Americans

Americans

For uncounted numbers of generations they had been working.
Mechanically, without emotion they had been working. They knew of
nothing but work, and that work brings food, and food sustains life.
They did not know
or care for whom they worked. They only worked to live. They worked on
the edge of a frontier. Freedom was so close they could touch it, and
yet they did not. They had no concept of freedom; their vocabulary was
devoid of the very word. For generations they had worked with no one
passing stories down from father to son, or grandfather to grandson.
They had no stories to tell. The stories that told of the old age when
people lived freely and worked for themselves were long forgotten.
Freedom was an unknown, uncertain, and therefore unembraced idea.

The five thirty bell clanged for the fourth time as the last clouds of
sleep cleared out of his mind. Like the rest of them he had no name.
B-7 was his title. He lit an oil lantern and quickly changed out of his
cotton pajamas into a rough denim work suit. All of his clothes had B-7
stitched into the chest and sleeve. He laced up his heavy leather work
boots, and walked out the door of his tiny cell. He started down the
long hallway, passing cells identical to his except for the number
printed on the door. The hallway opened to a large cafeteria where a
line was forming in front of a window. He recognized B-6 and B-8, and
quickly took his place between them.

The Captain of the Guard entered and began checking the line to see
that all were present and in proper order. He said his title in turn
and heard the line of voices continue behind him. "B-8, B-9, B-10, C-1,
C-2, C-4". "Silence!" the Captain roared. "Where's C-3!?" his voice
shook the silent room.

"I?I saw?him," C-2 began timidly.

"Speak up, mole!" the Captain ordered. He gave C-2 a back-hand slap
that sent him sprawling.

"I saw him in his cell at five thirty, sir," C-2 said quickly as he
wiped the blood from his lip.

"You there, B-7, run and check if he's still there. Report back to me
in two minutes."

"Yes, sir," B-7 said as he jogged quickly back into the hallway,
wondering why the Captain chose him to check on C-3. It seemed as
though C-3 was never where he was supposed to be. He was always
daydreaming about a concept he called freedom. Many times he had tried
to explain it to B-7 and the rest, but it made no sense. There could be
no time when a man doesn't work, or works only when he wants to. It
went against all of the most obvious rules: you work, you obey the
officers, you get fed. You work good, you get promoted, you get to work
less. That's all there was to it.

B-7 came to the cell labeled C-3, and knocked on the door. There was no
answer. He tried the door and found it unlocked. C-3 was on his knees
bent over looking intently at something on the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" B-7 addressed him.

"I'm leaving," was the reply.

B-7 ignored his answer. "Do you have any idea what an officer would
have done to you if they had to come and get you?"

"Well, you're not an officer, are you?" C-3 came back.

"Yeah well, the guys waiting in the cafeteria are."

"I don't care. By tomorrow morning I'll be miles away from
here."

"Stop talking nonsense, you fool. If you leave where will you get food?
Why don't you come to breakfast."

C-3 faced him for the first time. "You don't understand what they're
doing to us in here. Don't you realize that there's something out there
besides this."

"All the land west of this station hasn't even been settled," B-7
countered.

"That's my point. Why can't we be the first to leave this work dump and
live freely for ourselves."

"Yeah, well, why don't you just walk right out, but don't come to me
for a way to get past the Guard." B-7 had had enough. "I don't care
what you do; I'm going to breakfast."

The Guard was made up of all the moles who had worked just hard enough
to get promoted. They were given authority over the moles, and they
worked less, too. The authority that they had they hardly deserved,
and, therefore they abused it horribly. They treated the moles with no
respect and were as rough as possibly. More than once a mole was
unjustly shot by a gun entrusted to a member of the Guard.

"Wait a second," C-3 said as B-7 turned to walk away. "Let me show you
this." B-7 wanted turn down the hallway and report back to the sergeant
on time, but C-3 had captured his curiosity. C-3 picked up the a sheet
of paper from the bed. That was the object at which he had been staring
so intently. "This is a plan, my plan." he said. "This is how I will
free myself from the endless labor of this place." He handed the sheet
to B-7. He studied it for a moment, and then his eyes suddenly popped
wide. He understood the whole plan, but he couldn't believe it.

"You're crazy, man," he said shaking his head. "You're crazy."

"Hear me out this last time," C-3 pleaded. "Just answer one thing for
me. When was the last time you did something that you wanted to
do?"

B-7's head seemed to spin. "Why did he have to ask that?" he thought.
"Why me? How come I had to be the one to check on this nut?" His mind
would not let him ignore the question. "When was the last time you did
something that you wanted to do?" he asked himself. All his life he had
been working under the command of the higher officers, the physical
force of the Guard, and under the threat of starvation which held the
entire system together and forced everyone to work. Never had he done
anything for himself or his friends and family. He served only the
officers that were above him. As a young boy he had worked in the
kitchens and laundry rooms with the women. When he was older he carried
water from the river to the men who were mining. And, now as full-grown
man he mines the copper from beside the huge waterfall. He had been
mining for three years now beside the huge cataract that was the
boundary of human civilization and the beginning of the uncharted,
unknown frontier.

"I think I understand," B-7 said thoughtfully.

C-3's face brightened. "Then you'll help me?"

"I?" he paused. "I don't know."

"I not asking you to come with me. I just need your help."

B-7 looked at the plan. "What do you want me to do?"

When B-7 and C-3 returned to the cafeteria the line had already begun
to move. "That took six minutes, mole," the Captain said to B-7. He was
staring down at the two of them with his arms folded across his
chest.

The Captain was a master of intimidation. He was all over every mistake
he could find in a mole. His back-hand slap was used so often that it
had become a trademark to him. The Captain knew that if people feared
mistakes than they would avoid them at all costs, therefore creating
peak efficiency among the workers.

B-7 knew he was in trouble. "I'm sorry, sir. I tried to get
here?"

The Captain grabbed the collar of his shirt, and with one hand lifted
him off the ground. He slammed him against the wall, driving his fist
into B-7's chest. "When I say two minutes you be back here in two
minutes, got that?" the Captain said through clenched teeth.

B-7 nodded and whispered, "Yes, sir," with what little air he could
get.

"I can't hear you!" the Captain yelled with a smile on his face. B-7's
face was turning a deep red. He moved his lips, but no sound came out.
The Captain laughed and threw him down to the floor. B-7 lay on the
floor with his eyes closed. He heard the Captain start to yell at
C-3.

Later that afternoon the moles were working routinely under the
supervision of the officers and the relentless watch of the Guard. The
richest copper deposits were found deep in the soil around the river.
The easiest and least expensive way to get to the copper was not from
above the ground, but from the side. This was done by hanging a man
down from the edge of the hundred foot drop-off which caused the river
to form the massive waterfall. From that position the miners, or moles,
could dig into the rock face around the waterfall.

B-7 stood in the hot afternoon sun with a rope in his hands and another
tied around his waste. The rope attached to his waste led to a pulley
which directed the rope downwards over the edge of the ravine. At the
other end of the rope C-3 hung swinging his pick axe into the rock in
front of him. To his left and slightly below him hung a large wooden
barrel half full of copper ore. A rope tied to a metal loop on the
barrel led to B-7's hands. When the barrel felt full he hauled it up,
nailed the top on, and carried it away to the storage house.

After a little while the next barrel felt ready to go. He jerked the
rope, and the barrel came up with it. As he picked up the cover and the
hammer he noticed something in the barrel. It was a small scrap of
paper that read: "Next Load". He nodded to himself, nailed the top, and
carried it off to the storage house. He brought back an empty barrel
and tied it to his rope. He let it drop slowly until he heard C-3 shout
that it was low enough. The monotonous chink of metal on rock resumed,
but the barrel remained empty.

After a few more minutes the barrel suddenly gained about a hundred and
fifty pounds. The rope tied to his waste went slack. B-7 hauled the
barrel up onto level ground. B-7 looked into the barrel. He could see
the top of the C-3's head with the rest of the body huddle deeper in
the barrel.

"Are you ready to go?" B-7 whispered.

"Sure. Try not to make it look like you're talking to a barrel." C-3's
voice was calm and quiet.

"Just one more thing," B-7 said. "How are you going to get out of the
barrel once I nail the top on?" There came a rustling from inside the
barrel, and the tip of a crow bar stuck up over the rim of the barrel.
"Good thinking. Here we go." B-7 said as he picked up his hammer and
laid the cover on the barrel. He swung the hammer and hit a nail that
he was holding to the cover. He did it just the same as he had done
hundreds of other barrels, the same thing he had been doing for the
past three years.

With the barrel all loaded and ready to go, B-7 began to trot towards
the storage house as if it were an ordinary barrel full of copper ore.
When he got to the house he glanced around. The coast was clear. He
sprinted to his right. The river was about twenty yards away. When he
got close enough to the river he heaved the barrel over his head and
sent it spinning out into the middle of the white water. "Good luck,
you nut." he thought to himself as the barrel headed towards the huge
falls.

"B-7!" the voice came from behind him. He cringed. The snobby, arrogant
voice tone told him it was a member of the Guard before he even turned
around. He dashed for the storage house without looking back at the
person behind the voice. He heard the guns of the Guard fire the
instant he moved. Dirt popped up all around him, but nothing was
dangerously close. "Lousy shots," he thought as ducked into the door of
the storage house. The only good place to hide was in the empty
barrels, so he hopped into one and pulled the cover his head.

In a moments time he heard the Guard enter and start throwing the
empty barrels. His barrel shook violently.
It had been kicked. A voice from above him said "I think I found dumper
boy. If dumper boy thinks he can dump our copper, I think we can dump
him." The shack was filled with cruel, roaring laughter.

"It wasn't that funny," B-7 thought to himself as the barrel was
elevated. He was jostled about for a minute or two, then they stopped.
"One!" he heard, and the barrel swung forward. "Two!" and it swung back
again. "Threeee!" He could feel himself free falling and then...Splash!
Icy water seeped through the cracks in the barrel. His stomach twisted.
He was in the river being pushed along by the swirling currents toward
the hundred foot drop-off. His heart jumped as the water under the
barrel seemed to disappear. The seconds seemed like an eternity before
he hit the water, and then he did. The barrel smashed to pieces as it
hit the surface of the water with hundreds of gallons more being poured
onto it. He lost consciousness as he was shoved deep into the swirling
waters by the force of the falling water.

Air! He felt it rush into his lungs. He flailed his arms about and
caught onto a large floating object. He hugged it tight, and pumped
lungfuls of the sweet air in and out of his body. He felt his feet
touch ground and then his knees. He was about to toss the thing that
had been floating him when he realized what it was. "C-3!" he shouted.
A side of the barrel burst into splinters. Two hands grabbed the edges
and smashed apart the rest of the barrel. C-3 sat amidst the splinters
with a huge grin on his face. "C-3, you're alive!" C-3 looked at B-7
with the most shocked expression on his face. B-7 hardly noticed.
"You're I alive! I'm alive! We're both alive, and free!

"You...here...what's.... What's going on?" C-3 was still shocked.
"I'll explain a little later. For now, let's get away from the river
and dry off."

The two men walked away from the rivers edge deeper into the uncharted
and unsettled forest. The first night was a cold one. They had no fire.
The next morning the started a small fire by striking C-3's crow bar
against a rock and making sparks. The added to it all day and soon
built fire large enough to last the night. They drank from the river,
and finding forest plentiful in nuts and berries, they started to build
up a store of food.

C-3 sat with his back to a tree, eyes closed, warming himself by the
evening fire.

"What do think we should do now?"

"Well, what do want to do?" C-3 asked with a wry smile, his eyes still
closed.

"I think we should go back," B-7 said solemnly.

C-3 sat up and opened his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't think it's right that we sit down here and live of the
fat of this beautiful land while there are hundreds of other people
working like zombies just a mile away."

C-3 sat thinking for a long time. "I know," he said finally. "I knew it
deep down when I was making the plans for my escape that I couldn't
just leave my fellow men to live out in a beautiful wilderness like a
hobo. I knew it the whole time that we would have to go back and at
least try to free the rest. What good is it if one or two men get a
taste of freedom when the rest of the civilization does not understand
the word?"

"That's what I've been thinking," B-7 replied. "We need to free to the
rest of the workers, and we need a plan to do it."

A week later in the complete darkness of a cloudy night two men jogged
quickly up the side of the gorge about forty yards down from the
waterfall where it was less steep. A ring of light encircled the
compound where the Guard stood on watch with their lanterns. The two
laid down to wait in the tall grasses just outside the range of the oil
burning lanterns. After about fifteen minutes the Guard started to walk
back in the direction of the compound. The two men followed close
behind. The lanterns were blown out and darkness completely engulfed
everything. The members of the Guard handed there lanterns and guns to
others who had just come out of the building. The fresh watchmen
refilled the lamps with oil as the tired ones filed into the building.
The two men filed in with the Guard just as the lanterns were
relit.

Inside the building B-7 and C-3 continued to follow the Guard. The
Captain of the Guard unlocked the door to the hallway where the Guard
slept and they all entered.

B-7 and C-3 followed the Captain as the other members walked off into
their designated rooms. The Captain opened the door to his room and
stepped inside. B-7 and C-3 heard the lock click. They nodded to each
other. B-7 rapped on the door as C-3 stood beside it with his crow bar.
The heard the click again. The door opened with such force it sent B-7
to the ground. The Captain did not want to be disturbed. It took a
second for C-3 to react. He swung the bar at the Captains head. The
Captain caught C-3 by the wrist and pulled him off his feet. With his
other hand he pointed his shotgun at C-3's head. B-7 was back up, and
he charged into the Captain, ramming his shoulder into the Captain's
chest.

The Captain stumbled back a few steps, and pointed the gun at B-7.
Before he could fire C-3 hit to him with the crowbar. The Captain
dropped to the floor unconscious.

C-3 grabbed the two guns that were in the room while B-7 got the keys
to the cells. They followed the hallway to a corner. C-3 snuck his head
around the corner. "The door to the living quarters is guarded," he
whispered. B-7 walked out past the turn and pointed his gun at the
guards chest. The poor guard was stunned. Feeling that the entire mole
population was upon him he dropped his gun and tried to escape through
the locked door. When he finally realized he couldn't, he ran off the
other way. B-7 and C-3 looked at each other and shrugged.

Back in the Guard's hallway a member grabbed his gun and walked into
the hall. He looked around for something that would have made the noise
he heard. Seeing the Captain's door open he went to check on him. When
he found out what had happened he sounded the alarm and soon the
building was full of armed men.

B-7 and C-3 cringed at the sound of the alarm. "We can't do anything
now, let's just try to get out of here!" B-7 yelled over the ringing
bells. C-3 nodded and they both sprinted down the hallway clutching
their rifles. They reached a door before anyone reached them.

"Locked," B-7 said. C-3 stepped back and fired two shots at the lock.
With a good kick the door swung open, revealing a wall of guard members
on the other side.

B-7 and C-3 swung their guns like axes hitting anything within a five
foot radius. B-7 lost sight of C-3 in a circle of bodies. His own gun
was ripped from his hands. As he moved toward a space between two
bodies he felt the butt of gun between his shoulder blades. Something
in him kept his legs pumping as he broke free from the crowd and
collapsed in the tall grasses outside the building.

As he lay there he felt something hit his side. Someone had tripped
over him. He heard a familiar voice curse. "C-3, is that you?"

"B-7, how the heck did you?" he stopped and looked behind. "C'mon we
gotta get moving. The guards are right behind me."
"I can't make it. I hurt something in shoulder," B-7 said as C-3
started to run. "You go ahead. I'd rather have one of us make it than
both of us die together."

C-3 hesitated and looked back. He didn't want to be some hero and lose
his life for no reason. "You're right," he said simply and darted off
out of sight.

Shortly after B-7 heard heavy breathing and loud footsteps. "The old
boy has run himself into the ground, eh?" It was the Captains voice. "I
thought there were two of ya, but you're enough of a catch. B-7 turned
his head and found himself staring into the double barrels of a
shotgun. Beyond the gun he saw the impressive silhouette of the Captain
with one side of his head grotesquely swollen. His last comforting
thought was that of C-3 dashing off into the freedom of the
wilderness.