Sure and Certain Shadows

By H. L. Chandler

Ingrid and husband Russell shared a rough childhood on Kansas City streets. Coming together as teenagers helped them survive. Now adults, they strive to create a decent life. They want 'The American Dream' and are willing to work for it. When Ingrid disappears, their hopes and plans dissolve.

Ingrid always faced reality and managed to deal with it. Suddenly, she has followed a purse snatcher into a parallel universe. Landing in a different time and space, she is unable to understand what has happened. When she begins to accept this alien world, her obsession is to escape, to find a way out and back to Russell. To do this she needs to survive, and staying alive is not easy in American Nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093146

Book preview

Sure and Certain Shadows

wingsElogoclear copy.bmp

H. L. Chandler

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Science Fiction/Thriller

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Jeanne Smith

Copy Edited by: Marilyn Kapp

Executive Editor: Jeanne Smith

Cover Artist: Richard Stroud

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2017 by Louise Chandler

ISBN  978-1-61309-314-6

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

To fiction readers who love to imagine ‘what if?’ Thanks for spending time with this story.

Cicero wrote: ‘Certain signs precede certain events.’

[Lat., Certis rebus certa signa praecurrunt.] For example, the destruction of the twin towers in New York City brought on Congress’ passing the October 24, 2001 Patriot Act.

Cicero’s proverb is similar to a quotation from Thomas Campbell’s Loichiel’s Warning. Sir Donald Cameron of Lochiel is being warned by a wizard that the battle at Culloden Moor in 1746, led by Bonnie Prince Charlie, will fail. This victory of the English over the Scots at the battle of Culloden effectively ended the Jacobite uprising.

Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God will reveal. ‘Tis the sunset of life gives my mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee Culloden’s dread echoes shall ring For the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.

One

The Oak Park Mall was crowded; it usually was on a Saturday, and especially this early April day after a hard winter. Everyone was eager to be out of his home. Ingrid rushed from Nordstrom’s lower level and headed for H & M Men's. Her husband, Russell, had an interview set for Monday with Tabor Associates. There was a middle management opening in accounting. Not the position his degree in engineering had prepared him for, but certainly a step up from his part-time job as salesman in an auto parts store. Which is where he was now and unable to help her pick out something new for him to wear to the interview. They didn't need to listen to the six o'clock news to know how bad the job market was. Ingrid at twenty-seven, and Russell twenty-nine, had hoped to be further along by these ages. Although Kansas City was not the horror of some cities. They had managed to stay afloat with his part-time work, while she signed up with On the Spot, a service that provided temporary personnel to companies. She didn’t mind moving from office to office. It had taken Russell longer to finish college because they didn’t want to build up a debt of student loans. Their pay-as-you-go plan meant more time at work than in classrooms.

As Ingrid examined the shirts and ties, she frowned and bit her lower lip. Fortunately, Russell had a suit, thanks to some scrimping, saving, and a good suit sale. However, should she go strictly business-formal, or a tiny bit casual? First impressions were important. She put her purse strap over the left shoulder of her dark gray Kansas University sweatshirt, and picked up a plain navy blue silk tie. Nothing flashy, yet in good taste. I wonder, she thought.

The inch-wide purse strap began to slip off her shoulder. She grabbed for it, but it slid through her fingers, only half attached to the purse. She whirled to her left... the strap broke, no, cut, and the purse was falling. No not falling. That man, running. Her purse was gone.

She wasn’t conscious of another thought as she dropped the tie on the counter and ran after the thief.

Stop. Stop! she cried.

He looked like a small man or large boy wearing a gray hooded jacket. He dodged and weaved through the crowd of shoppers. Ingrid ran faster, her tennis shoes barely touching the floor. People turned to stare. Some drew back as she stretched out her long jeans-clad legs, arms pumping, and her shouts echoing from storefronts. No one offered any help.

Stop him! Stop him! she screamed as loudly as her lack of breath would allow.

He was about ten feet in front of her. She could see her brown leather purse clutched beneath his arm. He seemed to be trying to shove it under his jacket. She wished his head were uncovered to get a better description for the police. Ingrid drew in mall-warmed air that smelled faintly of popcorn, perfume, and plastic bags. She narrowed her brilliant blue eyes and ran harder. No one was going to help her. A hot ball of anger exploded in her chest. She would not let this son-of-a-bitch get away. The mental cursing almost made her trip. That wasn’t like her. She didn’t curse people. Yet, that purse held the only money for Russell’s new clothes, and a credit card already near its limit. Her rage built and she clenched her jaw. She shot through the crowd, closing the gap.

He headed for the escalator. No, instead he made a wide turn to his left. That would take him out of the mall and into the east parking lot. If he made it outside... she didn’t want to think about that. She was close enough to hear the splat of his shoes on the floor. He glanced back; it was hard to guess his age because of a full black beard. A quick view of his eyes gave her a sudden jolt of fear. They were inky black, and flashed hard and bright with determination. It was almost enough to stop her. Let him have the purse. She could cancel the one Discover credit card, but she wanted her cell phone.

There weren’t as many people in the shorter entrance hallway, with only the Mall Management offices to the right. Was he getting away? Her mouth turned dry and panic replaced her rage.

Help, thief, my purse! she could not yell loud enough. A few people turned in surprise, but did nothing else.

Desperation fueled her speed.

As he slammed into the exit doors, Ingrid was right behind him. She lunged forward, her fingers raking the hood of his jacket. It fell back revealing a head of bushy black hair. Instantly they were through the doors, both outside.

She hurled herself toward him in a wild tackle, her arms wide, a harsh scream in her throat.

Her hands slid down the sides of his legs; she had her hand on one of his shoes. The thief’s foot swung forward and she hit the pavement, coming down on both elbows, and she rolled onto her side. Missed. In the instant it took to jump to her feet, the thief was gone. Now the tears came as she drew in breath after ragged breath. She pounded her fist against her thigh. She wiped her face and looked around the parking lot.

There were no cars. It was late afternoon, almost twilight. Ingrid blinked in surprise. She looked at her watch and shook her wrist. The darned thing had stopped! It had been near noon when he took her purse. She brushed a long strand of auburn hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. She looked to the left and right, not a soul in sight. Nothing but bare concrete and a distant row of dark buildings.

What will I tell Russell? He wouldn’t be angry with her; he’d be furious that no one had helped. More tears came. I’ll just have to go back into the mall and call the police. Russell would need to come with his car keys; hers were gone, as was everything else in the purse. He’d have to get off work for a bit... she looked at her dead watch again. What time is it anyway? Maybe he was home by now. Things were rough enough without this! Anger returned and she shook her head and stomped her foot. Damn, damn, damn. If this wasn’t worth cussing over, she didn’t know what was!

As she turned around toward the mall entrance, she brushed dirt from the sleeves of her gray sweatshirt, and bent to brush the knees of her jeans. It was a second before she realized there was nothing in front of her but more cracked pavement. It stretched away in the dim light to another row of one-story buildings.

The mall was gone.

Impossible! Ingrid slowly turned three hundred and sixty-five degrees. Stunned, her mouth dropped open and she blinked in surprise. She looked again. The scene was the same. She clasped her hands to her speechless mouth, her pulse rapid with shock.

For a moment her mind spun; she grew dizzy and she felt faint. Her legs trembled. She bent over from the waist with her hands on her knees. The blood returned to her head and she held the position as she tried to gain control. After a couple of minutes, she stood straight, squared her shoulders and looked around. Something was wrong but weakness would only make it worse.

It appeared Ingrid was in the middle of a paved square. It looked to be half a block in each direction. To the west, where the mall should have stood, was a long row of one-story brick buildings. To the east was the same. On the north and south sides narrow streets led away to more of the city. The absence of people was worrisome. She needed to borrow a cell phone or find directions to the nearest police station. Abruptly, people began pouring from the brick buildings to the east and west. It seemed as if her thoughts had summoned them. As they hurried out into the square, a loud bell sounded. It tolled six times and grew silent. No one seemed to pay attention to the noise. They rushed on toward the side streets to the north and the south.

Ingrid tried to grab the sleeve of a man hurrying past. As she reached out, he shook his head, frowned, and broke into a slight jog. There were men and women of all ages, even teenage boys and girls. Yet they all had something in common. Each person was dressed in brown shirt and pants with a large gold star on the back of the shirt or they wore gray shirt and pants with a silver star. Both men and women wore sturdy black boots. To complete what could only be a uniform, they all had small-brimmed black caps. As the swarm parted around her and flowed past, Ingrid didn’t try to stop anyone else. This was unbelievable.

She had never heard of, nor seen, any company that used workers such as these. It was a strange and stunning sight. The bell must have signaled the end of a workday. The dying daylight reinforced her conclusion. They must be on their way home. Yet why in such a hurry? Who were these people, and more to the point where was she? As the square began to clear, Ingrid shook off her confusion and headed toward the building to the west. That was where the mall had stood. It was as good a place to start as any. There could be people still in the buildings. Perhaps supervisors who could provide a phone and help her find a way back to the mall.

As she walked toward the center building, the last of the brown-clad workers streamed by. None of them seemed to notice her. When she approached the red brick building, lights came on in the street-facing windows. The double doors of the entrance had a curved lintel and above that, a curved sign that read Shoes People Perfect. She cautiously placed her hand on the section of door to the right and gently pushed. The door quickly yielded and she stepped into a wide entryway. The floor was green tile, shiny and free of any trace of dirt. To either side were offices, each with waist-high walls and above that clear glass to the ceiling. The wooden doors to the offices were fitted with square windows, which seemed unnecessary since half the wall was glass.

She walked a few feet past the two offices, which appeared empty, unless someone was hiding in a closet or bathroom. The rest of the building was one huge work area. Machines of various types stood at precise intervals marking off workstations. From the rear of the building came the roar and grind of what sounded like a large vacuum cleaner. Ingrid turned toward the noise just as a man riding a small floor sweeper came into view. When he spotted her, he slammed on the brake and turned off the machine. For a minute, they stared at each other. The man was wearing the brown uniform with the black cap. He looked to be in his mid-thirties with a medium build and an open, pleasant face, slack with surprise.

Ingrid took a step forward and extended her hand. Hello. I’m Ingrid Wessburn. I wonder if you could help me?

The man’s mouth dropped open. He stepped down from the seat of the sweeper and continued to stare. His pale-eyed gaze traveled from her blue sneakers up to her gray sweatshirt and down again.

She smiled and started to walk to the front of the work area where he had stopped the sweeper. I didn’t mean to burst in, but I seem to have lost my way. I was chasing a thief. He stole my purse. I chased him out of the mall and somehow I’ve gotten turned around and find myself in an unfamiliar part of town.

The man remained speechless.

Ingrid spread her hands in a non-threatening gesture. I won’t bother you further... if you could just lend me your cell phone, or may I use a landline in one of the offices? She tilted her head back toward the office.

Suddenly the man sprang into action. He brought a long, shiny, silver whistle to his lips, and blew a series of sharp ear-piercing signals.

Ingrid covered her ears. Stop that. Please. I mean you no harm, she cried.

As she pleaded with him to stop, the thud of pounding feet mingled with the shrill sound of the whistle. From either side of the center hall and from behind the offices rushed four workers. Two men and two women. The two women were still carrying their cleaning buckets and sponges. All four were dressed the same as the man with the mechanical sweeper. The four new arrivals formed a circle around Ingrid. They each looked as startled and dumbfounded as the first man had.

She turned from one worker to another. Are you all mutes? Can you not speak? I know you can hear because you came at the sound of the whistle.

One of the men on her right squinted a bright blue eye at her. Oh, we speak all right. Yet you might not like what we have to say.

The woman standing beside him shoved an elbow into his ribs. Mighty brave of you, seeing how this is a lone female. I don’t see where she could be hiding a weapon.

The three men seemed to relax a bit at her words. The other woman to the left of Ingrid set her bucket down and took a step closer. She, too, was dressed in the brown uniform. However, her black cap sat tilted to one side and on the other a thick black braid, tied with a brown ribbon, hung past her shoulder.

Who are you and what are you doing here? she demanded.

Ingrid shrugged. I’m Ingrid Wessburn. I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Even how I got here. Look, I don’t want to cause trouble. If you can find me a phone, I’ll make a call to my husband. He’ll come get me, and I’ll be out of your hair.

The five looked at one another. The first man squared his shoulders and nodded to his fellow workers. This is clearly either some security test, or we actually have an intruder in our midst.

The other four gave solemn nods. Five sets of eyes, one bright blue, one pale gray, the others shades of brown, all studied her and tightened the circle around Ingrid. She began stepping backward, edging toward the front entrance. The workers moved with her. They didn’t reach out to restrain her so she kept moving. Just as she came even with the office doors, one of the men moved to the side and slammed his hand against a large red button embedded in the wall. There was no sound. She guessed it was a silent alarm, making it her signal to leave as fast as possible. Who these people were and what this strange place was didn’t interest her. She wanted out of there and away from this nightmare. For an instant, Ingrid’s heart fluttered with the possibility that this was a dream. A horrid dream that was making her slick with sweat and bringing a bitter taste to her mouth.

When she reached the outside doors, the five people stopped a few feet away, barring her way to reentering the work area. That was fine with her. In future, when approaching people for help, she'd be more careful. Maybe this shoe company hired the mentally impaired to do after-hours clean up. She was all for that. It was important to hire the handicapped. Everyone was entitled to a job. After all, they hadn’t hurt her. She probably alarmed them more than they did her. She offered a smile as she backed away and pushed against the doors.

When she turned and stepped outside, bright flashing blue and white lights blinded her. A voice bellowed out of the glare. Hold up your hands. Take three steps forward.

Ingrid shielded her eyes with both hands. What?

You heard me. Hands over your head or we shoot!

A swirl of confusion ripped through her. Nothing made sense. The weapon they pointed at her looked more like a Taser than a handgun, yet the word ‘shoot’ stood out in bold red.

Ingrid threw her hands above her head and cried, Okay, okay. Don’t shoot.

Instantly, two men grabbed her arms and drew them behind her. The click of handcuffs sounded like the clang of iron on an anvil. Her heart pounded hard enough to break. Her legs trembled and blackness descended.

She awoke in the back of a small van with benches down either side. She was slumped on one seat while across from her sat a woman in a green uniform. She appeared to be early forties, with a bit of gray hair around her plain face; a dark green hat hid the rest of her hair. Above the hat’s brim were three gold letters: KPD. Could P and D mean police department? There were two men in the front seats. They were also dressed in dark green. They, too, wore green hats. The woman stared at her. Ingrid struggled to sit up but it wasn’t easy with her hands secured behind her. She swallowed and brought some moisture to her dry mouth.

Who are you and why have you arrested me? she asked.

The woman continued to stare, her gaze dark and hard as olive pits. She seemed to be studying Ingrid’s clothing. Her gaze lingering on Ingrid’s charcoal gray sweatshirt.

When the woman remained silent, Ingrid didn’t speak again. This was all a terrible mistake. She drew a calming breath... no sense in losing control. Obviously they had arrested her, but once she explained it would be fine. Actually, this could be for the best. Someone in authority could help her. She leaned back and tried to relax.

Her three captors didn’t speak, even to one another. The van bounced over rough uneven streets. Ingrid tried to look between the two men in the front seats and see where they were taking her. It was still evening, not total darkness yet. However, at long intervals tall streetlights gave off a sickly pinkish light. She congratulated herself on not screaming and thrashing about as she felt the urge to do. She fought to remain calm. Since childhood, Ingrid could not bear to be constrained. She prized freedom above all. Russell understood this. Thinking of him tightened her throat as she choked back a sob. How angry he’d be to see her treated this way!

She and Russell shared similar backgrounds. Russell’s widowed mother died in a car crash when he was fifteen. He managed to escape social services by staying with his mother’s brother who didn’t relish having another mouth to feed. Consequently, no one paid attention to where Russell went—or what he did.

Likewise, Ingrid spent her teenage years roaming the streets. Her father had left when she was three years old, never to return. Her mother didn’t remarry. Instead, there were boyfriends who never stayed long. Like Russell, she tried drugs when she had money to buy them. By a stroke of good fortune, neither of them liked the drugged sensation. Russell said it simply made him physically sick. Ingrid had another reaction. To her it was like losing control, something taking over her free will. It was too much like the hours spent in the dark, bound with clothesline, waiting for her mother to come home and free her. Her mother claimed securing Ingrid in the closet kept her safe. Never mind that the confinement often lasted half the night. By age eleven, she had rebelled by threatening her mother with reporting the abuse to a teacher. After that Ingrid was free to come and go as she pleased, sharing the house with her mother until at nineteen she moved out. The experience left her with a streak of independence and willfulness that finding Russell had helped to calm.

During their five-year marriage, they had worked to build a good life together, and they congratulated themselves for how far they had come. As she tried to get comfortable on the hard bench, a dark anger settled in Ingrid’s chest. After all she and Russell had done to become decent citizens, now to be thrown in the back of a police van, handcuffed, and treated rudely, Someone will answer for this.

Ingrid glared at the woman seated across from her, then looked back through the front windshield. More red brick buildings and brighter streetlights, but no street signs. She’d hoped to get a location. She didn’t know a part of the city such as this existed. The van made a sharp turn, lurching and bumping as it rolled through a wide gate. It came to a stop, nose into the two-story brick police station.

The woman stood up as tall as the van ceiling would allow. She reached for Ingrid’s upper arm and jerked her to her feet. Ingrid frowned and tried to pull away. The double doors at the rear of the van opened and the two men received Ingrid from the woman’s custody. They marched her from the parking lot to the front of the building where a neon sign announced that it was the Kancis Police Department. Ingrid blinked at the misspelled word. More idiots. The woman followed them into the station, turned to the right, and disappeared down a long hallway. The men pushed Ingrid to the front of a chest-high wooden counter. Behind it, near the back wall, a man sat at a metal desk. He stood from his swivel chair and stepped forward. The short, heavy-set man wore another one of the green uniforms. His green hat sat forward on his head. He squinted up at Ingrid.

This what you found? he asked.

The taller of her guards nodded. Yep. Right there coming out the shoe factory. Is He in?

You bet. Called Him right away when I heard what we was dealing with.

Ingrid jerked back and forth between her captors. Wait just a minute. I’ve done nothing. You have no right to hold me. I demand you free me. Or I want a lawyer, and I want him right now!

The three men raised their collective eyebrows. They looked at her as if she were a dog who had the gift of speech. The man behind the high counter frowned.

You will demand nothing. He looked at the officer on her left. Does she have weapons?

The policeman grabbed her arm and raised it. Nothing but this, what looks like a timepiece.

He slipped the expansion band over her hand and slid the watch across the counter to the fat clerk.

Hey! Ingrid cried. Give that back.

He put the watch into a paper envelope and stuck it into a space beneath the counter.

Take her to His office, said the short man. The two of you wait outside in the hallway. Just in case she tries anything.

With that, he dismissed them and returned to his desk, while Ingrid was marched down a hallway to the left. They stopped at an open doorway.

The office was about twelve feet by twelve feet. A polished wooden desk stood before a large window. The darkness outside, unbroken by streetlights, served as a mirror of sorts. Ingrid saw herself between the two men, her auburn hair wild about her head, her sweatshirt rumpled and pulled up from her jeans, her face a stark white against the black window. A young man got to his feet and came around the corner of the desk. Bookcases lined the walls on either side of the room, and two armchairs covered in a flowered material stood before the desk. Not an overly decorated office, but softer and more comfortable looking than what she’d seen in this strange place.

The young man wore a badge above the breast pocket of his brown and green striped shirt. His pants were solid brown. He was the first one she’d seen who wasn’t wearing a hat, and his blond wavy hair shone in the overhead lights. The two men shoved Ingrid forward and quickly stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind them. At the sound, she glanced over her shoulder before turning back to the man confronting her. His nametag read: Inspector General.

Ingrid stood silent. She raised her chin and hoped her look would kill him or turn him to stone. Either would suit her.

The inspector general leaned against the corner of his desk and tilted his head as he studied Ingrid. His narrow-eyed gaze slowly traveled over her. She felt her face flushing with humiliation and anger. Her tightly clamped jaw ached. He moved away from the desk and came three steps closer. Ingrid turned her head to the side, noticing the nameplate setting on the desk. Inspector General Iren Brickle. She’d remember that name. It was all she could do to keep from yelling at him. She’d not give him the satisfaction of speaking first.

Brickle came a step closer and pointed to the front of her gray sweatshirt. "What is this Jayhawks? Some ugly little KU bird to represent your rebellion?" He began circling her.

She turned with him, her mouth opening in surprise. Who in the state didn’t recognize the Kansas University mascot? It was her turn to look him over.

I am confused, she began. You don’t know the KU mascot?

Brickle had completed the circuit back to his desk. He slammed his hand onto the polished surface. The sharp cracking pop echoed. Ingrid flinched.

Silence! You will not question me, Brickle snarled.

His fury said he was either crazy or mean, perhaps both. A wave of fear cooled her anger. There had to be a way to handle this. Perhaps a soft approach, a distressed, helpless female. Ingrid ducked her chin and mumbled, Sorry. She nodded toward one of the armchairs. Could I please sit?

He gave a curt nod. She made a slow, careful move to the chair, twisting a bit as if to ease the pain of her handcuffed arms. She added a slight moan for effect. When she lowered herself to the seat, she leaned forward and looked up at him with what she hoped was a sad expression.

Please, these cuffs hurt. Can’t you take them off? I promise I won’t run away.

Brickle passed a hand over his lips as if considering the request. He stepped behind the desk, opened a drawer, and brought out a key. Ingrid turned sideways in the armchair to present her wrists. He leaned over and unlocked the cuffs, returning them and the key to his desk drawer. She rubbed her wrists, grateful for the release. Her smile was sincere.

Thank you. Those nearly rubbed the skin off.

Brickle sat behind his desk, opened a small oval tin, and removed what looked like a throat lozenge. He popped it into his mouth, and pushed the tin across the desk toward her.

Do have one, no need to be uncivilized.

Ingrid had never felt more uncivilized. Still, if taking a piece of candy would ease the situation, she would. The small yellow candy looked like a flat lemon drop, right down to the slight sugar coating. She slipped it between her lips and onto her tongue. It instantly began to melt, flooding her mouth with tangy flavor. She’d never tasted anything like it. Brickle smiled at her, his whole attitude shifting from harsh to friendly.

Relax, he said. There isn’t anything that can’t be brought right with the proper instruction. Now, tell me why you are anti-community. I don’t know how you people can believe that living on the edge of society and fighting every advance is the thing to do.

Ingrid did relax. Her mind and body calmed as if she’d had several glasses of wine. Brickle didn’t seem that bad. He looked like a nice guy. He’d probably get the whole thing straightened out. He might even help catch the thief who took her purse. However, first they absolutely must call Russell. She looked out the window behind the desk. The black night filled it like a drawn shade. It was late. Russell would be frantic. Still, he’d be glad she’d found someone to help her. Brickle smiled and leaned forward.

And Russell... is he your co-conspirator? What have you two been planning? Brickle shook his head. You know we always catch you dissidents. You really should simply join the party.

She frowned. Russell is my husband. He is the sweetest man. He’ll be worried about me. Please, let’s call him. She didn’t remember telling Brickle Russell’s name, but she must have.

This Russell, he is someplace near a comset?

Ingrid held a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle.

I don’t know about that, but he keeps his cell phone with him. If I had my purse, I’d use my own to call him. May I borrow your phone?

If we call him, will he come here to pick you up?

Sure, right away. He’s probably home by now and wondering where I am.

Brickle bent forward, pulled open a lower desk drawer, and lifted out a square, black box which he set on the front edge of the desk. He made a gesture with his hand, offering her the use of what he seemed to think was a telephone. The box was about four-inches square and two inches tall. Numbered buttons made white rows across the flat top. She spread her hands and frowned.

I don’t know how to use this.

Brickle smiled. No, of course you don’t. If you know anything about technology, it is only how to receive, never send. Now, simply tell me the district, sector, and house number and we’ll have him here shortly.

Like a fog lifting off a lake, Ingrid’s mind began to clear. Panic threatened to overcome her. She lowered her face to hide the confusion, fear, and growing terror that must show on it. She didn’t know where she was; she’d seen nothing familiar in the past couple of hours. Now she was captive in a weird police station and they seemed to believe she was a type of terrorist. Were it not so real she’d be certain she was dreaming. Could you be dreaming and dream you were not dreaming?

A sweet, lemony taste lingered on her tongue and it told her how Brickle had learned Russell’s name. Yet, he’d taken one, too. Hadn't he? The only thing she could be certain of was that she wanted out. Out and away from this place. She’d find a real phone and call Russell.

Brickle leaned toward her. Not as talkative now? Don’t worry, we can wait. No one is going to hurt you. The policy toward resisters is never harsh. When you understand the benefits to the common good, you’ll be eager to participate. And, you can give us information about how you avoided an identification chip. Brickle shook his head. I can’t understand why anyone chooses to live in the wild when the community meets our every need.

As Brickle droned on, Ingrid crouched low in the chair, her shoulders rounded. She half listened to gain information, while struggling to form an escape plan.

We have considered open amnesty. I myself brought the district commissioner what I considered an excellent suggestion. Give the dissidents a trial period. Let them see for themselves how pleasant life under the Program is. Yet, I suspect he hasn’t passed the idea along to his superiors, and if he did, no doubt claimed it as his own. Still, if it were accepted and tried, I’d be happy. No need to receive credit. It is a pleasure to serve the cause. However, I suspect the commissioner will be far more receptive to the story about your adventure with a thief. How you followed him here.

Ingrid couldn’t help looking up in amazement. He sounded insane, or at the least brainwashed. Insane, could that be it? She’d stumbled into some sort of asylum. An institution where the inmates created their own society. No, that could not be true. If there were such a place, people would know about it. Unless...the government did keep secrets. She shook her head. Now she was being paranoid.

Brickle watched her. I take that negative gesture as a sign that you are not ready to cooperate? Never mind. A night or two in lockup will change that. Guards! he called.

Two

At seven o’clock, the evening bells rang in Section Three of District Eleven. The State of Kancis had twelve districts, the eastern districts more densely populated than the agricultural western districts. Each district was composed of sections made up of manageable populations. Section Three hugged the eastern border of Kancis. The population at last count was one thousand twenty-three souls. Most all employed in manufacturing clothing, household items, health, and hygiene products. To control foot traffic, making it easier for workers to reach home in a reasonable time, the end of the workday was staggered among the different industries.

The shoe factory Ingrid had stumbled into released its workers at six in the evening, while the Renew Furniture Factory let employees leave at seven. Jered Hosner, a tall eighteen-year-old boy with a thin serious face, hurried away from the furniture factory along with his seventeen-year-old friend, Hadlie Maxley.

Come on, Hadlie. Keep up. You need to stop talking to Letty after work. She isn’t interested in you. Besides, I heard the relations office has her set up for Jason, you know, the guy in plastics refinishing.

Hadlie puffed out his plump cheeks and pumped his shorter legs to keep up with Jered. They both wore the gray uniforms of Renew Furniture. The black hat with the company’s silver initials sat far back on Hadlie’s curly dark hair. He turned his blue eyes toward Jered.

You don’t know what you’re talking about. Letty likes me fine. She says my skin is soft like silk. How many girls like that cold, pinched face of yours?

Listen, short stuff, you keep messing around, you’ll get into trouble.

What kind of trouble? I do my work. Slow down, what’s the rush? We’re almost to the square.

The streetlights made pools of yellow every three hundred feet. Section Three had four squares. After dark, each square was flooded with light; even if the surrounding streets had fewer poles, the pedestrians were never in total darkness. To the east and west of each square were businesses, the factories where people worked, and the retail stores where they could purchase the items they made in the factories. A neat system that kept everyone employed and supplied with the necessities of life. Residential streets exited the squares to the north and south.

Jered and Hadlie worked near the last square to the north, and had to walk south on a residential street to reach the next square and their streets beyond that. They had just started across the middle of the square when a Walk Watcher called out to them.

Hey there boys! Hold up a minute.

Jered and Hadlie leaned back on their heels and abruptly stopped. They both turned to see the green-uniformed Watcher catch up to them.

Little late, aren’t you? he asked.

Jered gave Hadlie a hard look. Yes, a little. But we’ll hurry on home.

Hadlie looked down at his feet.

The Watcher squinted at Hadlie. Are you the jasper who spoke out to Letty at the furniture factory? We got a bulletin from relations office over there. Said you might not be following guidelines. Need to keep to the program, young fellow.

Jered swallowed nervously. Can we go now? Being a bit late already, this’ll put us behind even more. What if we meet another Watcher?

Okay, give me your passbooks. I’ll mark em with the time. Show when you were here.

They both dug into their back pockets and pulled out a narrow passbook. The Watcher marked the location and hour in the proper place and handed them back.

Be on your way. Don’t forget to check in on the comset soon as you get into your house. Some of those door recorders don’t send properly.

Jered shoved his passbook into his back pocket and started walking. Hadlie didn’t need prompting to hurry alongside. The distance from the places of employment to the workers’ homes was stored in the official records, along with a complete physical description of the worker including their DNA sequence. Jered lived alone. When his mother died a year ago, he had inquired at the housing department as to where they would place him. It didn’t seem reasonable to leave one person in a two-bedroom house.

However, he was still living alone and it made him nervous. Anything could happen. They could move a stranger in with him, or they might put him in the single men’s community building. That meant a narrow cot and one bath facility for the entire building. He’d also had the thought that they left him in the house because the relations department had plans for starting a new family. Although, thinking of all the women his age, he could not imagine which one they would choose for him. Usually he dismissed such thoughts because generally spouses came from distant districts, or even other states. Something to do with better genetics.

Hadlie lived with his mother, father, and two sisters. The five of them shared a two-bedroom, bungalow-type house. All the houses in Jered and Hadlie’s section were the same. A doorstep directly off the sidewalk, twelve feet between one house and the next, a tiny scrap of backyard with a narrow cement patio where residents were encouraged to have cook-outs. There were no fences between the houses. Privacy was discouraged as it bred suspicion. Everyone was equal. The monthly pay was the same for every type of employment.

As the boys left the last square behind and started walking a side street, Hadlie looked over his shoulder.

I think someone is following us.

Jered stopped and turned to look. I don’t see anyone. Besides, why would they?

I don’t know. Just a feeling and I thought I saw something in the shadows when we went past the last streetlight.

You’re just jumpy. We haven’t done anything. We’re a couple of minutes behind schedule, but if we check in soon there won’t be a problem.

Hadlie shrugged. Okay. I’m going to run the last block after I leave you. I didn’t know my few words to Letty would get splashed all over the place!

Jered shook his head. You should know better.

They reached a corner where they parted. Hadlie had one more block to travel and he took off in a run. Jered’s house was another three blocks away. He continued at a normal pace... not many Watchers out this far from the squares. Most everyone was home by this time, except for a few nightshift people who worked in the shipping yards. They moved raw materials in and finished products out to wholesalers. Jered wouldn’t mind working in the shipping yards. The people there talked to people in other districts, even distant states. Most of the communication was electronic, not face-to-face; still, it would be interesting. More interesting than pushing buttons all day on a machine that molded chair legs!

There were no trees along the sidewalk, no yards, just house fronts with two steps up to the door with a window on either side. Some years ago, in response to complaints, neighborhood control planted a tree in each backyard beside the patio. They all died. The water restrictions caused it. Jered could have told them it would fail. How could you water a tree when the resource committee allowed barely enough water to drink, bathe, and clean the house? He missed his mother. She’d been good at conserving water and knew how to stretch the food allotment. Besides that, he just plain missed her. Some days Jered wished he were dead. He felt old enough to die. He wished he were dead like his older brother, Cade.

None of the windows facing the street had curtains. Housing authority didn’t provide them. The only privacy a person had was after lights-out, which automatically happened at ten o’clock each night. However, some people turned them off sooner. The Watchers knew they did this to gain a bit more privacy, but they didn’t object because it saved electricity. The houses Jered passed with lighted windows revealed the occupants sitting down to dinner or reading, or watching the giant communication screen on the living room wall. They didn’t worry about who could be walking past and looking into their house; they weren’t doing any forbidden thing.

Jered hunched his shoulders, shoved his hands into his pockets, and increased his pace. He would no doubt be five or ten minutes late punching in at his house. Still, there wasn’t much of a penalty, if any. Should the Watchers notice, they might take minutes off his lunch break. Most everyone kept to the schedules. How could they do otherwise? If people came and went as they pleased, it created chaos. Jered halfway agreed. Still, it wore him out keeping