Chester and the 24-hour Lottery

“Why would you disregard your safety like that, Van?”

“Deven needed help and I’m not one of those girls who runs and hides when shit happens. Everything worked out, didn’t it?”

Chester pinched the bridge of his nose as Garth chuckled from the driver’s seat. They sat in the back of the truck, heading god knows where and Chester was getting nowhere trying to make Van see running into a gunfight a terrible idea. He loved her bravery but nearly had a heart attack seeing her hurt.

“Where are we going?” Van asked, kicking the seat making Garth grunt, “I don’t recognize this route. How long how have you been a part of the resistance? What do you believe to be true about rumors the Institute plans on releasing a bio-agent to squash free will?”

“Little girl, what you think you know—you don’t.”

Van hit the seat again, “What do you mean? Do you know?”

“Look, I kept your ass out of Fort Ozark when ordered to take Chester in. I fudged your DNA so Spell wouldn’t find where you came from. Who your mother was.”

Chester perked up, “What is he talking about?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, falling backward, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t give me that bullshit line every time I ask what’s going on,” he grabbed her arm and she tried to shake him off but held on, “Garth, who are her parents?”

“She was born in The Institute. She doesn’t have a father.”

Chester let her go, closing his eyes in disbelief, “You’re a Construct Babe? You’ve been lying this whole fucking time?”

Chester recalled a time when he was nine and watched a line of little girls in Neighborhood Saldivar going out the gate. He had asked the bunk monitor who stood nearby where they were headed and sharply told Construct Babes were better than other children, needing special stimulation for their purpose. Not understanding he had pestered until the monitor took pity, explaining Construct Babes boasted DNA perfection meant to save the world with their knowledge someday while he was destined for hard labor.

“Do you even understand what it means to be a Construct Babe?” Van asked.

He opened his eyes slowly shaking his head, “I’ve never met one before. Aren’t you supposed to be locked up in The Institute doing something remarkable?”

She tightly smiled, “Or something. There were 87 successful incubations in Ozark alone. We traveled across the states to learn from each other but the ones I met were grossly abused and not as intelligent, then I found out the reason why. While they were technically Construct Babes, those of us in Ozark wasn’t given the same DNA transmutations. Saldivar gave me the chance to join the resistance a few years ago so did.” She shrugged as if it was self-explanatory.

Chester grew irate, “What about the story you told me about your mom using glass bottles? Is anything you say the truth? You’ve continually lied to me over and over! Wait, that means you’re not from Crane either!”

Van peered out the window, “What do I keep telling you, Chet? Distractions are necessary.”

“Fuck you,” he spat, “I’ve been nothing but a scapegoat for a cause I know nothing about.”

“Knock it off kids,” Garth spoke up, “You need to get your shit together Chester if you want a ticket to the big show. Saldivar won’t put up with tantrums you’re prone to.”

He flipped off Garth in the mirror, “Fuck you too prick.”

“What exactly are you the angriest about?” Van whipped her head to ask, “That I’m a science experiment who should never have been born or presuming keeping certain facts secret would help you understand you’re more than what your DNA predicts?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t fucked with me,” he turned away, some irritation deflating, “I need time to think.”

“You have ten minutes,” Garth said, voice laced with amusement.

“Chester, I know you believe we are meant to have control of our own lives. This is the cause. Free will. Did you cry for your mom when they took you out of your home at age seven? I never knew mine. They murdered our mothers and let spiteful, resentful scientists raise us.”

He swallowed, refusing to look at her pretty face knowing how easy it would melt his sudden shock and anger, “No, I didn’t cry. I cried when they killed my father. He stole a carton of Jack for my mother because I had been ill and they used all the credits for medicine.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she sighed, “There is a lot of unnecessary pain in this world. Governor Spell will not stop unless we force him. When they gave complete control to one individual, with council members as an extension, it was for hope. You said so in your speech. Things are completely twisted and unbalanced in the worst possible way now. You can fight. Save everyone imprisoned in Fort Ozark.”

Now he looked over, annoyed with her earnest gaze, “How the hell am I supposed to do that? With my panty-dropping good looks and captivating personality? Pretty sure after I murdered a woman on live TV it’s obvious my skill set lacks a certain panache.”

Garth snorted and Van scowled.

With a dismissive shoulder jerk, he reminded them, “The council members can do anything now. What are they waiting for?”

The vehicle slowed and the two of them looked ahead, seeing a trail barely large enough for the truck. Garth drove into the left side of a ditch jolting to a stop.

“What’s going on?” Van raised her gun, “Where are we?”

“Near the border of Acheron. We have to hike the rest of the way in and I won’t do it with you pointing a weapon at me the whole time,” Garth growled, “I’m taking off with or without you two, already having wasted an entire week waiting. Take what you need because we won’t be coming back.”

Garth opened the door and jumped out as Van grabbed her gear. Chester thought about setting off in the opposite direction then sagged with defeat realizing with Spell spouting lies he was a walking dead man if anyone wanted to sic Ozark Officers his way.

“Acheron,” Van huffed as she exited the truck, “The council ran to the next state so that must mean they were successful.”

“You don’t know that. Van, I’m unsure if I want to be involved.”

She stepped out then turned to give him a roll of her eyes, “You already are! Don’t you get it, Chet? You can’t go anywhere without Spell finding out. You’re safer working with the resistance.”

“Says you.”

Garth and Van trekked through the forest with ease as he tired, holding back the need to call for a break. He wasn’t in good a shape as the other two but didn’t want to come across like a little bitch, huffing and puffing to keep up. Van shared a carton of water with the two men after an hour and Garth refused to answer her questions even when threatened with violence.

“There,” Garth pointed to an old square shack that seemed to materialize out of the woods as the sun hung low in the sky, “That is the entry point.”

“Underground bunker?” Van sounded gleeful while dread pooled in Chester’s stomach.

“I’m not going underground,” Chester stated, “No fucking way.”

Garth didn’t respond, walking ahead as Van came to where he had planted his feet. His stress level was reaching a fever pitch and just thinking of being underground with a bunch of people that could be enemies had his pits saturating the shirt already drenched from hiking. He was a miserable mess, running a hand through his disheveled hair while Van nervously looked from Garth to Chester.

“You don’t trust Garth?”

“Do you? Either way, once we go in there, there’s no way out. I get this is what you crave, to be a part of something, but I never signed up for this shit Van.”

“But you did,” she wiped her face with a dirty hand, leaving a trail of dark lines across her cheeks like war paint, “You signed up for the 24-hour lottery, changing your destiny.”

“Who picked me to be a part of this rebellion?” He demanded, “Was there another sap in mind if I never, on impulse mind you, signed a blood oath that day? It was my first fucking time! How was I to know this would happen?”

She sighed, turning to look where Garth waited, “There are answers Saldivar can explain but I don’t know why you were chosen. I was given your name the day we met, already knowing what would transpire Halloween night.”

Chester paced, feeling betrayed and resentful, “So when we fucked it was a distraction? How will I ever tell if what you tell me is truth or fiction? Construct Babes are freaks and apparently, have no conscience. You don’t treat people this way, Vanyla. After we meet Saldivar, we’re going separate ways.”

Van looked as if he had slapped her, “Hey asshole, I fucked you because I wanted to. You should be clued in by now I do nothing I don’t want to. Do you want to split up? I’ve kept you alive!”

"Correction, you’ve kept me in the dark with a flickering clue to what is really going on. If anything, you’re the danger I have to worry about, not who’s waiting for us down there.”

She stomped the ground, laughed at the sky before turning away, “You act as if you’re not alone, that people care whether you live or die. Garth is right, you need to get your shit together. I’m leaving.”

Chester reluctantly followed, a little guilt seeping through for calling Van a freak. The three of them silently entered the building with thick metal siding and an open space big enough for twenty people. He noticed nothing special until a female voice floated out of thin air asking for the door to close before transportation. Garth complied then they were entombed in darkness. He sensed movement from Van, who stood on the left, inch closer, reminding him of the time in the neighborhood garden before his life changed. She might come across fearless but he saw through it in times like this.

He thought about taking her hand, but it held a gun.

The floor vibrated slightly at the same moment two LED lights flicked on overhead. Garth appeared bored like he rode the elevator shaft daily as they started descending. Chester wiped his sweaty palms on his dirty pants, keeping both eyes on the moving cable lines on the right instead of watching Van.

Fuck her!

Being angry kept his panic at bay. Kept the truth of her salty words from stinging. He is alone. Marla Drivel who was dead or chemically enslaved didn’t give two fucks about her son. There was no one to turn to and there had never been.

Down, down the elevator crawled and just as Chester was about to ask how far, it slowed and came to a halt revealing a smooth concrete-walled room. Two men and a woman were standing by.

“Garth,” a man the same size and build as Garth only with a shaved head and nose ring greeted before glaring at them, “Chester and Vanyla, we’ve been waiting a hell of a long time.”

Van scowled, “You knew we were at Deven’s, Henry. It would’ve been nice to have orders to remain with the truck on Halloween.”

“That reminds me,” Henry zeroed in on where Chester hung back from the group.

The man stepped forward and punched him in the solar plexus. Chester fell onto the cold concrete, winded and confused. What the fuck did he do? He heard Van scream at Henry; he growls something in return before everyone cleared out.

“Fucking asshole,” Van peering down at his sprawled form, concern turning her mouth sideways, “Are you okay Chet?”

Chester glared, scooting away on the hard floor, “I repeat, you are the danger. Who is Henry?”

Van shrugging without making eye contact, “My boyfriend. Well, my ex-boyfriend. No use having relationships right now.”

Chester clutched his chest standing, “Perfect. You are a total shit show Van.”

She threw her hands in the air, heading to the exit, “It’s your shit show too Chet. You can protest until blue in the face, but we’re in it together.”

Chester might have once liked it very much, especially when she had tossed smiles and kind words along with body warmth his way, now he was in the decidedly NOT category when it came to Vanyla. Like it or not though, he was deep underground with people who wanted to use him and figured if he planned to make it out of this situation alive, had better get his shit together as suggested.