“Some of us. There’s a team that operates south of here, run by a guy named Jacob. He targets slavers just for fun. Me, I’m here to make a buck. I don’t ever do work for a slaver but I keep to myself and do my jobs. Nothing more. Are these people here total scumbags? Yep, but I just look the other way unless you’re going to pay me a shit load of gold or legit currency.”
“Aren’t you mister morality,” Kyle quipped.
“If I had to be the moral conscience of this shithole world, I’d be in a fight every five minutes,” Tommy joked.
“I heard you guys have to kill a puppy or something before joining?” Kyle joked.
“Don’t pay attention to all the rumors, we’re not a cut throat as people say. Nah, I’m joking, we’re fucking worse, we’d sell our own mothers if we could make a buck,” Tommy joked
“Weird that you’re Leviathan and I’m a Driver and that we’ve never crossed paths until now,” Kyle said becoming a bit nervous as the thought that this encounter wasn’t coincidental. “Listen, I should go. Great running into you. If you ever find yourself at the gates of Collective Prime, ask for me.”
“I will man, I will. How crazy to run into you. A long way from the mean streets of L.A.”
“Yep,” Kyle replied nodding his head.
“What are the odds we were both gone when it all went to hell,” Tommy said referring to them both being on vacation when the war started.
“Where were you, wasn’t it like Helena or something?” Kyle asked, his eyes darting around the room.
“Good memory, yeah I was in Montana. Thank God it wasn’t a target. And you?”
“I was in northern Colorado, like you, miles away from anything.”
“Yeah, that’s right didn’t you have some girlfriend up there and you’d volunteer at the summer camp she ran?”
“Something like that,” Kyle said not wanting to think about those days.
A strange man approached Tommy.
Kyle casually placed his hand on the back strap of his pistol.
The man didn’t even give Kyle a glance, he leaned in and whispered something to Tommy. Tommy’s eyes widened, “I’ll be right there,” he said to the man who quickly walked off. Tommy pulled out a notepad, pen and jotted down a number. “Here’s my sat number.”
Kyle took the paper and said, “I’d call you but I need a sat phone to do that.”
“Collective Drivers don’t have sat phones?” Tommy asked surprised.
“I don’t. I’ve found everything else driving the roads but never came across one,” Kyle said a bit jealous.
“They’re not all that. Work half the time. And the battery on mine is becoming sketch, barely holds a charge anymore and the coverage is spotty. I can only guess that some of the satellites are now offline. But when they do work, it’s great.”
“I have to go. I have a hot shower waiting for me. Like I said, if you ever wind up at the gates of Collective Prime, just tell them you’re my friend, I’ll get you in,” Kyle said, again wanting to break away from the reunion only because he was becoming increasingly nervous.
“Ha, you’re the abracadabra to get inside the pearly gates, huh?”
“You can say that,” Kyle said taking a step back, signaling with body language that he was done with the conversation.
Tommy put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder and squeezed, “So good to see you man.”
“Good to see you too, Tommy,” Kyle said, a slight grin gracing his face, an oddity for Driver Eight.
Tommy strutted off.
The woman walked up. “Old boyfriend?”
“Friend from another life,” Kyle replied, his eyes scanning the bar and picking up on more than a few people watching him.
She leaned in and said, “You’re still getting some hard stares. I think it’s time for that shower.”
“Okay.”
“This way,” she said and walked to the red door and opened it. “Shower Two.” She bit her lower lip and pulled down her shirt to expose the top of her large breasts.
Kyle gave her a look up and down and said, “I won’t be needing your services.” Then walked off.
She patted him on the shoulder as he stepped past and said, “I do more than give happy endings, I keep people alive too.” She laughed. “When I save people’s lives they normally say, thank you.”
Kyle waved but kept walking down the hall.
“And by the way, my name is Candace, everyone around here calls me Candy.”
He stopped at a door number two, cocked his head and gave her a look. “Thank you, Candace.”
She laughed and hollered back, “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Portia didn’t like to arrive at the gatherings too early for fear she’d be placed up front or volunteered to help. She waited until she had just enough time to make it and no more.
She cleared the corner of the cobbler shop and saw the forum had a bustling crowd milling around outside the large building. A sense of relief swept over her as she knew she’d easily slip in and snag a spot near the back. Weaving through a sea of people she found herself in a line to go in. It wasn’t unusual to have security placed at the gates going in, it just meant that today, Number One would be here and not broadcasted over the big screen.
The guards searched through bags, patted down and used a magnetic wand to ensure no one was bringing in any sort of weapon. They were also checking identification too, that was very unusual and could only mean they were looking for certain people.
For Portia, none of this was a problem. She reached the front of the line. A swarm of guards surrounded her and began the process.
The lead guard ordered, “Arms up.”
She did as he said.
Another guard ran the magnetic wand over her. When he finished he said to the lead guard, “Clean.”
One more guard came forward and patted her legs and wrists. He too looked at the lead guard and said, “Clean.”
Armed with a clip board, the lead guard asked, “Identification, please.”
Portia rolled up her left sleeve and extended her arm to the lead guard. Just below her wrist was a tattoo with her job and number, just beneath that she had an RF implant.
The lead guard looked at her wrist, and with a handheld scanner, pointed it at her wrist and pulled the trigger. The scanner peeped. He looked at the screen and glanced at his clipboard.
Portia was growing impatient. All she wanted to do was go inside, find the furthest spot from the stage and just zone out.
The lead guard looked up from his clipboard and to his subordinate. “She’s marked alpha, take her to the reserved section.”
Hearing this, Portia’s eyes widened with fear. “What does that mean?”
The guard who had patted her down looked at her and simply said, “Follow me.”
“No, what does that mean?” she asked not moving.
The lead guard leaned in and growled, “Go with my guard, now.”
“But where?” she asked.
“Front row,” he answered.
“Why?”
He held up the clipboard and answered, “Because you’re on the list, now go, you’re holding up everyone else.”
Knowing she wasn’t going to win the debate, Portia relented.
The guard escorted her down the long and gently sloping stairs to the very front row. He stopped and pointed, “Seat two.”
She looked at the seat and noticed it was just off center from the podium from where Number One would be speaking.
“Sit, the gathering will start soon,” the guard ordered.
Shaking with fear, she did as he said, her eyes darting around. Everyone around her stared and were thinking the same thing. What was she doing in the front row? The front row was reserved for top tier government officials, dignitaries, VIPs and occasionally prisoners who were going to be used as a prop for the gathering, public executions were common place in The Collective. She was none of those, so she couldn’t imagine why she had been called out. Nervously she sat and placed her quivering hands on her lap.