Incarnate- Essence Page 7

  You aren’t going to get past it, Evita said from my pocket, your best bet is to get caught.

  “That’s a last resort,” I said under my breath as I turned to get back into the shelter, “only when nothing else has worked.”

  An evening breeze cooled the afternoon heat. All the commotion stirred up by the inspection seemed to calm down. Or at least get buried down deep. Laura had ventured out for a while to see if she had any luck finding food and to get a view of what all happened. The sun was already getting low in the sky by the time she returned, baring our ration of a half-gallon water jug from a makeshift well. She also found a tortilla half-eaten by some animal and a jar with a fairly generous amount of dry peanut butter caked onto the inside.

  Akira went about feeding small portions of the peanut butter and beans to Yukiko. The lethargic toddler had only enough energy to make a mildly unpleasant grimace at the taste, but swallowed the food nonetheless. I helped Laura feed some lettuce and the clean end of the tortilla to Masaru before both of us ate what was left. The rest of the evening amounted to more waiting.

  Waiting to die, Evita said. Masaru will go first. Then Yukiko. Akira will die of despair. Laura’s a wild card. She looks like shit, but she still seems pretty spry.

  “Something will come up,” I said, leaning my sore back against the side of the shanty.

  “You have an astounding amount of optimism,” Laura said, sitting next to me, wrapped in her jacket again.

  Both of us held our gaze to our feet where Masaru lay, Akira sleeping right next to him with Yukiko. For once, all three slept somewhat peacefully. All of them were exhausted and malnourished.

  “Either that or I’m astoundingly deluded,” I said.

  “Six of this, half a dozen of that.”

  “It’s not that I expect something to come from on high and rescue us,” I said, “I’m just hoping it does.”

  “Won’t you just forget about all of us within a few decades?”

  “Forget? No,” I said, “I haven’t forgotten anyone I’ve ever known that has died. I wish I could. It would make losing people a lot easier.” I paused a moment, sighing, “But this time was…different, in a way. I’ve had people believe me about my reincarnation before, but I’ve never had it where I could find those people again after dying. There is something strange – but in a good way – about having some…continuity, I guess? – with people across more than one life. It makes it feel like my interaction with people is less temporary. Less…of a waste of time, really. Like, I could die at some point and look forward to meeting up again with people I knew in my last life.”

  “And Sachi?”

  “Sachi…” I pondered, “I really have no idea where the two of us stand anymore. I mean, we share this…thing. But she’s just-”

  “Come with me,” a voice whispered.

  Laura and I both looked to the entrance, startled. Our guide from earlier was there, looking in at us. Despite the cold, he was sweating, looking like he had just been running.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Get everyone up,” he said hurriedly, “I got you a ride.”

  “What’s he saying?” Laura asked.

  Akira looked over at the man in the entrance and stifled a yell, quickly scooping Yukiko up and holding her close. God, I miss the tech. I tried calming everyone down, translating into both German and Japanese – we had a way across the border. Laura was difficult to read, as usual, but Akira was slow, reluctant to trust the man.

  “How is he going to get us across?” Akira asked, still sitting as Laura and I sat Masaru up.

  “I don’t know,” I said, kneeling down, putting Masaru’s limp arm around my shoulder. The sore spot in my back flared up. “He says they’ve gotten people across before.”

  I looked to the entrance, the man looking back and forth between us and the wall. Impatient.

  Who is this guy, though? He claims he used to be a professor, but why is he helping us?

  Once Masaru was up, between Laura and me, Akira slowly got to her feet and started following us. Yukiko waddled unsteadily beside her, small hand clasped in Akira’s. The man looked even more nervous as he started leading us out.

  “How’d you get someone so quickly?” I asked.

  “It was a lucky break for you,” the man said, talking quickly, “he showed up not long after the inspection with a van full of people. Said he had some room to squeeze a few more in. I told him we had some people potentially with access to tech and money and he seemed interested.”

  “That is lucky,” I said, suddenly feeling reluctant myself.

  Above the wall I could still occasionally hear a UAV fly past, the quiet sound of air moving over its wings. Other refugees watched as we walked past, expressions reticent, knowing what we were up to. The darkness made it difficult to see, but ahead, near the no-man’s land was a large van, still running, headlights off. Gathered around it were more people, whispering amongst themselves. A woman stood with her children, pleading with a white man.

  “Please Señor, my children will die here!” she said.

  He was ignoring her, his eyes on our guide as we approached. The whispers quieted when we came into view, only a child’s muffled sobs breaking the silence.

  “These the ones?” the white man asked in an unmistakable American accent. He was wearing some kind of uniform that I assumed meant he worked for the border guards.

  “Yes,” our guide said, “they’ve sustained injuries, but I’m sure you’ve heard of the forty-eights.”

  “Ah,” the American said, raising his eyebrows, “that’s some pretty hot cargo.”

  “We can repay you quite handsomely once we get across,” I said to him in English.

  “I’m sure some of these other people can pay me right now,” he replied in English, “why should I take you instead?”

  “I guess you don’t really have a reason to-”

  A gunshot rang out, the American letting out a yell as he began running back around the van. Another gunshot went off, sending him reeling to the ground. Masaru started slipping from my grip, slouching lower between Laura and me. The crowd started scrambling away as I tried to regain my hold. Akira scooped Yukio up into her arms.

  Three young men stepped forward, none older than twenty, all holding 3D printed pistols identical to the one a guard found during the inspection earlier. Two kids pointed their pistols at us, one at the American writhing in pain on the ground. They were dressed in cleaner clothes than anyone else in the camp. It was difficult to make out their faces, but one looked to have tattoos scrawled on his neck.

  “Back the fuck up,” one with his pistol pointed at us said.

  Laura and I both dragged Masaru backward across the dry dirt, his arms still slipping from my shoulders. He mumbled something I couldn’t understand, even with his face right near my ear.

  “Who are they?” Laura asked, also sensing that they weren’t refugees.

  “Local gang, maybe…”

  Two of them opened the back of the van, still pointing their pistols at us. Inside at least ten people were crammed in, all children. Whimpers of fear squeaked from the dark hold. The two gunmen jumped in on top of them, children’s voices crying out.

  “Don’t make a fucking sound!” one shouted as he closed the doors behind them.

  The third gunmen pointed his pistol at the dying driver’s head and shot, spraying blood over the hard ground. What was left of the crowd scattered, stifling cries of panic. Masaru slipped from my grip, toppling into a pile on the ground as I watched the third gunman get into the driver’s seat. The van immediately took off, flinging sand back from the spinning tires as it accelerated into no-man’s land.

  “We won’t be getting across today, it seems,” I said, looking back and seeing only Akira and a handful of other people still with us. Even our guide had left.

  Yukiko started whimpering as Akira tried to comfort her, rocking the toddler slowly side-to-side. The van approached the wall
, getting close to one of the doors meant for a single vehicle.

  “They’re not going to make it,” Akira whispered.

  I didn’t have to ask how she knew this. Following her gaze to the body of the American, I could see the RFID chip embedded in his forearm forming a subtle bump in his flesh.

  Whoever he was, only he could have gotten us across.

  When the van was only twenty feet from the wall, a whistling sound split the night, followed by a massive explosion as the van ripped asunder in a blinding flash. In the light of the explosion, the UAV’s silhouette swooped back up into the darkness.

  I grit my teeth as the shockwave hit us, ears popping. Yukiko wailed. A few moments later, small chunks of van rained down over the desert. Something wet plopped down on the ground behind me. When I turned, I saw a severed foot, blood trickling out its ragged flesh.

  “They won’t be setting foot in America tonight, either,” Laura said in her deadpan voice.

  Chapter 3

  Masaru remained unconscious, though seemingly less troubled than he was before. Three days passed since the failed border crossing without much else occurring. The refugees continued ignoring us for the most part, which would suit me except it made obtaining food more difficult.

  In that time, I experienced a single split-brain episode. It happened in the early morning just as I was awakening. My left hand started smacking the wood siding of the shanty, causing a ruckus that woke Yukiko. I had grabbed my left arm with my right, trying to hold the defiant limb down until my brain reunified.

  Knowing that the re-merging of my hemispheres was coming had felt almost as bizarre as losing control of my left side. But those times where I never realized it had split had their own strangeness. Remerging would come out of nowhere, thoughts crashing back together without warning, and I wouldn’t know which ones were mine and which ones were the right half.

  They’re both yours, Evita said, you’re the one that makes the distinction to absolve yourself of thoughts you don’t like.

  It was becoming difficult to know which ones were ‘good me’ and which ones were ‘bad me’ because I could remember thinking all the thoughts. And while a unified mind I figured that ‘good me’ was in control, I knew those other thoughts were still in there, somewhere.

  After the episode, I had pulled myself to my feet and went about my morning routine. I visited the latrine trench and then stopped at the two shanties where people who would actually talk to me resided.

  “Rumor mill is that Brazilian naval ships are docking as far north as Altamira,” I said after returning to our shanty, “apparently some people claiming to be the legitimate Mexican government asked them for help.”

  “They’ll probably come for us,” Akira said, idly running her fingers through Yukiko’s hair, the lethargic toddler curled in her mother’s lap.

  “The Brazilian military?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, her eyes remaining fixed at the horizon, “Sachi and the rest of them. They’ll find us and get us some help.”

  I gave Laura a look, but she didn’t understand Akira anyway. Once again, I found myself paralyzed with indecision – be comforting, or tell the truth? The truth was that the border was very large and Sachi didn’t know where we were. Sachi wouldn’t even know if we made it out of the city alive. With all the destruction, and people’s mistrust of Sachi’s crew, it would be difficult for them to find out. And if the Brazilians really were coming in force, it was going to become even more difficult for the forty-eights to remain in Mexico.

  “Until then, let’s keep looking for food,” I said with a forced smile.

  As the morning matured into noon, I continued my routine. I forced Akira to walk with me through the refugee camp, carrying Yukiko. The eighteen-month-old had become very thin, making it easy for Akira to carry the toddler, in her state. Keeping Akira focused proved difficult, but she knew as well as I did that seeing her with the child allowed us to maintain what little sympathy we’d gained from her miscarriage. It had worked well enough that we’d been able to sustain ourselves on a few scraps of food, but people remained reluctant to help after what had happened to Mexico.

  “You’ll be okay?” I asked Laura as Akira and I were about to make our rounds.

  “I won’t fall asleep on the job,” Laura said, “maybe try to bring back a Christmas feast this time. The spirit is in the air.”

  I nodded to Akira and followed behind her. She held the lethargic child to her chest, the toddler’s head hanging listlessly against her mother’s shoulder. It was nearing Christmas time, and my hope was that people were feeling charitable. But instead of ham and candy canes, the smell of feces and body odor permeated the sprawling Hooverville. Instead of Christmas lights, cookfires fueled by dried stool and chunks of rotting shanty decorated the camp. Instead of presents, people exchanged infections and parasites with a generosity nobody asked for.

  And yet I could tell that more people had shown up overnight. The rumor mill – the latrine trench – explained the uptick in new arrivals as people fleeing the arriving Brazilians. I knew that meant many were probably violent, afraid of having to answer for their crimes to an occupying power. Much like the people who hijacked our border crossing.

  But we needed to keep up with our routine.

  “East this time?” I said.

  Akira said nothing, but began walking east. Faint food aromas penetrated the thick musk of close quartered humans as lunchtime approached – a good time to make this walk.

  After almost an hour of walking without a word, Akira said, “Thanks.”

  “Huh?”

  “For being the grownup for all of this,” she said, “I know I haven’t been much help lately.”

  “I am the oldest,” I said, looking to see if she smiled. She didn’t.

  “I hate that I’m like this,” Akira continued, “I’ve never had this before.” She paused a moment and then said, “it’s because of…of my…” she stopped again, slowly shaking her head, then said, “Even when we came here with Sachi and had nothing…I’ve always been the one that didn’t give up and kept going. But now my…now I know how Masaru must have felt. When I was in surgery all that time and he didn’t know if I was going to die or…or something. I never knew it could feel like this…all that time I...and now with Yuki.” The toddler’s eyes widened for a moment at the mention of her name before lazily closing again. “I just don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, we haven’t given up yet,” I assured her, “here we are, doing what we can.”

  “Waiting…” Akira said, “For Sachi. Or a ride across the border that might kill us. Or someone to give us food so we can keep waiting.”

  “Sometimes waiting is all you can do.”

  Akira and I kept walking for some time in quiet. She had a withdrawn look on her face, eyes staring over her daughters snarled hair to the ground as she moved. A voice in the back of my mind couldn’t help but wonder about the tech she had implanted in her brain.

  Is this Akira in despair, or has the tech been damaged?

  I tried to push the thought out of my mind. Akira was supposed to be the sane one. Laura couldn’t sleep and my brain would sometimes split.

  I need to focus on something else…

  We strode through winding paths between shanties and tents. People gathered together around fires to cook what food they had and talk in low voices. There had been an increase in the amount of graffiti around since more people began arriving. More than I would have expected expressed pro-forty-eight sentiments. Yet, with all the praise for the forty-eights emblazoned on the sides of shanties and abandoned vehicles, it remained underground. Nobody came up to us to claim allegiance. Nobody sang praises to our faces. Everyone we met regarded us with ambivalence, too fatigued to take sides in a dirty war. But I knew it was for their own protection. To claim allegiance would make them targets. For the local gangs, for the Brazilians, for the border guards, and for the aggrieved relatives of the dead and lost.
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  But these are the people who must be part of the movement. The people who must have skin in the game. These atrocities happen on the other side of the wall from the CSA and PRA, so they don’t care. Why should they? It won’t affect them.

  If they had to live with the long-term consequences of their actions…

  As Akira and I walked, we were approached by four children. One held out a can of corn to Akira, a shy look on his face as Akira took it from him. She smiled at the kids, giving a slight bow as they ran off. Akira’s smile had appeared genuine, but it quickly faded as the kids ran away. We continued walking.

  For those kids, this life is probably all they know. And they depend on the very system that hurts them to make things better, because that is all they will ever know. People in the CSA and PRA suffer under their governments, yet turn to their governments to make things better. The people in Mexico suffered under the cartel, yet turned to the cartel to make their lives better. The people in the Democratic Republic of the Congo suffered under the Chinese and Indian occupiers, yet looked to them for assistance.

  They have to realize that the system will eventually hurt them. That a system that will be as beneficial a thousand years hence, not just useful now, will-

  “I hate this!” Akira shouted, standing in position.

  “We’re all trying to-”

  “I can deal with death and suffering,” Akira continued, “but not how I’m feeling. I need to get to…I’ve never felt this goddamn helpless and I hate it!”

  “Uh…”

  Her outburst drew attention. A crowd began gathering. Yukiko scowled as if she wanted to cry but didn’t have the energy to actually do it. Akira sat down in the dirt, holding her daughter close and started sobbing.