MOB RULE

I wiped sweat from my forehead and tried to ignore the screams that echoed from somewhere on Marcy Street. I focused on the water in my glass. It was brown, so choked with sediment and minerals that it resembled mud. As I swallowed the precious moisture, trying desperately to relieve the heat of the day, I couldn't shut out the screaming.

I was used to the crying. Sobs were often heard echoing through the deserted streets of what used to be our town. Moaning, fretting, unrestrained worrying were common tongues in my world. Still, something about the screaming always got to me.

A clock on the bedroom wall confirmed the tell-tale nausea in my stomach was correct: it was time to go back to work. Shouldering my water tank, I secured the straps, adjusted the vacuum powered hose, and put on my goggles. My pick was on the kitchen table, and I grabbed it before scooting out the front door.

My neighbors, those that were left, filed out of their dilapidated homes as well, converging in the street as a river of dejected humanity. Slowly, we made our way to the water mines, ready to search for and harvest the one natural resource people thought we'd never run out of. I didn't speak to my neighbors as we waited in line for the elevators. There was no point. We'd brought this on ourselves. Secretly we each blamed one another for letting the foolishness get out of hand. We were adults. We should have known better. Someone should have asked some questions.

But who would have thought that little Brittney Harvest was evil?

I saw Brittney for the first time when she was at the front door of my neighbor, Rob Selnor. Rob was a retired gentleman who never bothered me the way some neighbors do; he kept off my yard and kept his music low and he rarely felt the urge to offer unsolicited help when I worked outside. I figured, as I saw Brittney standing there, if the man wanted some Girl Scout cookies or magazines—whatever she was selling—then good for him. One more gold star for Rob, supporting the youth community.

After a few moments I forgot about the girl as I settled onto the couch, soda in hand, ready for a marathon of channel flipping. When the timid knock sounded on my door, I stupidly wondered who it was during a moment of disconnect. There was no glory in my assumption the visitor was Brittney. After all, my house was right next to Rob's.

Sure enough, standing on my worn doormat was a young girl, clipboard in hand.

"Good morning, sir," she said. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Impressed by her polite adult request, I nodded. "Yes, you may."

"My name is Brittney Harvest. I'm trying to get signatures on this petition."

"Petition for what?"

Her blue eyes widened with what I thought to be childish enthusiasm. "It's for a Dromedary Leecher. It's this creature that—"

"Creature?"

She nodded.

I held back a chuckle and took the clipboard from her. "How old are you, Brittney?"

"I'm nine." She brushed back the bangs of black hair on her forehead. "I'll be ten in two months."

I signed my name. "That's wonderful. Here you go. Good luck protecting your animal from extinction." I dismissed the fleeting look of annoyance that crossed her features. It happened so fast, I could not be sure it happened at all.

"Do you know what a Dromedary Leecher is?" she asked.

Embarrassed to be called out on my lack of mammal expertise, I shook my head. "I'm afraid I've been out of school too long to remember."

"Right. Anyway, a Dromedary Leecher lives off of water. It has a unique ability to convert the liquid into cellular energy."

I had tuned her out until she so casually said "cellular energy". "How old are you again? Nine? You're a very bright girl."

She smiled. "I want to bring one of the Leechers to our town."

The unsettling feeling that occurs when your mind knows something is amiss gripped me fiercely as I relinquished the clipboard into her small white hands. My name stood out on the sheet as if taunting me, tempting me to renege on my acceptance of her proposal. Biting my lower lip, I took a deep breath and stepped backward, subliminally hinting for the end of our encounter.

She looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm afraid the town won't let me have one."

I glanced around the area beyond my front porch, trying to pinpoint the source of my discomfort as I offered her a distant smile. "Don't worry, kiddo. If you get enough people on your side, I'm sure it will work out."

Brittney nodded, cheered. "I hope so. I'm counting on mob rule."

She had my attention again. "Mob rule?"

"Yeah, you know, the policy the Roman Empire was founded on. If you control the mob, you control the city. Majority rule. Pack mentality."

My discomfort was so immense I mistook it for illness and leaned against the frame of my door for support. "I'm sorry. I'm going to have to go sit down. I'm not feeling so well."

"You look pale, mister. Thank you for signing my petition." She skipped off the porch, heading for Mrs. Raymond's house on my left.

An hour or so after Brittney had gone, and after a warm cup of mint tea, I felt better. The day turned gloomy and hot; the weather odd for mid-April in the Northeast. Expecting a storm, I shut my windows, unplugged my appliances, and sat down on the couch with a book. Soon the overcast sky stole my natural lighting, and I was forced to turn on my living room light.

When the storm came it was violent. Wind hammered at my door and the rain was so heavy it flooded my gutters and poured in sheets down onto the lawn. Most fierce thunderstorms are brief, but not this one. It continued on long after I resigned myself to bed due to power outage.

The next morning I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Humidity still choked the air, and I leaned over the sink to wash the sweat from my face. I turned on the cold water. Nothing. The pipes creaked and groaned and the faucet sputtered, but not one drop of refreshing water appeared. Irritated because I had to get ready for work, I threw on a robe and stumbled downstairs.

The light in my living room was on; the power was back up. Flashlight in hand, ready to spend an hour battling the dark corner of my basement where sat the water heater and valves, I was brought up short as I passed my front door.

On the floor, just inside the door, was a sheet of paper. I stopped down and picked it up. It read:

Dear Mr. Kristoff,

Thank you for your support. On your front porch you will find your new work clothes and equipment. Please do not try to commute to work today. Your car will not start. Your pipes are not broken, so do not bother going into the basement. When you have finished reading this letter, please put on your new clothes and make your way to Town Hall. Failure to report promptly will lead to disciplinary action. As you live on Benson Street, you will be allowed an hour walking time.

-Brittney

I felt sick again, but curiosity and annoyance impelled me to open my front door.

There are no words that properly describe the feeling associated with complete shock. I imagine this feeling is the same for all species, and the horror I felt was the same felt for a lobster pulled from the ocean and dropped into the cooking pot.

The landscape had completely changed. My grass was brown and dead. The lilac bushes lining my front porch were brittle, the spring buds gone. It was as if nature had packed up and left in the night. The sky was black with thunderheads. The air was blistering hot.

Across the street, other people had ventured out of their homes. Some were wandering around their yards, some were consulting with their neighbors, and some were puzzling over the odd package left on their porch. I looked down at the brown parcel next to my doorway.

A large container with straps that reminded me of an exterminator tank took up the majority of the bundle. I also located a pair of goggles, gloves, a thin pair of coveralls, and a modest pick-axe. There was a note in the bottom of the box:

Remember, you have one hour.

Some people are prone to panic in strange situations. I did not feel threatened, merely bewildered, but I had enough sense to realize that I better do exactly what the letter instructed. At this point, everything in my reality had moved to the sidelines, and common sense urged me not to tempt fate. Even if, on some grand scale, this was a practical joke, human curiosity prevented me from retreating back inside my home.

Outfitted as instructed, I stepped off my porch and headed to Town Hall.

The square around our modest government building was not packed with people when I arrived. Some of the neighbors form my street trickled in to stand near the dry fountain. We talked quietly and occasionally someone cracked a nervous joke about why we were here. One thing was apparent, most of us had signed Brittney's petition.

We milled around for a few hours before someone pointed to toward the building. The double doors swung open.

Brittney walked down the steps of Town Hall, her face smiling, her black hair in braids. She motioned for everyone to come closer.

"Good morning, everyone," she said. "You are the lucky few to have made it this far."

Someone behind me shouted, "What's this all about?"

"If you're here, then you still have a chance. Anyone who did not heed my letter is now gone."

"Bullshit," someone else called out.

Brittney shrugged. "You don't have to believe me. If you really think, after all you've seen this morning, that I'm lying then please feel free to go back home."

I felt a chill go up my spine. I got the distinct impression that "gone" was not synonymous with "alive".

She continued. "From now on you are water miners. You will come to work everyday at this time. Inside City Hall you will find two elevators. The shafts will take you to the mine entrances below the building. As Kevin has already consumed the water readily available, you must locate more."

Emboldened by some strange impulse, I spoke up. "You can't really expect us to believe all this, Brittney. You're just a child. No adult is going to do what you say."

She held up a paper I knew to be the petition I signed yesterday.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I have this. I have the signatures of almost all the people in this town. You all lent your blessing to bring in a Leecher. You are all bound by this decision."

"But not everyone signed that," I countered.

"It doesn't matter. This is how your system works. Mob rule. Democracy." And then she quoted from the bible, sending another chill went up my spine. ""That which is bound on earth shall be bound in heaven". Another rule you stupidly employed, allowing me to utilize this loophole. Mankind seems to forget they are held to the laws they make."

The woman next to me whispered, "What's a Leecher?"

Before I could think of anything to say, Brittney whistled. At her summons, light from the doorway behind her vanished as something blocked the opening.

People often describe things in commonalities to help form an image when there are no other adequate ways to do so. I am at a loss to describe the creature that emerged from within the Town Hall. I could say it resembled a bear, but that would not be accurate because it also resembled a good number of other earthly creatures. I can say with certainty it had an abundance of long grey hair over its body, but its legs were bare. Of legs, it had four, or perhaps the front two were arms, I can not say for sure. It used them to walk, yet could stand upright, so call them what you will. Its size was indeterminable. To emerge from the doorway it had to be no taller than a man, yet standing next to Brittney, it towered over us. Drool cascaded from a wide mouth crowded with yellow teeth. I saw no eyes to speak of, but that does not mean they were not there.

I expected screaming, fainting, fleeing of some sort from the crowd around me. But we all held our ground, dazed and too frightened to move. Off to my right, someone yelled something to Brittney. By the way her features shifted to anger, I knew the words were not kind.

And then half of us were gone. I'd say dead if I knew for sure it was correct. No evidence, other than the gear that had been brought with them, remained of those that vanished.

"Now, I trust there will be no more vocalization of discontent." The little girl looked at me—me. "Please proceed to the elevators or Kevin will have to eliminate more of you."

Banging my vacuum hose against the tunnel wall to dislodge a rock plug, I spared a glance at the person next to me. Head down, Rob Selnor continued to run his hose up and down the moisture rich rock, sucking up as much as he can before he has to knock more stone away with his pick. I knew he was avoiding my steady stare.

Most of the miners ignored me. I had developed a reputation for troublemaking, and no one was interested in any kind of mutiny I devised. After a few moments, I returned to my work, letting the resentment I couldn't speak brew inside my head.

Above us, somewhere in Town Hall, Brittney lived in luxury created by our slavery. Kevin, through no science I understood, converted all the water we brought him into whatever his mistress desired.

I wondered what time it was. Today was ration day and I would get my weekly allowance after my shift. Brittney allowed us one special meal each week, decided by her. A schoolboy excitement started to build inside me, holding my disgruntled thoughts at bay.

Maybe this week was chicken pattie week. One could only hope.