Brigford is not what I had imagined. I knew about the concrete walls erected around large cities to keep in and keep out, but seeing it in person rather than on a screen is jarring. The walls are so high that I have to crane my neck to see the top of them. Along the top of the walls are dozens of intermittent towers manned by at least two Sentinels each. It is a forbidding sight.
We come to an entrance point in the wall and stop as a Sentinel comes forward. His uniform is familiar, like those I have seen throughout my childhood. The only distinguishing feature is the man himself. His square face has a large jaw that seems to flow into the thickest neck I have ever seen. His shoulders are massively wide, and the pads of muscle along his chest and arms make him look almost freakishly big. The deep voice that rumbles from his mouth only completes the picture.
"Credentials?" he gruffly asks.
I am more than willing to let Springer handle this situation and keep my mouth shut as he briefly explains that we have business within the city limits. The guard looks dubious and brings out a portable scanner to verify our privileges. I hold out my arm, almost wishing that we are denied access, but today is not my day for wishes to come true. Within moments we are saluted, and then, what can only be described as the jaws of hell, open before us and reveal the city.
My first impression is one of darkness. It feels as if the sun has been blocked from the sky, and all is in shadow. The buildings are so numerous and so tall that I can hardly conceptualize how many people are meant to live here. As we drive through the winding maze of streets, I notice a distinct difference between those buildings produced by the Company and those of the past. I see brick and stone structures with curves and character that I have not seen before, juxtaposed with structures like elongated modulars from my town. As we pass building after building, I begin to wonder how many people live in this city and how they survive. I see neither factories nor training centers. What does everyone do to earn credits?
As I am mulling this over, my conscious thought pieces together what I am seeing, and I answer my own question. There are no people. The part of the city we are driving through is a ghostly shell. It is with this realization that I look a little harder at the buildings that had so impressed me at first and see the worn facades and the crumbling brick. Windows in both the newer and older structures are clouded with age, and many are simply broken. Clearly, this part of the city has long been empty, and I don't have to wonder about the reasons too long when I see evidence of the decay and desperation in an alley between two of the abandoned structures.
Movement catches my eye, and I turn my head, trying to get a clearer view. At first glance, they look like dogs fighting in the street, an unheard-of sight in itself as the only dogs I have ever seen are those that are part of the DMC security teams. But they are not dogs. They are men. Springer follows my line of sight and stops the jeep, seeming just as interested in what is going on in the dim shadows as I am.
I am unable to see what the men are fighting over until a bottle is suddenly knocked out of a hand, hitting the ground and rolling a few feet beyond the struggling pair. Then I hear a familiar whistle, shrill and ear-piercing, as a Sentinel comes charging down the opposite end of the alley, weapon drawn. The men instantly stop struggling and run for the shadows. They don't make it very far. A bolt of electricity from a taser passes through them, sending them crashing to the ground. Their bodies twitch spastically. I look away, my eyes resting on the bottle. I watch the water slowly leak from it, disappearing into the dusty ground.
Aside from some random security teams and the few pockets of sparse community, we see no further signs of life. When we reach another checkpoint, I begin to realize the city has been systematically downsized. It reminds me of a target, like those I used in training, with rings that ended in the center, the bulls-eye. I wonder what is in the heart of this ghost town.
Passing through the second checkpoint, I see a subtle change in the structures and inhabitants. It is cleaner, newer, and more populated. But it remains clear that this part of the city once held many more people than it does now. I can't help thinking about the newscasts I grew up watching, those images of disease, fighting, and riots that plagued cities. I see nothing of this now and begin to wonder why, but in my heart, I know the answer: there simply aren't enough people to riot, aren't enough people to spread plagues.
I look over at Springer and see his attention focused on a building to the right. He slows the jeep, makes a sharp turn, and heads straight for the wall. My eyes bulge, and my hands reflexively shoot forward, bracing my body against the dash. A scream is about to bubble up when the wall shifts, opening a large passageway, and we dip down into the darkness. I crane my neck and look behind me as we pass through the wall, watching it close and thinking that I have just been swallowed.
The jeep has stopped, and I can see nothing. Springer flips on a flashlight, and as my eyes adjust, I realize that we are in what looks like an old, underground parking lot. Springer looks over and says, "This is the rendezvous point for all of the teams."
"Oh.” It’s all I can utter as my heart decelerates and I work to calm myself.
"Grab your pack, and let's head up to the fifth level." Springer is so matter-of-fact that it immediately puts me at ease, and I hop out of the jeep to get my gear.
I follow him up the first flight of stairs and then see light from outside illuminating the stairwell. "Is this building occupied by civilians?"
He pauses. "There are a few residents on the first floor, but the remainder of the building is vacant. Most of the buildings in the city are occupied in the same way until you get to the epicenter."
"How is it different there?"
Springer stops, one foot resting on the next step. "Have you noticed how empty the city is?"
"I'm not blind."
"But have you considered what this place, the world for that matter, looked like before?"
I nod. "I was thinking about it on the drive in. I mean, if this is just one city that probably had a population that was a couple hundred thousand, then wouldn't the worldwide population have been like tens of millions? I'm guessing at least half died from the drought and wars and such."
"Billions died." He pauses to let that number sink in. "There were about eight billion people in the world when the drought first hit. Today, it's maybe ten million."
The number is staggering. I take in the buildings with a new perspective. "So, how many people lived here?"
Springer cocks his head, thinking. "I'd guess about four million, and I bet there's not even a tenth of that now."
My jaw drops. "Millions of people once lived in this city and now only thousands." Saying it somehow makes it seem more real, but it's still an intangible idea.
"That population makes up the bulk of Brigford. The city's central district, Renascence, has a much smaller populace. I'm guessing just a couple thousand."
I imagine an aerial view of the city with a small community at its heart in my head. "Why is there a separate area within the city? Why isn't it just part of Brigford?"
"It's different there, not like what we're driving through."
"What do you mean, different?" I can tell he's leaving something out the way. He's not looking right at me.
Springer shrugs. "It's hard to describe. I've only seen it once and even then I didn't spend more than a few hours there. It's just different. Newer somehow and…" but he doesn't finish, just shakes his head.
"What?" Why is he being so weird about it?
"It's not important. Just trust me, Renascence is like a separate place within all of this." He hustles me past a large building that's seen better days. "Come on. We better hustle."
There are two other teams in the room. I look each individual over, noting the age, build, and ease with which they sit there discussing an assassination. My stomach churns. It is evident that these teams have done this before, many times. There are three men and only one other girl, a woman actually. They are lean and wiry like us, and their eyes are hard like they have seen too much. My parents always said that the eyes are the mirrors of your soul. When I look into the woman's eyes, there is no soul reflected there. They are empty, devoid of any emotion, lifeless. I am looking at myself in the future, and it frightens me.
Two of the men are Pathfinders, Jasper and Maddox. Jade and Flynn are their counterparts, Sweepers. Each team has taken on a preparatory role prior to our arrival. Jasper and Flynn have been conducting surveillance of the potential locations, while Maddox and Jade have scouted out the best vantage points for the Pathfinders. It is decided that we will commence at one in the morning after intelligence information indicates that the targets would be meeting close to that time. The only information that is unknown is the exact location of this meeting, hence the need for multiple teams. The assignment is simple: monitor identified tracers to location and eliminate all targets. Once the assignment is complete, alert the Cleaners.
Springer and I are assigned to a building just beyond the third checkpoint, on the fringes of the heart of the city. I am eager to go for the simple reason that I cannot bear to be in the same room as the woman, Jade. I can't stop looking at her and thinking about what this job is going to turn me into. It makes me wonder if she was once like me. Did she ever fight this? Did it slowly eat away at who she was until there was nothing left, just the shell I see now? Or did she want to be their monster? I leave all of my questions behind as we grab our gear and leave the building.
Springer leads us through a maze of alleys until we are just outside the third checkpoint. The sky is darkening, but the illumination from the city center casts false light, making it seem much earlier. We duck into an abandoned building and head to the eastern corner of the top floor. I walk to the set of windows that overlooks the checkpoint and the city center beyond and use my arm to wipe away years of dust. Springer is quiet, standing beside me as I look out at the city below.
It is different, just like he said. My eyes swell as I take in what can only be described as a gluttonous mass of opulence compared to the decay just beyond the wall. In the center are paths cutting through green carpets that must be grass, though I can't be sure as I've never seen any that lush. A fountain sits in the middle, where the paths intersect. My gaze feels glued to this sight. I watch, mesmerized, as water gently flows out of it, cascading into a pool. I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from it.
I see people moving about, so many more people compared to the sparse numbers outside the thick barriers. And I finally understand. This is why they are fighting, that nameless, faceless group of people I will be hunting. It is because of this, this small mass of humanity that was somehow selected as the elite, the lucky ones. From the look of their dwellings, they must have abundant food, new clothing, and ample water credits. I bet they don't wake up to dust in their mouths and nostrils and dirt caked under their nails. I feel my hands clenching as I continue to watch life in utopia unfold before me. Resentment builds to anger when I think about Safa. She was violently arrested for using a few cups of water for her tiny garden. Cups! And here, there is a fountain. It is so unfair.
I turn my head, anger making my heart thunder in my ears, and look at Springer.
"I can't do this. I won't."
He looks down at me, his mouth downturned. "You will, Enora."
Rage flows out of me as I swing my arm to encompass the whole view. "No! Look at this! How can I even think about killing someone who wants to fight this? I want to fight it!" Tears of anger course down my cheeks. "How can you just stand there and be okay with this?"
Springer looks out the window. "Because I have to, Enora. Because there is no choice, not for me," he turns to me and looks deeply into my eyes. "And not for you. What do you think would happen to your parents if you refused to perform your duties?"
A hoarse sob escapes as I turn my back on the scene below and collapse onto the floor, my fisted hands wrapped around my head. I am a rat in a maze. Only this maze has no way out.
I don't know how long I have been sitting on the floor, but eventually, I raise my head and look up at Springer, who is still standing at the window, looking out.
"I know how you are feeling, Enora. I felt it too when I saw it for the first time." He looks down at me, understanding reflected in his gaze. Understanding and something else. Resignation and determination. He turns back to the window.
"We have a job to do."
My voice has only a slight tremor as I ask, "Don't you mean we have people to murder?"
His head jerks toward me, shock registering on his face before he wipes it clean, clenches his teeth, and says, "Get your scope set up and then get some rest. You have two hours."
I watch as he walks away and settles himself in the other room. I feel utterly alone and bound in invisible iron manacles that force my hands to grope for my scope and robotically prepare for tonight.