The Collector Read Online Free

“Watch it or you’re coming too.”
    Wade glances back inside the diner, still within sight, where Paiton buses a table, also able to glimpse the skirmish through the window. Their eyes meet, a sense of sadness between them, until Neil obliviously interrupts their hidden exchange.
    “C’mon, back to the slums.”
    ******
     
     

Diversity
    Many think the Sectors are split up and divided by population when in fact they are designated by geography. Think about it, Sector A is the old industrial zone near the mountains, the slums surround the landfill on the west bank, and Downtown is all flatlands covered in concrete. I heard about a sector hidden in the dead forest, but can’t confirm. For being an enclosed city we sure do have a lot of areas! I bet if we had a desert it’d be designated as its own sector too!
    -Quado
     
     

3
    T wo of the four misfit kids sword fight using various junk objects, while the leader of the group squats down doing his best to draw the outline of a winged horse in the dirt with the tip of a bent antenna.
    “Why can’t we still be the Vipers?” the fourth member asks, referring to the sketch.
    “Pegasus is better,” the leader defends. “It’s what they first called themselves.”
    “How ‘bout the Cicadas?” the fourth member suggests, posing with his broken rake handle high in the air like it is some magnificent weapon. “We’ll swarm everyone!” He jabs at the leader, who in turn parries before joining in on the mock battle. Even in the perpetual state of despair ravaging the slums, kids will still be kids.
    The sword fight continues until the misfits notice Neil’s truck approaching in the distance. As they pause, the leader of the group converts his bent antenna sword into an imaginary rifle and tracks the truck, then pretend fires – not just a kid being a kid, but a future Brigade member in the making.
    Once parked in front of a dilapidated shack, Neil and Wade follow Loraine Wells through a porch screen door nearly off its hinges. Wade carries a black flag. Compared to Samantha the day before, Loraine keeps her composure.
    “Thank you so much for coming,” she says without much concern, like this is an ordinary house call.
    Neil sticks to protocol, cold and callous. “The Agency appreciates your sacrifice.”
    They enter a two room shanty where along one wall is a homemade contraption designed to purify water. Dozens of urine jugs are stacked nearby, but the treated water is far from clean.
    “We do our best to filter it, but sometimes the kids still get sick.” She motions to Ben, age six, lying on a cot faced towards the wall, his stomach severely bloated.
    Sounds of children playing come from the other room. Wade notices.
    “How many kids do you have?” he asks.
    “Four, including Ben here. God knows I love my children, but I didn’t ask for triplets.”
    “That’s a lot of thirsty mouths,” Wade responds, much more warm and personable than his stoic partner.
    “Well thankfully the neighbors help some, sharing their rations and all.” She points to the purifier. “And we got this. It’s too bad nothing can filter water from the bay though.”
    The Collectors sit on a rotted sofa, while Loraine sits opposite them in a wooden chair.
    “If only the Agency could see what families like us have to go through,” she continues. “I was penalized when the triplets were born for going over the limit, can you believe that? More mouths, less water. Tell me how that’s fair.”
    “Times are tough for everyone,” Neil interrupts before her emotions get the best of her. He’s seen this happen many times before. “But as long as people do their part.”
    “I suppose so,” Loraine relents.
    “Is your partner late?” he asks, returning to the task at hand.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “The appointment said noon,” Neil clarifies. “For James.”
    Loraine caresses her naked ring finger on her left hand. Her eyes move towards another black flag already