocolate bunnies and cotton candy, a bright rainbow of balloons.

After living in The Compound so long, I recognized most the faces, but we only talked briefly, or not at all. I trusted no one. Any one of them could have been responsible for my imprisonment, or serving as my jailor.

On stage, a group of musicians played something generic and wordless on electric guitar, double bass and keyboard, the drummer simulating the heartbeat of a coma patient.

Pretending to enjoy myself, I cut my way through the passive mob, intending to casually stroll past the stage to the flower garden.

The musicians finished their set, and The Mayor emerged from a hidden trapdoor beneath the stage, seated in an egg shaped chair. The rotund, goateed man gave a welcoming address, signaled for the color guard to present the colorfully striped snakehead flag of the Unified Government as The Pledge was given:

I pledge allegiance

To the Unified Government of the World

And to the Organization for which it was founded

One Nation

Under the Higher Power, whatever you choose it to be

With Peace, Prosperity and Goodwill to all.

The jazz band had the privilege to play the Compound Anthem. I had reached the end of the stage by the time The Mayor began his first announcement: "Today's Readers Network Story Contest winner is Delilah4, with her lesbian romance, `One Day the Flag will wave for Us!' Delilah4, please come up and receive your trophy..."

Like everything in The Compound, the contest was a distraction to keep the population from contemplating escape. The money and recognition had no value to me whatsoever. I often used it as a forum to dump ideas I would never seriously consider for breaking out of the place. Sometimes it unlocked an idea of actual usefulness. Other forum members sometimes offered alternatives in the form of a critique, though I often looked at them with some suspicion.

On to The Garden.

A beautiful place. Stone gazebo with a walkway where faith-non-specific weddings of all sexual orientations got held, a fountain at center with sculpted seahorses, flowers galore. It took me more than twenty minutes to locate the odd area I'd discovered on the map. Naturally, they'd surrounded it with thorny rose bushes to deter intrusion.

Upon closer examination, I discovered a manhole cover. I frowned when I realized I would need tools to open it up.

"Aren't those lovely?"

I jumped. Someone had noticed me.

I moved on to the rhododendrons, pretending to be intensely interested in those as well. "Why yes! Someone must be working very hard on these!"

The man was bald, heavy set, his baby-like face partly concealed with a mask. I frowned at his tie dye pink YMFG shirt. 

"Each year, a contest winner gets the privilege of planting them all..." The voice belonged to Cannon161, my `therapist.' We talked once a month via phone. After perfunctory five minute conversations, he prescribed my antidepressants, more than likely glorified sleeping pills. "Speaking of which, you seem to have an eye for flora. Would you mind being this year's Flower Judge?"

I eyed the man warily. It seemed like every time I plotted an escape attempt, someone invariably came along and gave me a job to distract me from my task.

Still, cogs began turning in my brain. "Where...would this contest be held?"

He pointed to a small stone building a couple shrubbery rows over.

"Hmm. I'll think about it."

If he suspected my intentions, he did a good job of hiding it. His cheeks rose beneath the mask, indicating a grin. "I think the others would get a kick out of you being Judge. It's so nice to have a fresh set of eyes."

The interior of the Judging Center resembled that of an office building. In a conference room, the young and old had their botany projects laid out on several folding tables, inscriptions of plant names, both in English and Latin, carefully written beneath each one.

I got a special button to wear to show my new designation. I made a good show of being a fair contest judge, carefully weighing the positive and negative attributes of everything form aloe to zinnia. Inside my head, however, my only thought was `When would this pointless charade ever end?'

Once I had all my results tabulated, I returned to the garden for what I hoped others to think an innocent walk around the flower beds.

During the course of my judging activities, I located a few tools useful for the opening of manholes, a crowbar and a screwdriver, slipping the items into my blazer when no one was looking. I now tucked them under the rose bush, hoping the thorns would deter the "Higher Power" from retrieving the items until long after nightfall.

I returned to the building to announce my judgments.

I think I did a fair job. An old woman named Ethel670 got quite a few blue ribbons, and she deserved them for all the effort and care she put in. Mary Lou8, a twenty something, won a couple, and a charming gradeschooler named Lawshanda3 put up some excellent roses. After passing out all the ribbons, they at last allowed me to leave.

Since my investigation of the (presumed) underground tunnel needed to be done under the cover of darkness, I killed time with a hatchet contest, no pun intended. 

To my delight, I actually won, receiving a brand new stainless steel hatchet as a prize. Why they should allow me to keep such a dangerous weapon was a mystery, but I suppose they doubted I could do real damage with it. I've never been permitted to carry firearms.

At The Compound, we all lived in townhomes. Although they came in a variety of colors, they all looked the same, had the same architecture, and if you tried to redecorate, someone would drop by while you were out and change it back the way it was, all forbidden contraband confiscated. They didn't even allow us to have locks on the doors.

With the exception of an attic, basement, study/work office, living room and fully equipped kitchen, they had many similarities to a hotel room. In fact, someone came in every day to wash the sheets and towels. Our televisions only had four channels, all filled with United Government propaganda.

All Compound residents had to obey the 10 P.M. Curfew. Guards with tranquilizer darts patrolled The Park and its surroundings at night. I'd made numerous attempts to to break it, but they've always ended with me passing out and waking somewhere in the townhome.

That being said, I'd recently begun peering out my blinds at all hours of the night, keeping a mental record of guards and their avenues of patrol. I had a fair idea of their whereabouts, the beat they walked, where they expected me to flee...and it seemed as if the path to the Flower Garden lay more or less unguarded.

Everyone at The Compound had a job. Mine was a work-from-home situation where I typed random numbers from an encyclopedia sized book into a computer. Mindless busy work, but I did get paid every time I completed twenty pages. This I occupied myself with for a solid hour after the PA systems played Taps.

At 11 P.M., I peeked through my blinds and saw they had posted a guard already.

As quick as I could, I yanked the door open, pulled the white jarhead into a sleeper hold, and stabbed him with his own tranquilizer darts.

Once the body had been hidden inside the doorway, I grabbed his dart gun and rushed outside, ducking behind a cluster of trees and bushes as a tan skinned second guard came marching up the path. His flashlight swung by, but he didn't see me in the dark.

My little scheme didn't go unnoticed for very long. As I made a mad dash behind a bronze sculpture of The Compound's Founder (no name, by the way, the plaque only read `Founder'), the sirens and search lights came on. German Shepherds barked in the distance. I had to hurry.

Once thing going in my favor: The Flower Garden was close to my house. Although I had to crawl on my stomach to hide behind a low wall at one point, and sprint across an open field with no cover, I didn't get grabbed or shot at. Someone did spot me, but I was concealed by hydrangeas by the time anyone caught up.

Up ahead, at the roses, I uncovered the tools I'd deposited. I thought they seemed to have moved slightly, but it could have been my imagination. Regardless of what happened, I now had them in hand, and in seconds removed the manhole cover.

The barking and shouts got louder. No time to stare into the manhole's depths.

Finding a ladder, I rushed in, securing the lid behind me as silently as I could muster. Only then did I have the luxury of looking around.

I'd entered a concrete bunker. Cold, air conditioned, no furnishings. Loud humming sounds filled the air, like a hydroelectric dam. 

The ladder faced a tunnel that seemed to have no end. This had to be the way out.

When I heard the shouts and barking getting close, I decided forward to be my only option.

I had jogged for what felt like a mile when the sudden appearance of a figure in a Hazmat suit stopped me in my tracks.

I unthinkingly fired a dart into his ABC gear. The material did not seem to be puncture resistant, for he collapsed.

His comrade (also space suited), alerted to the strange goings-on in the hallway, became the recipient of my second dart. Lucky for me, no others came, for I had depleted my ammunition.

My mouth fell open when I glanced through the steel security door the two had emerged from. 

Inside I discovered hundreds of metal canisters, greatly resembling beer kegs, each marked with biohazard symbols and the designation USA. The kegs to my left read `COVID-19', and to the right, `COVID-32-EXPERIMENTAL'.

A loud clanking sound told me my pursuers had breached the manhole cover. Desiring the slow them down, I grabbed several of the kegs, kicking them down the corridor. They rolled quite well, especially when the first black suited soldier came down with her dart gun.

The thickset, mustached man that joined her, however, seemed to be too prepared for my little game of real life Donkey Kong, so I did the only thing I could think of on such short notice, drawing my stainless steel hatchet.

Although I did not aim for the chest, I probably should have, for the results were far more unpleasant.

The can exploded, spraying my Jumpman with shards of aluminum, and a full dose of highly contagious airborne biological agent. He collapsed on the ground, clutching his throat as he gasped for air.

"I Can't Breathe," I muttered.

As I snatched up a gas mask, the woman I had previously dropped to the floor, now resumed standing position, dart gun at the ready. In the course of a few seconds, she would be at my heels, and in range to plug darts into them.

I donned the mask, bolting further down the tunnel.

The corridor terminated abruptly at a locked steel door and a ladder. I had no choice but attempt an ascent and hope for the best. I rushed up the corroded ladder. 

My pursuer huffed through the cloud of pathogen, gaining on me. I noticed her coughing, but it seemed she had held her breath somewhat, or had a greater resistance to the strain, for she didn't collapse like her predecessor.

At first the manhole cover above me didn't budge, but I banged my fists against it a few times and it got jarred loose. Once I had it moving, I received a shower of dirt for my troubles.

The woman was now at the foot of the ladder, aiming her weapon.

By some small miracle, the dart missed, and I made it into the open.

I stood amidst an arid wasteland. Barren, cracked soil, massive plateaus like in the Utah Valley. Although seemingly familiar, I could not say for certain where I was on planet earth. No familiar landmarks, no signs of civilization, only sand and sagebrush for miles in every direction.

I picked an outcrop and ran for it.

A strange mechanical whirring sound made me glance back for a moment. 

When I saw what it was, I ran faster.

My pursuer was something akin to a giant Bumble Ball, a rolling spherical monstrosity covered in stumpy red legs, filled with sloshing translucent ooze.

Try as I might, I couldn't run fast enough to escape its velocity. I let out a scream as it rolled over me, and I got sucked into a mass of goopy wet slime.

The liquid must have had tranquilizers or stunning agents in it, for I blacked out seconds later.

When I opened my eyes, I was on my couch in the townhome, Cannon161 smiling at me from a nearby recliner. "That was very naughty of you. Were you aware that we had cameras?"