THE BURIAL

							                                               THE BURIAL

       Memories were flowing forth from the depths of Ryan Baird's mind. He remembered being a

toddler in his father’s arms, looking up into his warm eyes and feeling the empowering sensation of his

love. He remembered being a young boy tossing a baseball back and forth with the man he called Dad,

smiling and laughing without a care in the world.

       Then he was shaken back to reality by a shiver. The cold raindrops that beat down upon his

skull and rushed down his face swallowed up the occasional tear, hiding the fact that he was even

crying. Ryan looked down in dismay at the concrete box that would now hold his father's body

imprisoned for the rest of eternity. He could still see his proud father, Gerald Baird, with x-ray

precision through the encasement of wood and concrete. Ryan imagined his dad lying peacefully with

his arms placed on his chest as if he were in a deep sleep, soon to wake in a fit of rage at having been

accidentally placed in this situation.

       As much as Ryan wished or hoped, however, his father was gone. Several hollow-point bullets

had basically shredded Gerald Baird's vital organs, ensuring that they would never operate properly

again. Ryan's father had been ambushed in his home and executed before being carelessly tossed into

the back of a black van and taken to the morgue. His wrist would forever hold the laminated tag with

his address, next of kin, and late fee of $67.09 scribbled on it.

       Baird scowled as he recalled the measly amount of money his father had been killed over; a

measly $67.00 and change. Why couldn't they have taken it out of his retirement funds, or hunted Ryan

himself down and demanded he pay? Why did James Ellis have to send his ruthless pack of wild dogs

known as the Collectors, to retrieve Gerald Baird's unpaid phone bill? Ryan had so many questions and

saw little to no answers.

       James Ellis was, in fact, the one answer Ryan had. James ran everything in the country from his

plush office high above New York City. Of course, Ellis Tower stood taller than every building in the

state, if not the entire country. Rumor said you could see the monstrous obelisk of a building all the
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way from California, but no one so much as dared to venture out of the Northeast these days.

                                       BEHIND THE BEHEMOTH

       It had been more than a century since James Ellis' father essentially took control of the country.

Since then, everyone had migrated to the Northeast. Ellis Tower became the new White House and

NYC the new capitol. It was a unanimous decision to impeach the president of the United States, who

had been driving the country further and further into the ground. His incredibly popular and equally

lucky vice president, Michael Ellis was chosen in an unusual decision to take control. It took

everything he had, but Michael eventually forced the country to support turning the government into

one big division of EllisCorp.

       But once Ellis was in power, it didn't take him long to set “governmental affairs” aside as

something that was less-than-important to him. Money was the only thing he cared about, and that

included the fees that were collected each month for the many bills people paid for goods and services.

It was unbelievable to Ellis how many people didn't pay their bills entirely or at all.

       “How the government let this slide for so long I will never know,” he once said.

       Regardless of what the democratic government of the past had done about it, Ellis took things

into his own hands. Random soldiers were removed from the service of the military's various branches

and placed into an “elite” group known as the Collectors. This was Ellis' personal task force; he used it

to collect late fees one way or another. The “deadbeats” Ellis declared a personal war against were

threatened until they paid up.

       Hundreds of Collectors served under Michael Ellis, bringing in more money than ever before

and stimulating the economy to fight off the depression it faced. The people called Michael Ellis their

savior and the Collectors were looked upon as a new type of celebrity. This was until Michael died and

his son, James, took over.

       James was a power-hungry soul who lacked the ounce of compassion towards the fate of the

country his father had. When James took over and altered the company’s motives, the people stayed
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faithful. EllisCorp was the hand that fed them and they weren’t about to bite it despite the fact that it

was beating them. All he cared about was directly into his wallet.

          Under James’ control, the Collectors no longer limited themselves to the hidden, secretive

threats that had worked so well. James did continue his father’s personal vendetta against the

Deadbeats, but he encouraged using murder to set an example. Many objected to this but no one spoke

up; James was the single thing keeping them stable.

          Decades passed with the country clenched in James Ellis and his Collectors’ oppressive fists.

The majority was scared into obeying, and those who still insisted on not paying their dues were killed.

These violent acts were often publicized, which greatly helped the cause.

          Even in the midst of all the madness he brought upon the masses, James Ellis held onto a tiny

shred of mercy. Deep within the multitudes of files and folders that made up the foundation of

EllisCorp there existed a list of people who were immune to the influence of the Collectors. One of the

names far down on the list was Ryan Baird.

                                           ONE OF THE ELITE

          Very few men reached Ryan Baird’s position at all, much less before age 30. Ryan was the

second-in-command at “the” phone company. With EllisCorp in charge, only one company was needed

to offer each service rendered. Naturally, the man Ryan answered to didn’t do much more work for

himself, which left Baird in charge of supplying what was left of the country with phone service. And,

as was EllisCorp’s company policy, anyone who didn’t pay was instantly sentenced to death.

Fortunately, to make all of this much easier, EllisCorp also claimed control of the police as well as the

courts.

          All of this was a disturbing reality for the common man, but Ryan Baird was no common man.

His high-ranking status in an important EllisCorp branch put him in the only “upper” class that

mattered; the EllisCorp class. This also meant that Ryan’s family members, which meant his father

Gerald, would be protected from the Collectors’ merciless attacks. That was supposed to be the case, at
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least.

                                   A SENSE OF IMPENDING DOOM

         November 12 was a particularly cold day this year. Gerald Baird, who would normally have

been outside in his workshop tinkering with something or another, was confined to his house. The lack

of heat in the workshop was no issue, but the elements prevented Gerald from opening his door no

matter how hard he tried. The old man was normally up and about at this time of day but the weather

left him inactive and feeling useless. It was early evening when a hard knock sounded at Gerald’s front

door.

         “Now who the hell would be visiting in this blasted weather?” the frustrated man cried.

                                                  ***

         Ryan Baird sat hunched over his desk, typing furiously. A phone rang somewhere but nothing

could deter Ryan from his work. He had no idea that his father was shuffling to the front door but he

felt an odd sense of danger lurking around him. The creepy feeling forced Ryan to shiver, but he

managed to ignore it. Work consumed his thoughts and made it impossible for him to notice his father’s

name as it blazed past his eyes on the computer monitor.

                                                  ***

         The knocking grew more frantic, but it was obvious the person was rather angry.

         “I’m coming! Hold your dang horses!” Gerald roared.

         Apparently the elderly man’s snappy response didn’t please the visitors. When Baird placed his

hand on the doorknob, the hinges separated from the doorframe in an explosion of splinters. The heavy

wooden door toppled over on Gerald, pinning him down. He struggled against the weight but it

increased threefold when the intruder pressed his leather boot down on the misplaced door.

         Gerald gagged and winced as he felt his ribs slowly caving in. A second man entered the house

and kicked an armchair across the room. The lamplight in the room caught the men’s faces occasionally

as they made slight movements. Black masks concealed all but their eyes, which were covered by
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glowing night-vision goggles. The man finally stepped off the door.

       “What do you want?” Gerald gagged as the door became lighter, relief and pain fighting for

control of his senses.

       One of the men answered him; he couldn’t turn to see which, “We’re here to collect.”

       The man’s eerie, robotic voice pierced Gerald’s mind and brought forth memories of television

newscasts. He had seen and heard these men, barking commands and cursing out reporters. He looked

desperately at the list of things to do he had written for himself. It sat, neglected, on the nearby table.

The top thing on the list was underlined three times. It read, “PHONE BILL”. How could he have

forgotten? How could he have been so foolish?

       “Take anything… I’ll make it up somehow, I’m sorry!” Gerald begged and pleaded.

       “It’s too late for that,” one of the Collectors drew his gun and aimed it at Gerald.

       Tears began streaming down the old man’s face. Both of the men saw it, as well as an alert that

popped up on the heads-up display of their goggles. It was impossible to miss the warning; it featured a

large picture of Gerald and read “PROTECTED: DON’T TERMINATE”.

       “Hey, Roy, he’s protected…” the soldier who had yet to draw his gun spoke up.

       The leader, Roy’s, reply was simple; “He doesn’t know that.”

       Roy’s colleague jumped forward but he was too late. The handgun fired and Gerald Baird was

mortally wounded through the shoulder. The killer, Lieutenant Roy Sharp, shook his partner’s hand off

of his soldier and exited the home, disrespectfully stomping on the door on his way out.

                                                    ***

       Ryan Baird was still working, pushing his limits to the very end of the day. A notification

reading, “TARGET GB0342 ELIMINATED” popped up the screen and Ryan closed it; ignorant to his

own father’s initials. He had no idea the man who raised him was currently crawling on his stomach,

dying from wounds inflicted by the Collectors.



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