Memory of the Color Yellow Book 6-10

By Suzanne Jenkins

Warning, not a stand alone! This is Volume 6-10 in a continuing series of SHORT STORIES. In a society ruled with military precision, a misspoken word has the power to generate enough rage to turn life upside down in a post apocalyptic world on the brink.

Steve Manos and his family live in Europe Town, a segregated area where people of European descent live in the Coalition; formerly the United States. The necessities of life are minimally met by the government and everyone works for the good of the leadership. Life for the people is almost intolerable, but that is when change happens.

The author sends Memory of the Color Yellow short stories to email subscribers in periodic installments.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne Jenkins
• Release date: Jul 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370662722

Suzanne Jenkins

A retired operating room nurse, Jenkins lives in Southern California.

Book preview

Memory of the Color Yellow

6-10

Suzanne Jenkins

Memory of the Color Yellow

The Series 6-10

Copyright © 2016 by

Suzanne Jenkins. All rights reserved.

Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews.

Memory of the Color Yellow is a complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

For information on the Detroit Detective Stories, the Pam of Babylon series, and other works by the author, please refer to the section at the end of this story.

Dear Reader,

This book contains installments 6-10 of the science fiction story, Memory of the Color Yellow, which is sent to subscribers to my email list at suzannejenkins.net in periodic installments. The installments are short story to novella size in length. I hope you’ll consider leaving a review when you’re done reading.

Thanks so much,

Suzanne Jenkins

Character List & Notes

Tiresias (Paradise to the inhabitants) Protected Zone

Steve Manos & Family

George – father

Rose – mother

Eleni – George’s mother-Manula

Stephanie – Rose’s sister &Peter’s wife

Stevie – Stephanie & Peter’s baby

Peter-George’s needy cousin

Steve’s friends

Joe Adams

Paul Antoni

Residents of Europe Town

The Manos Family

Louise Adams

The Polskys-Jane & Edwin

The Antoni Family – Grandfather Antoni – Paul Senior, Candy, Paul Junior

Jim Randolph-a farmer somewhere in the area and Penelope’s father

Inhabitants of Tiresias

Harrison Quigley

Angelica

Penelope Randolph

Security officers

Walkers

Detroit Characters

Buz Graham Irwin’s driver

Irwin Razor president

Briana, his secretary

Ryan Wilde, Chief of Staff

Billie and Connie-government workers

Darleen and Jackie – Steve’s foster parents

Miri and John-Jackie’s parents

Bill Reynolds, Mayor of NYC

Beatrice Ford, Leader of the Northwest Quadrant

Fort Wayne

Colonel Baker – Division chief

Memory of the Color Yellow

–

Six

Chapter 22

Detroit

Irwin Razor sat across the desk from Bill Reynolds and Beatrice Ford, who waited for the proverbial ax to fall. Satiated by the coffee and donuts Brianna had brought him that morning, Irwin chose just the right moment to rehash the issues covered at the general meeting the afternoon before. Biting into the sugary donut, Bill was caught off guard when Irwin attacked.

A big concern is the anarchy you’ve allowed to continue in New York, Irwin said. It’s out of control. My advisers are telling me we should bomb Manhattan off the face of the earth.

Although he’d gone pale when summoned to Irwin’s office after being told the night before that he wasn’t to leave Detroit just yet, Reynolds forgot to be contrite and apologetic; edicts from his wife. Instead, he got defensive and hostile. Putting his cup of coffee on the desk, he was unable to talk without waving his hands.

"Irwin, my people are just as hard-working as your people here, in Detroit. And looking around, it appears you’ve relaxed the standards here, too. Frankly, I don’t see what the big deal is. My people aren’t demanding anything that isn’t rightfully theirs."

Sitting back with his hands at the back of his head, Irwin started at Reynolds, wondering what had possessed him to be combative. Slapping his palms on the desk, he leaned forward.

"Your people aren’t in a position to demand anything. What I see as the major problem is lack of division. Segregation is the key to success in harmony. We’ve proven that here in Detroit. Look around you, Bill. We even have plans to separate Asia Town into Chinese and Japanese.

"Stop with the bleeding heart. The people here are satisfied. They’re obedient. We have zero crime. Zero. Apart from childish shenanigans, this is the safest quadrant in the Coalition.

"Although I could be shot for saying this, if you check history, the former capital and its environs were the worst places to live in the US. The most dangerous. You couldn’t even stop for gas for your car without the worry of getting murdered. Ryan tells me you’ve got a month’s worth of unreported crime. Right there is an insubordination punishable by prison. What’s wrong with you?"

Crime reports aren’t my jurisdiction, Reynolds snapped. Stabbing Irwin’s desk with his finger, he recited a statute from the Coalition doctrine. "It’s within the realm of Council Police to record and report all crime to the head of the quadrant."

Yes, my friend, but you’re the head of NYCP, are you not? Whoever answers to you from that department is not doing his job. Get on your phone as soon as we’re done here and request that reports are updated and sent to my office pronto.

A crash sent the trio diving under Irwin’s desk as the front office door burst open, Briana screaming, No! Gunmen rushed Irwin’s office, spraying under the desk with machine gun fire.

When the gunmen stormed the inner office, Briana grabbed her purse and ran to the stairwell, assuming all was lost. It wasn’t so. After the gunmen rifled through the office, gathering files and stuffing Irwin’s computers in backpacks, they grabbed Beatrice’s purse and left.

Irwin stayed under his desk playing dead, shielding his body with Bernice’s, listening as gunfire erupted again on the floor above him. Another group of gunmen came into his office, looked around, kicking Reynolds, who didn’t move and putting another bullet through his head, just to make sure.

Minutes passed before the explosion on the riverfront across the way rocked City Hall and its live occupant. Heart pounding, Irwin heard the cries of shock and anguish from outside blocking all sounds from within City Hall. Backing up from under his desk, he glanced at Beatrice first, her head under his desk, shot in the back. One of the few people Irwin tolerated, her murder would stay with him, angering him. Next, he regarded Reynolds, not a favorite, shot in the face after he was already dead. But that also angered Irwin, the senseless of it, even though it might be something Irwin himself would have gladly done.

Standing with effort, he moved to the wall between the windows. Thick dust obscured his vision, but enough light got through to allow him to see that anything formerly blocking his view of the riverfront was now gone. Waves of anger flowed through him; where was his team? Surely they weren’t all obliterated; every team leader in the Coalition was in Detroit along with their security teams, someone should have sought out Irwin’s safety.

Opening his desk, he took his handgun and attached it to his belt. There was nothing else to take, his computer gone, he felt for his phone and pulled it out, on the face the words no service an omen. Avoiding looking at the carnage under his desk again, he went out into Briana’s office, checking behind her desk and the drawer where her purse and handgun were kept, but it was empty. Although he felt betrayed that she’d left him, he figured she probably thought he was dead along with the others.

Listening at the door, the rumble of feet on the staircase had diminished. Carefully opening the door he peeked out a crack, a couple in government uniforms ran past him to the exit, the woman crying, being dragged along by the man. He followed them into the stairwell, his knees protesting the pace downward.

Do you know what happened? he asked. The Coalition regime didn’t demand headshots of its leaders be posted in every household, so the couple, younger, maybe fortyish, didn’t seem to recognize him in their grief, or just didn’t care.

Terrorists! the man shouted. We were upstairs, signing in for work when they burst through and gunned down everyone in sight. We were in a cubical and it saved our lives.

What happened down on the river?

I don’t know, the man said, crying. A rocket, maybe.

Irwin nodded. It was a scenario planned for, rockets launched from dissidents in Canada. Unlikely though. Not responding, he just kept descending, trying to make up his mind quickly; to get home or leave town. The rules specified mandatory evacuation, but he didn’t want to leave without checking on his wife first. Leaving the couple to continue on the staircase, he headed to the garage, hoping he’d find someone driving who’d give him a lift. But it was deserted, so he took the ramp down to Jefferson, expecting to see droves of people running to