The Earth is My Prison Read online

  25.

  The Visitor's room was filled with men proposing to their girlfriends. All I could think about was Olivia. By not telling Sophie about what happened was I tricking her into marriage? If I told her how would she react. Would she understand? Did people understand stuff like that?

  I looked around at the other men and women around me. They all looked so happy, as if they had the manual for life hidden under their beds.

  Then she was sitting across from me and I smiled despite what was going through my mind. Sophie. Everything I did led back to her. She looked at me with a mixture of love and trust that was entirely wasted and I wanted so badly to tell her the truth.

  “Hey, Soph”

  “Hey, you! How are you?”

  “Good.”

  “You look a little worried, something up?”

  “Oh, everything, you know me.”

  “Yeah,” she said, smiling kindly.

  “The Effort,” I lied, “same as everybody.”

  “I don't care about everybody, just you.” She put her hand to

  the glass. "So, you’ll never guess," she said.

  "What, honey?"

  "I stood up to Veronica! She was lording it over me like she always does. I just turned to her and said: ‘you know what Veronica...’”

  She was talking very fast, like a child back from school, telling their stories. The proposal, I thought, better not forget. I fidgeted with the ring in my pocket.

  "That's amazing." I said. “You’re amazing.”

  She blushed.

  We eagerly smudged the glass with a kiss. “So, that’s my news,” she said, “what’s yours?”

  I couldn’t speak so I just showed her the ring. She didn’t say anything either, just nodded and started crying. Tell her, a voice said, now is the time.

  “Let’s wait till after the Effort, it’s more traditional that way,” she said.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I have to go, talk soon.”

  “Bye, Soph.”

  The buzzer sounded, telling us we were out of time.

  ~

  Looking back, I don't know why I didn’t tell her. Maybe things had never gone right for me and I didn't know how to handle it. Maybe I just wasn't a good person.

  The next morning I got the letter I knew would be coming. I lowered myself under the Panopticon and read it.

  "Dear Chris,

  You've soured our love

  I never want to see you again

  Sophie."

  It's a special feeling when you destroy your life. A body bag of pure depression covered me from head to foot and zipped itself up. I would remain inside it for some time.

  26.

  Work intensified as the day of the Effort came near. Every no-striped man became more fragile and more dangerous. I had an overwhelming urge to lie down on the floor. I wanted people to come up to me and ask what was wrong. Sophie would hear about it, see how badly I was suffering and forgive me. But it was too late for that.

  I could picture what happened, Sophie had gone to the Boneyard, probably to get something nice for the wedding, she’d been getting all excited, the way she did, and let slip the name of the man she was getting cuffed to.

  Then the whore, through some womanly sense of duty, had broken her code and told her about me. I was mad at Olivia but not really. For if I had told the truth, it wouldn’t have mattered that she heard it from her.

  Sophie would have denied it for a while. The dream that we'll find someone to make us happy runs deep. But no matter how hard you try to get rid of the truth it keeps coming back, like Cancer. He could see her sitting down to write the letter with the determined will that comes from a freshly broken heart.

  I hated myself, for getting things wrong, for or not being a better liar and I was angry at Sophie, for loving me.

  Underneath all that was another feeling. Relief. Getting a stripe, getting married. None of it mattered now. The game was over.

  The Panopticon turned slowly towards my cell. I got up, dropped my pants, and mooned it.

  Nothing happened. No alarms went off. No one shot me. Nothing. Probably no one in there, just a mechanism they didn't know how to switch off.

  27.

  I went to the canteen. I was too late to get served but I went to the front of the line anyway, cutting right in front of the striped men. This is what I'm on earth to do, I thought, feeling crazy and alive, like the joker in the pack.

  ~

  I woke up in Solitary, my body one big bruise.

  It wasn’t too bad, I reflected, if I’d had a book I would have been content. I was about to doze off when a high-pitched wail filled my tiny cell. It was the air raid siren that signalled that The Effort had begun.

  I had missed the Effort as a teenager, being locked in Solitary, but the images from when I was a kid were still etched in my brain. I remembered Kawalski, the innocent looking marine, confetti raining down around him, the people cheering, his shy look as the women kissed him.

  I looked through the letter-boxed sized window in my cell. Prisoners were racing by, trying to get to their stations. The Effort hadn't been expected for a few months so panic levels were high. Paul was one of them.

  "Paul!" I shouted.

  He stopped. I could see his body twisting towards the Siren, answering the call of childhood programming.

  "What’s wrong, Tag?"

  “You gotta get me out of here, man!”

  “Are you crazy? I can't do that?”

  “Why not?”

  “I could get in trouble!”

  “No one's gonna know, man, look at this chaos, you think anyone's gonna notice I'm not here?”

  There were two Pauls. The Paul who wanted to follow the rules and do well in life and the other one who was my friend. They were duking it out.

  “You're really gonna try to escape?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was no one in the corridor but us. I had protected Paul when Barton wanted me to give him up. I had been his friend when no one else wanted anything to do with him. I wondered if that counted for anything.

  He took the security card that dangled around his neck and passed it over the lock. The door slid open with a satisfying "Whoosh."

  "Good luck," he said, and ran off into the rising storm.

  ~

  I had no idea how I was going to escape but if anyone knew it was Moss. I picked up a box to look less suspicious and ran towards the Green.

  ~

  "Who goes there?"

  It was Moss. He was on the same bench where we had shared our Dr. Pepper. It felt like years ago now.

  "Shouldn't you be in the yard for the Effort?" I asked.

  "Once you've seen one you've seen them all,” he said, “What are you doing here?"

  "Escaping,” I said.

  He laughed at that.

  “Escaping, I see. I better help you then,” he said, getting up. He led me over to his shed. He opened the door and I saw it was full of food.

  "For your journey."

  "Why didn't these go to the Effort?" I asked.

  He took out a potato that resembled the Elephant Man.

  "Irregular shape."

  He handed me a battered old knapsack and I stuffed it with as much food as I could. Moss had a few books on his shelves, mostly about growing. There was One Straw Revolution by Fukuoka and a funny little booklet called Government Super-Trees and You. I left them there, reasoning agriculture wouldn’t be high on my priorities.

  There were tools in the shed too. He handed me a Garden Buddy™ multi-tool. In its basic form it looked like a red stick with an adjustable black ring at one end and a metal cuboid at the other. Using nano technology it could be adjusted to take on the shape of different tools. Moss twisted the ring and the metal end took on the shape of a spade.

  “This should come in handy,” he said, slipping it into my bag.

  ~

  “Come with me,” I said to Moss.

 
“No, I’d just slow you down.”

  To my surprise he took off his shoe and sock, revealing an artificial foot. He unscrewed it and waved it defiantly.

  “You didn’t believe that story about falling off the wall, did you?” he asked. “No, I used to go on my own excursions. They took my foot for it, but they didn’t get my secrets.”

  He drew me a map, showing a secret entrance at the end of a corridor where the old Psych Ward used to be.

  “That will take you outside the prison,” he said, “the entrance is covered over but you should be able to find it.”

  I couldn't believe what was happening. Was I really thinking of leaving the place that had been my home all my life? I decided the best thing to do was keep moving and not think about it. I thanked Moss and got ready to leave, not wanting my window of opportunity to close.

  “Tag,” he said, “just to warn you, you may not like what you find . Here, take this.” He handed me a small envelope with my name on it. “Don’t open it until you’re far away from here.”

  We hugged each other and then he gave me some find words of encouragement.

  “What are you waiting for, asshole? Run!”

  28.

  Now that I was planning to escape the prison didn’t seem real but more like a movie set someone had made of my life. I got a few suspicious glances as I walked along, but who would take time away from the Effort to stop me?

  "TAG!"

  Oh, yeah. It was Barton, standing between me and freedom.

  "Going somewhere?" he asked.

  "Thinking about it."

  I ran straight for him and feinted right. I threw the box the same way and he reflexively struck at it with his baton while I neatly slipped past on the left.

  "You forgot how I got my name!" I yelled behind me.

  “BASTARD!” He howled like an animal and gave chase.

  ~

  I ran through every part of the Prison but still I couldn't lose him. I tried leading him in circles so he’d get lost. Now I was lost and he was right behind me. I kept turning blind corners, thanking my lucky stars every time I found a door that opened. I was dangerously out of breath and we both knew I couldn’t keep this up forever.

  I crashed through a door into a long narrow room. A shelf of painting supplies mocked me from a dead end. I heard Barton, panting as he ran through the corridors. He had a taken a wrong turn but it wouldn’t take him long to double back. He had my scent now.

  I pulled down the shelves, sending cans and brushes flying, then dragged the shelves over to the door, hoping I could use it as a barricade. I got halfway when I realised how stupid I was being, if I could drag it then how would it stop him? All I had succeeded in doing was making a lot of noise.

  I picked up a heavy paint can and backed up against the wall, gripping the handle tightly.

  My mind was filled with images of what he would do when he found me when my fingers brushed against a groove in the wall. I turned around to see a rectangular indentation, just the right size for a door.

  I picked up a paint scraper and used it trace the edges of the door, digging out the paint. The handle had been removed but using the scraper as a lever I was able to jimmy it open.

  I slipped through the crack and closed the door behind me.

  29.

  The corridor beyond the door was pitch black, I had to put my hand to the cold stone wall and grope my way along. Even Barton wasn't stupid enough to think I had just vanished into thin air so I had to keep moving. My hand found a metal ring in the wall and somehow I knew it had once held a torch. A sickly sense of Deja-vu came over me. I could see people's faces bathed in firelight, screaming viciously.

  I was groping along when a light turned almost blinding me. As my eyes adjusted I could see I was next to a chamber, with a glass wall that let you see inside. There were rows of chairs like for a movie but the only thing to look at was a big wooden chair with straps on the arms. There was something hanging over the top that looked like the thing you use to drain pasta.

  There were black marks on the seat. I got the Deja-vu again, followed by an urgent need to vomit. I sat down in the front row. I could smell smoke but couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The walls were painted beige but underneath I knew they were caked with blood.

  “Got you.”

  Barton. He was out of breath though he tried to hide it.

  "I see you've met Old Sparky. That's where we roasted your Mom, you know."

  I threw up. I couldn't help it. I had always known, about my mother. I had known it in the sense of unfairness I had carried with me since I was a boy. Barton looked at me with disgust. There was no place for feelings in his world. The Prison had taken that from him.

  "You're coming with me back to your cell," I said.

  "Make me," I said.

  I could make out the sound of distant cheering. Kawalski, the Saviour of the Prison, was here. Barton advanced on me with a baton.

  "Are you proud of this place?" I asked, stopping him in his tracks.

  "What?"

  "The Prison, are you proud of it?"

  "What kind of a stupid question is that?"

  "Are you?"

  “Of course, aren’t you?”

  “America is gone,” I said, “and we're all that's left. The worst part of a worse society. The descendants of rapists, murderers and thieves. Why would I be proud of that?"

  He shook his head.

  "I'm bringing you back to your cell and I don't want to hear another damn word."

  He went for me but I rolled backwards over the chair out of his grasp. I jumped over the rows of seats into the area with the huge chair, getting it between me and him. We danced around it in circle.

  My hand was just over the armrest when he went to grab me. I moved my hand and his made contact with the chair, as it did a strap sprung out and tied wrapped itself around his wrist, he yelped in horror.

  He was trying to free himself when a buzzer sounded. We had activated something. A whirring sound from the back of the room made us both turn around. There was a man standing in the shadows.

  Perhaps we hadn't seen him because he was dressed all in black, wearing a black hood. Barton and I watched, our fight forgotten, as he came to life and walked towards us. He moved uncertainly, like a toddler who had just learned to walk.

  He started to walk towards us and as he got closer we could see he wasn't just wearing the hood, it was stitched into his flesh. I had read enough Isaac Asimov to have an idea of what I was seeing. Barton, having no such frame of reference, looked on in abject terror.

  It began to speak, its voice sounded strange like it was being pumped in from elsewhere.

  “Which one of you is the Condemned?” It said.

  "He is." I said, pointing to Barton.

  "What, no!"

  The robot grabbed him at superhuman speed and forced him into the chair. It restrained him with one hand while tightening the straps with another. It moved gracefully, a professional at work.

  If Barton's screams gave him pause he was programmed not to show it. I tried pulling it off him but it was like wrestling with a statue. Barton strained futilely against the straps, all tucked in for his appointment with destiny. There was nothing I could do but watch.

  The robot took out a small needle from his pocket and pricked Barton on the arm. Then it just stood there holding it, staring into space.

  "By the War, it's poison, I'm gonna die."

  “Analysis complete. Criminal Genes identified. Likelihood of Offending: High. Proceed with Execution.”

  "That's bullshit man! What about my lawyer?" Barton was red with indignation.

  It walked over to a switch on the wall. I realised I didn't want to see Barton die even if I had imagined doing it a hundred times myself. The robot placed its hand on the switch and then spoke to the room in a ceremonial fashion.

  "Does the condemned have any last words?" Asked the robot.

  "Say something, anything, I urge
d him. The bible, say you want to quote the bible."

  "Sir, em excuse me, I would like to quote from the bible". Barton said obsequiously.

  “Very well, proceed." Came the robotic response.

  "Yea though I walk through the shadow of Death." I prompted.

  "Yea though I walk through the shadow of Death." He repeated, his voice shaking badly.

  I fed him chapter and verse while I looked for some way to turn the thing off.

  "I will fear no evil."

  "I will fear no evil."

  "For you are with me."

  "For you are with me."

  “You are my, eh rod or something?”

  "You are my...what the fuck, man?"

  “Sorry, it was never my favourite book.”

  "You have exceeded your character limit, may God have mercy on your soul."

  Barton screamed.

  The Executioner pulled the switch.

  Nothing happened.

  "Execution failed, please contact Technical Support."

  "Oh yeah I unplugged the chair." I said, holding up the power cord for him to see. The Executioner stood motionless, he seemed to be powered off as well.

  "You bastard, you bastard." Barton said with obvious relief. "Now, let me out."

  There was a door for prison officers behind the chair which I hoped would lead outside. I pressed a button and it slid open.

  “Tag, you have to let me out, man, it's the Effort.”

  “You can sit this one out,” I said, feeling the joy of the justifiably cruel. “This is a correctional institution, or it was. Take the opportunity to reflect on what you've done. It might even make you a better person.”

  He screamed for my blood until I was too far away to hear him.

  ~

  The passage let me out a few metres outside of the prison. The first person I met was my own reflection in the prison wall. With my backpack and new boots I at least looked the part of an adventurer.