The Rift
The Story (#1)
My vision was never good and at that time I hadn't so much as even tried on a pair of glasses or wore contacts, so it isn't surprising that I hadn't noticed all the tents to the right of the large tin buildings. After we had penetrated the fence (two soldiers dressed in the classic Quelnine camo had taken the I.D.s of our drivers [while snipers stood ready from the towers and the foot soldiers held their rifles on us] before letting us past) the tents are where we headed.
When we got up close, I could see that the fabric used to make them was a tough material I hadn't seen before and they were dark green and covered with the desert dust. They were tents made to beat the elements, but at a low cost.
The vehicles began to stop and the engines started shutting down in a big cluster. The drivers weren't organized about it; they were what you might call "dirt warriors" -- hired guns that didn't require much training to carry out their tasks -- and there was no formality about them. Anyway, there was no need for formality in a base that was as comparatively small as the one we had been brought to. The Quelnine had land, troops, resources, and technology dribbling out their asses and eyeballs.
The driver of our truck swung open his door and stomped down into the sand. He was a giant of man who wore a cap on his head, which matched his other cloths and steel-toed boots because it was the color of desert camouflage. He had a scrunched-up pink face, with eyes sunken so far back in his head that they looked bruised beneath the lids. He looked like The Devil in a military uniform.
"Get down down you fucking ass-faces!" he roared. He sounded like The Devil, too. "Get right the fuck down before I pelt you all with my fucking pistol!"
We all climbed down from the truck bed without saying a word.
"Now line up along the side of the truck, and if any of you little shits try to run, it'll be the last thing you do!"
Other truck doors were slamming shut, and I could see other people forming their own crooked lines even as we formed ours. The Devil-looking Man stood next to us while his eyes scouted the crowd briefly.
There was another dirt-soldier wearing the same uniform and the same cap a few yards further away with his own group of prisoners. He turned and The Devil Man beckoned him over. He nodded, leaned over to his prisoners and gave a few indiscernible orders, and then started walking toward us.
When he got within spitting distance, I could see he was more pleasant-looking than The Devil Man, but not much. Greasy black hair hung in strands from beneath his camouflage hat -- it wasn't long enough to be called long, nor short enough to be called short -- and pimples of all colors and sizes bulged from his face; the red, the white, and the pink. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips.
"What'cha need, Johnny?" he asked, while his dark fish eyes lingered on me and Carson and the five other guys. He seemed to be trying to send us a message with those eyes, but I didn't understand it; I only knew that it wasn't good.
"I need you to lead half of these here recruits into Hut B1 and take the right-wing entrance. The Boss wants you to get them changed into their new cloths before the speech tonight... let 'em get washed up a little if you got time, but make sure you're back in B2 by seven."
"Why aint'cha just gonna take 'em all with you?"
His voice reminded me of a squeaking rat for some reason.
Johnny looked as though he had expected this pointless question, but still appeared a little pissed. "Because, dipshit, I can't keep an eye on all two-hundred of 'em. I don't think any of these ones are stupid enough to run, but The Boss ain't gonna be happy if we have to put some of 'em down, is he?"
The rat-voiced soldier's face was already waxy and white, but I think I saw it get little bit more pale.
"No," he said. "I guess not."
"Besides," said Johnny. "This way it'll be a little faster; we won't have these guys all cramming in at the same time, see?"
"Yeah, I see." he was looking at his boots.
"Good," said Johnny. "I'm gonna get all these guys divided into two groups. Just make sure you got 'em ready at seven, and don't be late."
My vision was never good and at that time I hadn't so much as even tried on a pair of glasses or wore contacts, so it isn't surprising that I hadn't noticed all the tents to the right of the large tin buildings. After we had penetrated the fence (two soldiers dressed in the classic Quelnine camo had taken the I.D.s of our drivers [while snipers stood ready from the towers and the foot soldiers held their rifles on us] before letting us past) the tents are where we headed.
When we got up close, I could see that the fabric used to make them was a tough material I hadn't seen before and they were dark green and covered with the desert dust. They were tents made to beat the elements, but at a low cost.
The vehicles began to stop and the engines started shutting down in a big cluster. The drivers weren't organized about it; they were what you might call "dirt warriors" -- hired guns that didn't require much training to carry out their tasks -- and there was no formality about them. Anyway, there was no need for formality in a base that was as comparatively small as the one we had been brought to. The Quelnine had land, troops, resources, and technology dribbling out their asses and eyeballs.
The driver of our truck swung open his door and stomped down into the sand. He was a giant of man who wore a cap on his head, which matched his other cloths and steel-toed boots because it was the color of desert camouflage. He had a scrunched-up pink face, with eyes sunken so far back in his head that they looked bruised beneath the lids. He looked like The Devil in a military uniform.
"Get down down you fucking ass-faces!" he roared. He sounded like The Devil, too. "Get right the fuck down before I pelt you all with my fucking pistol!"
We all climbed down from the truck bed without saying a word.
"Now line up along the side of the truck, and if any of you little shits try to run, it'll be the last thing you do!"
Other truck doors were slamming shut, and I could see other people forming their own crooked lines even as we formed ours. The Devil-looking Man stood next to us while his eyes scouted the crowd briefly.
There was another dirt-soldier wearing the same uniform and the same cap a few yards further away with his own group of prisoners. He turned and The Devil Man beckoned him over. He nodded, leaned over to his prisoners and gave a few indiscernible orders, and then started walking toward us.
When he got within spitting distance, I could see he was more pleasant-looking than The Devil Man, but not much. Greasy black hair hung in strands from beneath his camouflage hat -- it wasn't long enough to be called long, nor short enough to be called short -- and pimples of all colors and sizes bulged from his face; the red, the white, and the pink. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips.
"What'cha need, Johnny?" he asked, while his dark fish eyes lingered on me and Carson and the five other guys. He seemed to be trying to send us a message with those eyes, but I didn't understand it; I only knew that it wasn't good.
"I need you to lead half of these here recruits into Hut B1 and take the right-wing entrance. The Boss wants you to get them changed into their new cloths before the speech tonight... let 'em get washed up a little if you got time, but make sure you're back in B2 by seven."
"Why aint'cha just gonna take 'em all with you?"
His voice reminded me of a squeaking rat for some reason.
Johnny looked as though he had expected this pointless question, but still appeared a little pissed. "Because, dipshit, I can't keep an eye on all two-hundred of 'em. I don't think any of these ones are stupid enough to run, but The Boss ain't gonna be happy if we have to put some of 'em down, is he?"
The rat-voiced soldier's face was already waxy and white, but I think I saw it get little bit more pale.
"No," he said. "I guess not."
"Besides," said Johnny. "This way it'll be a little faster; we won't have these guys all cramming in at the same time, see?"
"Yeah, I see." he was looking at his boots.
"Good," said Johnny. "I'm gonna get all these guys divided into two groups. Just make sure you got 'em ready at seven, and don't be late."