The Courier

It was getting harder and harder for Anthony to keep working. The security was getting more advanced, and the police more brutal. However, that wasn't what angered him while sitting on the train. Anthony watched the redcoat-clad special police pull another woman out of line for further “inspection” in the private interrogation room. His stomach turned as he watched the Redcoats drag this woman kicking and screaming. A woman who had probably done nothing wrong, apart from being poor and brown. She called for help and reached for a rail-thin man and a crying, dirt-covered little girl, who must have been the woman's husband and daughter. Wanting to help with every fiber of his being, it’s what he was trained to do. But that was back when the world made sense.

Back then, Anthony would have been the first man out of that line to fight off these pathetic excuses of human refuse. He would have been hailed a hero by the woman and the community for stopping a horrible crime. But here and now he sat in his seat. Watching but not acting as hands balled into fists so tight he could hear his knuckles crack one after another. A feeling of helplessness took over Anthony as they began to tear clothes from her petite and emaciated body and cup a hand over her mouth to silence her shrill and panicked cries. Still, Anthony sat still, as he remembered the night when similar men in this same station pulled his Kira away. He remembered fighting to pull these brutish hulks off of his wife; her frame, so small in comparison to these men. Anthoney had gotten close enough to grab the gold locket from Kira’s neck before more men in red beat him with clubs and dragged them both into the back room. They made Anthony watch what they did to her as they mutilated his face, shredded his back, and destroyed his knee. But none of the pain compared to what they did to Kira. They made Anthony watch for hours as these monsters did every vile thing you could do to another living thing, and watched them laugh while they did it. He screamed as they mutilated her body. He threatened their lives as they took turns defiling her, and when Anthony saw the far-off and dull look in Kira’s once bright and vibrant eyes he begged these monsters to end them both. Stomach turning Anthony remembered the relief he felt when the Redcoat bastards did finally end his wife.

So, Anthoney didn’t help this woman being pulled away. Because he knew what would happen to those that tried to intervene in the matters of the special police, and no one blamed the husband for standing by. As the Redcoats pulled the poor woman into the room Anthony played with the heart-shaped locket around his neck; Kira’s locket, and the last memory he had of his beloved, twisting it in his fingers.

For now, he had to focus on his work and the package that he was being paid handsomely to move across town. He looked at the box in his lap; its brown paper wrapping and white twine, like a butcher's box from before the Fall. Anthony had moved hundreds of these little packages back and forth across town. They were always the same size, always assuming it was drugs of other Pre-Fall paraphernalia. But this one felt significantly different. The packages were always something hefty, but this particular box was light. It felt as if it were empty, but it wasn’t his job to ask questions. It was his job to move the little boxes from point A to point B as quickly and discreetly as possible.

Anthony vividly remembered the look in the eyes of his client. He was a young man, barely old enough to grow facial hair, but with a scar running from chin to forehead. That look was something Anthony recognized. It was the same look his old teammates gave him before putting a boot through a door to clear a room. The look that said, “What we do is more important than us.”

How long had it been since he was the man who didn't fear death? That young man reminded Anthony just how far he had fallen since the Nationalist Moron had succeeded in his plans and successfully plunged the knife into the back of democracy. Rage blossomed in Anthony remembering the “strong-man’s” trail of destruction. From the random political executions to the culling of the military and police of “non-believers''. His bitter ruminations were cut short by the harsh sound of a billy club on the armrest.

'`Papers?”, the much smaller man in a red coat demanded, with a stern voice. A prideful man flaunting the little bit of power he was able to hold over Anthony. Out of instinct, Anthony dropped the package to the floor between his feet. Pulling the papers from the inside pocket of his coat and handing them over, the officer snatched up the documents, almost ripping the pages. The eyes going over the documents were clerical but lacked the necessary insight to identify the fake papers. The small man looked back at Anthony with an irritation born from his inability to see anything wrong with the documentation. Wordlessly, the officer threw the booklet of papers onto the seat next to Anthony and moved down the line to the next passenger. The crash of the billy club on a new armrest clanged, as the officer collected papers from his next victim. Disgusted Anthony watched the Red bastard holding his authority over perfectly compliant people with twisted joy.

Collecting his papers, Anthony began to play with his locket again. He twisted it in his fingers as he settled back into the seat resting his head and closing his eyes. He remembered a time before when he and his wife walked hand in hand on the beach.

As the train began to move, Anthony was pulled back to reality. He looked out the window as they left the station. The land that was once lush and green was now a burnt husk of its former self. With the bombed and crumbling buildings of The Old Capitol in the background; casualties of the latest, in what seemed to be an endless stream of wars, with what used to be this nation’s allies. More appalling was the new structure that stood in their stead. An oversized palace of gold and precious metals, whose grounds were immaculately kept. Standing in the center of that lawn for all to see stood a thirty-foot-tall statue of the man who now ruled over the country.

Anthony watched as trucks carried cargo and other provisions to and from the palace. His own stomach ached and growled for the stale bread, processed meat, and moldy cheese that the state provided.

The trip passed quickly and without any further incident. When deafening breaks brought the train to a stop. Anthoney rose from his seat using the armrest and his cane for support as he retrieved the package from the floor. Making his way into the river of people as everyone exited the transit building, they were all greeted by the smell of sulfur and gunpowder that hung heavy in the air.

Anthony slowly and painfully made his way to the address memorized from the man with the facial scar and a soldier's face. He studied the apartments and brownstones of Georgetown that were reduced to rubble from the waves of looters and Proud Boys who had run through the streets the first night the country fell. They set fire to the Black, Asian, and Hispanic owned homes in these neighborhoods, often with the residents still inside. The night still gave Anthony nightmares that would wake him in a cold sweat, because he remembered the screaming and smell of burning flesh vividly.

As he rounded a pile of rubble that was once a block of convenience stores, he saw the address. It was an old pool hall that he and many from his unit frequented back in the day. It served cheap beer and always played good music. Anthoney almost smiled for the first time in half a decade. As he entered the establishment and the bell rang, another young man, this one with blond hair, popped his head up from behind the oak bar. Blondie started to wave, but his blue eyes became transfixed on the brown paper package under Anthoney’s arm, who felt so much older next to his young counterpart. The fresh face changed, dropping the mask of a happy worker and resting into the face he saw earlier that day. That same face that said, “What we do is more important than us.” Anthony shuffled up to the bar and set the package down, but he did not remove his hand from the top.

“I have a package,” Anthony said, fixing his own warrior face back at Blondie. “Is Charles here?” He asked with a stern voice. The younger man didn’t reply. He simply nodded and gestured his hand towards a set of stairs behind the bar that led to the basement. Antoney descended the stairs with knees aching, but with a growing purpose with each step. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he rapped on the door with a strength he hadn't felt since his days in the military. The door opened just wide enough for half a face to fill the crack. An angry brown eye set into a black face looked him up and down until settling on the package, prompting the man to open the door enough to stick his head out.

“Are you Charles?” Anthony asked with a soft voice, made of nervous anticipation. This new fierce man nodded and Anthony could see an object over the man's shoulder, on the far wall of the basement. The flag with stripes of red and white and a field of blue with stars in the lower right hand corner was a ghost for the past five years. Anthony handed over the package, and the black man closed the door. He heard a latch slide back into place over the door.

Anthony made his way up the stairs, waved at Blondie behind the counter, and shuffled out of the bar. As he stood outside the pool hall, he grabbed the locket and removed it from his neck. He opened it to look at the pictures on the inside. It was a picture of a beautiful black woman in a white dress, and a young Anthony in his dress blues from over twenty years ago. It was a picture of Kira and him on their wedding day.

As he walked down the street a memory again invaded his mind, of Anthony and Kira on the beach. He was worried about the state of the country, and he was discussing his fears of what the attempted insurrection meant, but Kira wasn't worried. She was never worried in those days, and her words flowed from her mouth like honey, “I know that these times seem dark, my love, but we have men like you to keep us safe from those evil men.” His eyes welled with tears, as he replaced the locket around his neck. It was enough to know there were still young men fighting for something better.