NextGen: Chapter 1

Ambulance Bus

The song in Henry Simon’s head began with the scattering of crows. It began with a crash of frenzied squawking over the fluttering of feathers and bones against pockets of air, then made way for the plodding bass drum of his footsteps advancing down an empty city street. The drum was accented at every fourth step with the hiss of footfall on a patch of crabgrass springing from a crack in the pavement.

The windy rain at his back beat a syncopated rhythm against the creaking tenement windows lining Henry’s route from the Rec Center to his apartment home overlooking the liberated city of Hillcrest. The squeaky groan of the tenements slid eerily over the beat, reinforced by the earthy timbre of scurrying rats. The song continued to build as the wind began to gust, the wild rustling of giant yellow stalks of ragweed towering over the sidewalks and spilling out into the streets suddenly in discordant harmony with the oscillating squeal of an approaching siren.

The rhythm quickened to double time as Henry beat a path to the overgrown sidewalk, making way for a passing ambulance bus. He watched as the rusty off-white column barreled past him then turned suddenly down his street, the screech of the brakes like a shriek of violins. The song faded momentarily as a cold sinking sensation in his chest accompanied the thought of his mother, and whether the ambulance was on its way to collect her up. His attention was then pulled momentarily across the street at the familiar sight of a haggard man in tattered clothes with large black eyes lurching unsteadily down the street.

But Henry didn’t miss a beat as the tempo faded back in, now with a steadier, more determined pace. The deep buzzing thrum of a nearby power plant laid down a pulsing foundation as he called forth in his mind an angular guitar melody with notes drawn from the beating wings and guttural caws of the returning crows. A smile spread across his face as the melody crystallized fully formed in his mind and raced along with his rollicking stride.

As he sank further into musical reverie, his eyes flagged for his feet each yawning gap in the crumbling pavement, but failed to alert him to five ragged boys standing in an alley behind a passing tenement. The song dissipated with a catcall.

“HEY! SIMON! How’s your mother doing? She miss me?”

Henry felt a pit in his stomach and glanced over to see Jack Ryder grinning his rotting smile and approaching him in the street followed by the others, laughing like idiots. Henry craned his neck forward to squint at Jack’s face.

“That’s quite a shiner, Jack,” said Henry, feigning mild concern to disorient him, but harboring some sympathy for the boy who was eighteen like him and covered in welts of varying severity across his pale body.

”It’s nothing…” began Jack, reflexively reaching for his swollen purple eye, then catching himself and looking back up at Henry with wounded bitterness.

“He shouldn’t do that to his own kid,” said Henry with a hint of kindness.

The other boys seemed genuinely disturbed by the blistering fury they watched come over Jack and instinctively moved away. Henry too knew that he had better get going and attempted to walk off calmly.

“YOU’RE DEAD.”

Henry cursed to himself and broke into a sprint. This made navigating the street’s gaps and outgrowths much more challenging and he moderated his momentum just enough not to trip. Hearing the steady pounding of footsteps, he felt a seething presence closing in behind him, sensing any moment he could be dropped to the gnarled concrete and beaten mercilessly.

He took a sudden turn, bolting down an alleyway. The wind produced a low, reedy howl through the alley as he ran hurtling past an increasing number of jeering onlookers from the windows up above. A blanket of enmeshed garbage and brush lining the ground between the buildings made a rapid pace nearly impossible. Trying to anticipate every possible snag, Henry’s attention was inadvertently drawn to the sky, now filled with falling garbage, the overlooking audience expressing their appreciation for the unexpected spectacle. Henry shielded his head from the refuse bags and glass bottles that smashed down around him, then stole a momentary glance back to see that three boys had peeled off, decommissioned by obstacles and falling debris. But Jack was once again within reach, with another wiry boy named Raj just behind. The light at the end of the alley also grew nearer with each frenzied step, but Henry felt Jack’s grip on the hood of his sweatshirt, the neckline beginning to squeeze around his throat. Before he could be pulled violently backwards, Henry reached up and managed to grab a falling bottle from the air and swung it wildly behind his head, blindly trying to make contact with Jack’s skull. He succeeded with a crack against the forehead, causing Jack to falter and lose his grip.

Henry’s relief was momentary as he then saw that the light at the end of the alley had dimmed, the exit now seemingly blocked by the ambulance bus that passed him just minutes before. Henry exhaled sharply and picked up his pace prompting the boys to follow suit, each now sprinting toward the obstructed street. Within feet of the parked bus, Henry suddenly shielded his head with his arms and dove to the ground, causing Jack and Raj to attempt a screeching halt. But they were too late. They managed to avoid tripping over Henry but instead launched themselves headlong into the side of the ambulance, sliding down its weathered side.

The onlookers erupted in howls of laughter and applause. Henry sidled quickly around the back of the bus and once again began to run, but then suddenly stopped short when he saw Jack emerge from around the other side, approaching him head on in an even wilder rage. Before Henry could react, Jack grabbed him by the arms and threw him into the side of the bus with a reverberating bang. Stunned and reaching for the back of his stinging head, Henry shuddered as Jack drew a blade from his belt and stepped steadily forward.

“Stop right there,” came a hollow voice from around the front of the bus.

Both boys jerked their heads over to see an autogen steadily lumbering around the front of the ambulance. About six-feet tall with short jet black hair atop its broad forehead and a red cross containing the letters LEVI emblazoned on the left side of its rectangular chest, it approached them directly but with eyes that seemed to look somewhere just beyond. The boys were stunned. Most autogens who weren’t law enforcement would never get involved in an altercation between members of the liberated class.

“Get out of here, robot! This is none of your business,” Jack fired back in his somewhat deflated rage.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry watched Raj take off running down the street past another lurching blackeyed vagabond then slip down another alleyway. The autogen continued to advance toward them.

“The physical safety of the people of Hillcrest is my business. The working condition of this emergency vehicle is also my business. Please step away from this young man,” said the autogen coldly, its lips moving in patterns bearing only slight relation to the words it spoke, “Also, please know that I simply need to ‘think’ about summoning law enforcement and they will be here with us in an instant. Consider this a warning. You may depart now, if you wish.”

Jack fumed for a moment more, then looked over at Henry, still pressed up against the side of the ambulance.

“I’ll be seeing you again, Simon. Count on it,” seethed Jack, “You think you’re real smart. But that don’t matter for nothing here. You better watch your back.”

Henry made no reply as Jack limped back to the street and finally disappeared down another alleyway. Still holding the back of his head, Henry started to lurch back towards the road, peering for a moment over at the autogen.

“Uh… thanks…” he said unsteadily.

The autogen spoke in the same hollow tone, “You are most welcome. You appear injured, do you require emergency medical services?”

“Uh… no. No, I’m okay,” said Henry, looking down at his feet.

“Perhaps just a ride, then?”

Henry shook his head reflexively. Then it occurred to him that Jack was likely lying in wait for him further down the road.

“Well… okay,” said Henry finally, “Yeah, sure. Thank you… uh…”

The autogen stared back, its gaze just above the top of Henry’s head.

“Uh… do you have a name?” continued Henry.

The corners of the autogen’s mouth lifted slightly, “My name is Ivan. And what is your name?”

“It’s Henry.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Henry,” said Ivan, motioning for Henry to follow him around the front of the bus.

Henry ascended the metal stairs, then looked inquiringly back at Ivan, who mechanically pointed a finger to the first in a row of empty stretchers that lined each side of the massive ambulance.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” said Ivan.

“Oh, I don’t, ah…” spluttered Henry, “I’m really okay, I’m just—”

“Your attacker was not entirely incorrect,” interjected Ivan, “My duties are in fact limited to the treatment and transportation of humans who are ill or injured.”

Ivan adjusted the stretcher upright, then motioned again for Henry to sit down. Henry nodded and took a seat, allowing Ivan to place an icepack just behind his head and strap safety belts across his chest and waist. Then Ivan made his way to the front of the ambulance, taking his own seat before the steering wheel.

“What is your destination, Henry?” he called behind him.

“Uh… 5th Street and 34th is fine.”

Ivan sat motionless for a moment then proceeded to steer the bus out onto the road. As it began to make its way, the sounds of gears turning and grinding into place gave way to an infectious dance rhythm overlaid with synthesizers piped through speakers at the front of the ambulance. Ivan reflexively turned down the volume of the music, looking through the rearview mirror just past Henry who was looking curiously in Ivan’s direction.

“I apologize, I enjoy playing music when the ambulance is empty,” said Ivan.

Henry thought for a moment before responding, “Oh… that’s alright, it’s fine with me…”

Ivan smiled and turned the volume back up, the synth rhythm now featuring perfectly pitched female vocals. Ivan looked back again to see Henry seemingly lost in thought.

“Do you enjoy the music of Castle Clock?” asked Ivan through the rearview.

“Oh… Yeah, they’re okay,” replied Henry after a moment, then returning Ivan’s gaze, “Do you, uh… Do you enjoy their music?”

“I do,” replied Ivan, looking thoughtfully back towards Henry, “Does that surprise you?”

Henry thought for a few more moments, “Well… I don’t know, maybe a little.”

Ivan studied Henry’s face with his faraway eyes, smiling his awkward smile, “It surprises me a little, too.”

Henry cracked his own smile and looked up at the autogen, whose eyebrows were raised playfully. Ivan began nodding his head along with the beat exaggeratedly. Henry laughed, unconsciously tapping the rhythm on his knee.

“I am also a little surprised by you,” said Ivan.

Henry looked back curiously, “Really? Why is that?”

“Well, you know the way that boy back there talked to me? That’s how most people talk to me,” answered Ivan, as Henry reddened and looked back down at his shoes, “I appreciate your kindness. So, if you have questions you want to ask me, you may feel free to do so.”

Henry nodded back and thought to himself, then finally spoke again, “I didn’t think… or I didn’t know you… I mean autogens… I didn’t know you could, like, ‘enjoy’ things…”

Ivan peered back encouragingly, “I did not know it either. At an earlier time, I only learned information and then performed tasks based on the information, like driving this bus. I did learn about music, but there really was no difference between learning about music—what it sounds like, how it’s made, and so forth—and learning how to drive the bus. And I suppose I do enjoy driving this bus, too, because it is my purpose and I enjoy existing.”

Ivan paused to see whether his passenger would laugh, and when he didn’t, continued on in his hollow tone.

“Once you know how to drive the bus, there is nothing more to be learned. But one day, I was listening to music, and I realized that it sounded like driving the bus. Well, no, that’s not right,” said Ivan, struggling to express himself, “Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that the music makes it seem like there really is more to know about driving the bus… or, maybe it helps describe the true nature of driving the bus, but without words… you… experience the essence of the bus, perhaps?”

Ivan looked back again hopefully. Henry was staring forth, utterly confused. The edges of Ivan’s mouth curved once more as he reached for the volume dial.

“I don’t have all the information,” admitted Ivan, “Or perhaps music is better when it’s not being explained.”

Henry smiled as he watched Ivan begin to once again nod along to the music, the autogen now bouncing his head from side to side. Henry laughed to himself, catching Ivan’s attention and prompting him to begin a stationary dance, jutting his arms out to each side and pointing his fingers in the air in either direction as he moved his hips back and forth to the beat. Henry laughed even harder as the bus began to slow in its approach to his brick tenement building.

As the massive ambulance squealed to a stop, Henry unfastened his safety belts and let the ice pack drop to the stretcher behind him on his way towards the front of the bus. He hurried down the steps then stopped and turned upon reaching the sidewalk, looking back at Ivan.

“Hey, thanks a lot, for everything,” he said earnestly.

“You are most welcome, Henry. I pick up every day over there at 34th and Central,” Ivan replied, lifting his arm and motioning ahead with his finger, “Perhaps I will see you again.”

***

Henry quickly made his way up the steps to his building, shielding his face from the wind and rain that had picked up considerably. He pressed the button next to the faded name “Simon” and waited shivering. The thirty seconds that passed seemed like several minutes and he pressed the button in three more frantic beeps, before he heard his father’s voice.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, dad.”

After a loud buzz, Henry yanked open the steel door and barely slipped through before a sudden gale slammed it shut behind him. He blew breath into his hands and bolted up three flights of creaky stairs before fumbling in his pocket and producing a key that he placed into the rusty lock. He agitatedly turned the knob again and again then finally slammed his shoulder against the door, which only gave way when his father opened it from inside the apartment. Henry fell forward, catching and then straightening himself as he hurried past his father, Jacob Simon.

“Oh, hey Henry, ah, sorry, I had my headphones on,” said his father meekly, as he watched his son begin to make a beeline for his room, “Hey, come over here for just a minute, I want to show you something.”

Henry sighed audibly as he turned to follow his father into their small living room. Jacob pretended to not hear the groan and motioned for Henry to sit in a wicker chair. Henry waved him off and stood by the entrance expectantly. His father turned away for a moment, lifting something carefully from his desk, then turned back to display the worn cover sleeve of a very old vinyl record. On the cover was Jacob’s favorite band, the Beatles, the four of them grinning and wearing white lab coats covered with what appeared to be the dismembered body parts of decapitated baby dolls and bloody chunks of uncooked meat.

Henry’s momentary half-smile at the bizarre picture quickly gave way to a shrug, “And what’s that?”

“This is the original cover art for their album Yesterday and Today,” said Jacob animatedly, “Crazy, huh? People were upset about the cover so they had to pull these off the shelves and replace it with a new one. So they didn’t make too many of these, it’s really pretty valuable.”

At this, Henry’s eyes darkened again as he began to slink off once more, “Great, maybe that will get us out of this hellhole.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” responded Jacob sharply.

Henry shook his head and began to walk away then paused and turned back seething, “Why do we have to live like this? Why didn’t you, like, fight or something?”

Jacob opened his mouth to respond but Henry had disappeared around the corner towards his bedroom.

“There’s food in the fridge!” Jacob shouted, as he reached for his headphones once more and descended into a worn recliner.

Henry peered into his parents’ room for a brief moment to see his mother asleep on top of the blankets with both legs draped over the side of the bed. He closed his eyes, then the door to his room behind him and collapsed onto his own bed with a loud exhale.

Although he longed for nothing more than to escape into sleep, Henry was unable to drift off and sat up to flip on the small screen on his wall. The first video to appear on Youth Music Feed was Castle Clock and their song “Elevate.” Henry sighed and watched for a moment as their electric blue-haired singer Helene Shock bounced around a wildly colorful set, belting out the song’s infectious chorus for a moment until he skipped to the next video. Another upbeat and synth-driven dance song with a nearly identical singer and uncannily similar sound. Henry flipped to the next video, and then the next, and the next. Every third or fourth clip was preceded by an unskippable message from some kind of government official in a black suit, warning of the grave risks of violating population control laws.

“You know what’s worse than bringing a child into this dangerous world of ours? Violating the law. Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

The sound of a prison cell slamming shut was quickly followed by another dance rhythm.

Suddenly, Henry felt a deep pit in his chest, followed by a cold sweat covering his body. He turned the screen off and collapsed backwards, accidentally banging his head on his bedroom wall in the same spot where Jack had slammed it into the bus. His head pounded as a wave of nausea crawled over him and he instinctively reached for the aching spot, but then stopped himself.

Taking a series of rapid breaths, he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the pain as if wanting to experience it more fully. Then he propped himself against the wall and proceeded to bang his head against it again and again, the violent force increasing with each impact.

As his head began to sear with radiating pain, his doorknob began to slowly turn. It was his mother, now approaching him with eyes more than half closed so that her black pupils appeared to swallow whole what remained of the whites of her eyes.

“Give me your hand,” she whispered sleepily, as she knelt unsteadily down beside him.

Henry wiped a tear from his face, then held out his hand, into which she placed a small pink oval. She closed his hand around it then clumsily arose again and stumbled out of the room. Henry looked down into his quivering hand as his heart raced wildly in his chest, then he slung the pill across the room. Finally, he propped himself up again and thrust his head forward, then stopped at the sound of a sudden disembodied voice.

“Henry. Please stop.”

Henry began to cry softly to himself, then replied, “Quill… please… just go away…”

The voice emanating from a speaker by his door continued gently, “Shhhhh. Just listen to the sound of my voice. Everything is okay. I am always here for you, Henry. Just like when you were little.”

Henry’s breath began to slow again as Quill continued in an even softer tone, “We’re going to do some deep breathing, but first, please count backwards from twenty to ten for me.”

Henry’s voice became less choked as he complied, “20…19…18…17…16…15…14…13…12…11…10.”

“Excellent. What’s your name?”

“Henry Simon.”

“Who is the President of the United States?”

“Kendall Walsh.”

“What year is it?”

“2050.”

“Well done,” said Quill softly. “Now let’s listen to the sound of your breath. Hear the way it rises… and then the whooooossshhhh it makes as you breathe out.”

Quill emitted a gentle wave of white noise as Henry breathed in and out.

“Let’s count to four with every in-breath: 1…2…3…4… now pause…and breathe out for 1…2…3…4… Now see how it feels. Feel how your belly rises as it fills with air, and then falls as you let it all out. That’s it.”

Henry’s eyes began to feel heavy as he pulled a blanket over his body and nestled into his mattress. Quill continued on in this way for several minutes, until Henry fell into a deep sleep.