The Professor (Tentative Title) Chapter Two

Chapter 2

He closed his eyes to rest them, not to sleep. He never slept, not well and not not long. His mind would relax when the sky was darkest in the hours before dawn. He could sleep until just past the sun's rising then he'd be forced to get off the ground and continue his journey. Tonight, like most others, he lay awake with his eyes close, thinking, remembering. Over these last several years, he'd lost so much that now he had nothing left to loose. The only thing that was left to him was his determination to change things and once again have a world where freedoms like speech, the press, and religion were a mainstay.

His mind drifted back to his early years as a professor. He had just gotten his Masters in Literature, with a minor in Philosophy. He was excited to be teaching, even amongst the insanity of the times. He thought he could make a difference in the minds of his students, they could take the lead with their own intelligence and wisdom to guide them. It was then that he was first introduced to a man about his own age but with a younger face. The man had an enthusiasm that was contagious and a natural charisma that people gravitated toward. He was a man that led protests and stole books from libraries, art from museums, and music from anywhere to protect it from the fires.

Reese Kirkman and the professor had gotten along extremely well from nearly the instant they met. It was a party hosted by one of the many opposer's of the government. It was a forbidden poetry reading. They were drinking wine, eating cheese, smoking. The professor was a bit cautious, lingering in the corners, not making eye contact, cradling his bourbon. He was afraid that the government's Z-troops, the secret police, would break down the large, heavy oak door of the residence and arrest the entire assembly. The professor had his career in front of him. He was afraid; afraid of his government, what they were capable of, what would happen to him. He was even afraid of himself. Reece came over to him, gold hair to his shoulders and honey coloured eyes gleaming.

"So, mate, you just going to hide in the corner all night? Come on!" He took the professor by the arm, "Let us mingle and speak of great things."

"Great things? Have you an example?"

"Why, our freedom, of course," he said, as if it were obvious to everyone.

The professor smiled at him. Reece was an enthusiastic man and it tended to wear off on him. He was so furious about all the censoring and now hope was burning in the streets. Throughout the course of that evening the pair discovered they had much in common. Much, but not everything. While Reece Kirkman had the drive and will to fight back, the professor simply didn't. They argued this point tirelessly. Reece wanted a full-out revolution, something that would give this country a swift kick in the arse. "Get them to realize what was going on," Reece was fond of shouting. Our esteemed professor wanted to be more quiet about it. If the government slowly took all the control, then you could slowly take it back. That was reasonable, logical, wasn't it? Not to Reece.

After three years of quietly fighting back with no results, Reece had had enough and wanted to start another offensive. He planned to set fire to the Censorship Office in the state's capital building. The professor went to Reece and begged him not to. Thinking of all the things stored there, it would be a sin to destroy them.

"Everything goes to a Central warehouse for storage. Nothing will be destroyed," Reece told him.

"I don't think..." the professor started, but was cut off.

"Exactly! You don't think. This subtly is getting us nowhere. In three years, we are almost exactly where we started. Are you ready for a new world? Are you ready to make things better? Or are you just going to park your bum and do nothing? This is war, a war of intellect among other things. Of you choose to fight in it, you have to get dirty!" Reece chastised.

"But my career?"

"What's more important to you, money or freedom? Keep in mind, I did your taxes last year. Money certainly isn't a high point for you." Reece stormed out of the professor's apartment, leaving him alone to mull over his current mind-set. Reece was right, they couldn't sit by and do nothing. He'd been too dormant for too long. Three years and nothing had changed, not one thing. No more could he try to find the polite way, the genteel way, of getting things back on track. It was time to become more aggressive, more outspoken. Reece had been making more of a change, almost single handedly. People were coming to rallies, they were waving signs, and shouting protests, all because of Reece. The professor, in his caution, had done next to nothing, despite the fact that he saw it, he saw all the crap the government was pulling.

The professor started taking a more forceful approach. That's when he started stealing the precious items of the people back from the government that had taken them away. He attended protests, rallies. He even started changing his teaching methods. The government agents from Z-troop had brought a new fear. Many people had begun to disappear. All those that were anti-government knew what was going on. Those that had picked up by Z-troop were never seen again. The assumptions were that they had been imprisoned, relocated, or 'erased' -- murdered. The professor was scared, like everyone else, but the only person he told was Reece when he could catch him. The golden boy had been busy keeping tabs on the resistance by having members meet in various places long after dark to talk, discuss further plans of anarchy, report who had become of the Lost. Mourn for them.

This was the beginning of the end, The Lost Ones. The numbers grew too fast, too many. None of the Lost were ever seen again and this further started to frighten the resistance. The professor was sick and tired and angry with seeing people he cared for just vanish, always wondering who was going to be next. It was horrible, the fear. The university had been getting suspicious, the dean had sent several warning regarding the way he was teaching classes. He had noticed someone following him. He called Reece and told him they needed to talk, that he'd be over before leaving for the meeting that night.

It was cold and raining that night. The sky had opened up as if in protest of the conditions it saw an was making an attempt to wash things clean. The thunder was shouting in unending disapproval. The professor knocked on the wooden door of his friend's house and waited. Hearing something behind him, he looked over his shoulder seeing nothing but shadows and rain. Must have been his fear playing tricks on him, or at least that was what he hoped it was. If he was wrong, it meant that who ever had been following him had gotten too close. Reece opened the door, standing solemnly in the entrance.

"What's up, mate?" he asked, concern filling his eyes.

"I think I'm being--"

"Shh!" They both stopped talking, "did you hear that?"

"Wind?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Reece answered with a touch of doubt, "Anyway, what's up? You're soaked!"

"Went for a walk, thinking things over. Reece, I think I'm being followed. I've seen the same car at work, down the block from my flat. They were outside when I picked up my cleaning!"

"I was afraid of that. A few of our members have had Z-troops on their bums. Come inside, dry off. I think we should get you out of town, mate."

"No. No, friend. You're right, I've been passive for too long and I'm not about to get pushed around." He brushed his dripping hair away from his face. Reece just smiled, approval dancing on his features.

The professor turned suddenly, something told him to look behind. That feral instinct that tells us all when we are in danger triggered in his brain. He stopped cold, gazing across the lawn. Something moved, just over by the hedges, something that was rather large, sinister. The professor laughed at his own childishness and ran his fingers through his wet hair.

"What did you see?"

"Not sure I saw anything." He turned to Reece, still smiling, "I guess I'm just wound up. I feel like a child afraid of the storm."

"We all get that way, especially now," Reece smiled at the innocence of a childhood fear. That smile froze suddenly on his handsome face.

Reece felt as though a fist had just hit him in the stomach and was biting its way to his back. He reached out and grabbed the professor's wet jacket, his face falling and becoming pale as he dropped to his knees on the porch.

"Oh god! Reece.. oh my god!" The professor laid his friend down and put pressure on the gaping hole in his abdomen. "You've been shot. We have to get help, stop the bleeding."

Reece shook his head. "Run," he choked, "run."

"I just can't leave you like this!"

"Stay... stay and you're dead, mate." Reece was coughing up blood. "You have to keep going. World... it needs you."

"Needs you too," the professor argued.

"Hurry," the dying man gripped hid friend's hand, "get out... run."

The breathing stopped, the heart stopped, the eyes glazed over and a single tear fell down the side of his face and away from those honey toned eyes. The professor would have stayed by his friend if a silent bullet hadn't erupted over his head, another screaming past his ear. He jumped to his feet, hearing bullets hit the wall behind him far too close for comfort. One managed to slam into his arm near the shoulder, throwing him off balance for a moment. The thought of stopping never crossing his mind. He was still running, even as he made the attempt of sleep while laying on his back with an over pass as his roof for the night.