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Posts: 703
Join Date: Oct 2008
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Chapter 7
The silence which met his ears told him that the prison block was vacant of life. Passing through the hallway he could see the cell doors lined up on either side. He steadily crept towards the nearest of the cell. The door was open. Cautiously he peered inside. His gun raised but he knew what he would find therein.
The room was simply laid out in the same manner as the Wolf Cages in the main drain. The only difference was that these were painted in bright white whitewash . A whitewash which now was spattered with a mist of red blood. On the floor lay the body, dressed in a faded orange overall which made do as a uniform. The sewn in label was the only clue to the identity for the man before him. The numbers on it were now meaningless. No-one would know his true name now. That was lost in the piles of crumbling ashes which blew in the corridors.
It was clear to Dibble that this man had received no trail before he met his end. There was no last meal nor chance of reprieve. Though he had little doubt it was the Governors phone call that had condemned this man. He could tell that several men had entered the room to carry out the judgement. The footprints marked out in dark rich crimson red. They had taken no chances that this man would be recognised, his face burned away by some penetrating acid, and some blunt heavy instrument had been used to swipe away the deathly telltale smile of a dead man.
He departed and moved from cell to cell. Each guarded the same dark secret. Dibble imaged the fear they must of felt as his fellow officers had worked their way through their charges. Aware that each gun shot brought the ones who held their final fate closer to their door.
Dibble had seen enough. He had seen more than a man was meant to see. The truth was at last beginning to seep into his clouded mind. They had done their duty. They had done what the law commanded them to do. It was the final act. He knew that had the order been given to him he would of stood shoulder to shoulder with his fellow officers. It would have been his hands which now would be covered in blood. It would have been him who had silenced the cries of the men, women and children in the dark tunnels. He was a cop, and he had done his duty. Just as his father had done his duty and his granddaddy before him. He was a third generation cop. Born and raised to ‘Protect and Serve’ his city, his nation against those who would do it harm, what ever the sacrifice.
Dibble head was now burning from within. His vision turning grey as the blood raced from his features. He dawned on him that he was no longer in the prison. He was back in the main drain, heading back to where he had entered this nightmare.
Looking down he saw that he no longer held his gun. That was dragging behind him as he shambled slowly down the hall. In it’s place was a book. He vaguely recalled how he had used his gun and shot through the chain that had secured it to the wall.
He could barely hear himself reciting the word contained, even though the book remained shut. The noise in his brain swirled like the rain waters in the Drains. Echoing and crashing blinding his senses. Blinking he found himself stood before the elevator door. A day or more had past, and had recalled nothing of how he got there.
He stepped into the lift and closed the gate. Hours passed before he pressed the button to raise the elevator out of this hell. He blinked again and he was at the top. He peered out through the tiny window in the door of the lift. Staring blankly at the city before him.
A city now empty of life. Deserted and hollow. Abandoned and ruined by those that had once protected her. Destroyed that no conquering army would ever learn her dark secrets or enjoy her splendour.
Dibble fell back against the dull steel wall of the lift. His brain vacant like the city. His mind wandered helplessly, unable to hold onto what was happening. The faces of the people of the Projects swam before him. And in the distance he caught the sound of someone counting down. A slow deliberate cold female voice automated and steady.
Then everything went dark. All his senses failed. The storm in his mind was silenced. And then the tones of the automated voice sounded clear and crisp.
“ Officer 367 confirm memory reset”
He heard his voice reply with equal lifelessness.
“Officer 367 memory reset Confirmed”
John Percy Dibbski was a third generation cop of the great city of Los Angeles. He had Cop written all over his face. Twenty-five years pounding the beat had weathered him. He no longer noticed the rain against his face. His feet no longer hurt, now they were just numb.
Thanks to a stray bullet in the Projects. A bullet which had found it’s way into his brain. They had saved what they could of his humanity, but had to reprogram what he had lost. And now once again the fail safes had kicked in, resetting the automated components of his reconstructed frontal lobe. Leaving Dibble oblivious to all that had happened. Resetting the thought patterns to those required for him to carry out his duty to the end.
And so he once more pressed the button and the lift made it’s way down into the Drains. The light behind the control panel struggled into life, displaying the map of the tunnels ahead. Each time picking the route at random for him to follow.
He was a Cop. Sometimes he felt like he was the only one out there. That he was the last cop doing his duty to protect the city and country that he loved. Standing by what his granddaddy had told him all those years ago.
“Look after the Badge, and the Badge will look after you…”
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