Cult

Grants Pass, Oregon, is thirty miles or so north from Medford on Interstate 5. It's a small town, not as much stuff as Medford, but sometimes the kids go because it's different. There's a nice used record store and some general locally owned stores, and enough is different that you can spend an afternoon there and feel like you've gone somewhere.

One day, I drove to Grants Pass. I was in an unfamiliar car, something new and '80s and boxy, something that I couldn't feel the wind in. Old cars have holes and gaps and the feeling of travel catches up with the reality of travel. New cars, though more reliable or faster, have their own pressure system and simulated stasis that sickens some people when compared with the travel occurring outside and under the wheels.

I drove into the town, and stopped in a large parking lot. There was a perfectly flat spot in the lot, under trees that seemed planted only for that spot. When I drove in and parked, there was a way in, but when I stopped the car, I saw trees all around it. I started the car again and somehow an exit appeared again. I needed to tell my mother about this place. It would be a perfect place to park our RV.

The RV was being repaired, I think, in Grants Pass. Oddly, we seemed to live in Grants Pass, or maybe Medford was just a few streets over. I told Mom and she got the wrong idea, deciding to keep the RV there forever, instead of just when it had to be in Grants Pass. I couldn't articulate this, though.

Just as the way into the trees appeared and disappeared, so did my house and family. I knew I had to drive back to Medford the long way, on the freeway.

I drove up the onramp and onto the highway. As I rounded a corner, the car started to go out of control. I headed towards the edge of the road. In the dream, the highway was on a very steep slope, almost a cliff. The car started to go off the cliff, then stopped. Interestingly, I think all the wheels were off the road at that point. The car hung in space for a while. I tried to reverse back onto the road, but that didn't work. Then the car started moving again.

It didn't drop. Instead, it clung to the smooth cliff face, though it was nearly vertical, and rolled all the way down to the bottom of the cliff. I hardly need to add that this was very fast. I think I lost consciousness at this point, or that the dream shifted.

I was in an advanced MU-something. That is, it was a big chat room/fantasy role-playing game. It was virtual reality, but in a very 1980s way. The background of every room was black. People were vaguely defined and androgynous, like mannequins. Clothing was also vague, except for a few intricately detailed ones that were obviously artifacts. You know, like Bob's Boots of Stinking or The Fabled Amulet of Yffi. It reminded me most of blacklight rooms in haunted houses: everything painted black, with clothing standing out. As well as the scuffs and dust on the black room dividers and furniture.

People seemed to be having a good time, though. They were mostly just talking and carousing and being in RenFaire good spirits. More mead! Some people were going out and killing orcs and stuff and trying to go up in level, but most of them were just hanging out in the inns. I wandered around in the program. It seemed pretty nice, but I'm fond of really bare bones FRPG programs anyway.

I wandered around and did FRPG things. I had armor and a sword, and I hacked at some badly simulated dungeon denizens. It was way too easy and became boring quickly, which is why most of the people gave up. It wasn't skill so much as obsession that created a level 50 adventurer. I think I made it to level 6 or 18 or some other special level, because at one point a computer voice informed me that I now regenerated hitpoints and spell points twice as fast as previously. Which thrilled me no end, I'm sure.

After figuring out for myself that this was a darn boring MUD, I went back into one of the inns. There were a lot, but they all led to the same common room. I guess that was a programming shortcut.

When I went in, there was a sudden silence. People turned to look at me. I tried not to let them worry me, but eventually I just had to ask one of them what was going on. It seemed that a notorious player killer (that is, someone who prefers killing PCs to NPCs, particularly newbie or otherwise defenseless PCs) had made it known that he'd set his sights on me. People backed away from me wherever I went, so I finally went outside again.

I wasn't particularly worried about this bully. I was only in a simulation, and I didn't even particularly want to be in it. He'd kill me, I'd be out of the game, then I could figure out where I was.

Unfortunately, when he did show up, I beat him easily. He was dressed all in black, with stylized skulls on his tunic and shield. Macho posturing aside, he was a really bad fighter. I cut his image in half and it wobbled for a few seconds, then disappeared.

I guess killing someone who's terribly experienced credited me with that XP, because suddenly the interface changed. I guess I went up a bunch of levels and could size people up differently. It was just silly, though. Everyone around me suddenly had really big heads, with feet sticking out of them. They looked like characters from a really bad kids' show, or an old video game. I just started laughing uncontrollably.

It was just too funny to continue playing, so I instinctively unplugged. I'm still not sure exactly how. I found myself sitting in a small booth in a dark room. I could tell that there were other people, in other booths, all around this room. I was wearing a headband attached to wires - electrodes, presumably - which I removed and left on the seat. I found my way to the door and left the building.

I was then outside, on a bright day. The building I came from, as well as the other buildings I could see, was a completely unembellished rectangular solid. No trim or decorative touches, no openings except for doors. The grass was green in an almost fluorescent intensity.

Everyone I saw walking around in this place was wearing the same outfit - grey bib overalls, white T-shirts, combat boots. Some people had glasses, plain black National Health glasses. Everyone also had the same haircut, which if I knew anything about hair I would probably describe as a short bob. Everyone wasn't totally identical, though. Some people had colorful buttons on the straps of their overalls, and some people carried different bags and packs with them. The bags were of different sizes, but all the same color of grey canvas.

I got the sense that the buttons weren't according to regulations, but they were tolerated. I tried to ask some people where I was, but nobody would answer my questions. Some people backed away quickly when I started asking them about the place they lived. Others just averted their eyes and ignored me.

A crowd of people had assembled behind one of the buildings. A girl my age, who I thought I knew, was standing on a box and speaking about something. I couldn't tell what, but the crowd seemed very agitated. She yelled louder and louder, but the murmuring drowned her out. Suddenly, two large people in red overalls and red helmets pushed through the crowd. They had reflective visors so their faces couldn't be seen. They grabbed my friend and addressed the crowd through some sort of PA system that must have been built into their helmets:

"For crime, this one is BANISHED!"

Everyone backed away, in frightened awe. They let my friend go past without acknowledging her existence. Everyone was ignoring her.

I walked over to her to ask what happened and see if I could help. A few of the people seemed bothered that I was interacting with someone who had been banished, but I think they knew I was new here, and didn't know the rules.

She was in tears as she said she had to leave. I offered to walk with her to the border (though I didn't know where that was), and she gratefully accepted. We walked for fifteen minutes or so, through more brilliant green grass and identical square buildings. Finally, we reached a big ditch with a highway on the other side. The highway was several feet above the place we were.

I then knew that we were in some kind of utopian compound that was circled by fences on all sides except the ditch side. This was where the outcasts went.

In the ditch there were several people, floating in dirty water. They wore the uniform of this compound, and seemed to be alive. They were in bad shape, and seemed to have been floating in the water for days or more, waiting to die or be forgiven. Forgiveness never came.

I heard a splash, and my friend disappeared. I was beginning to panic, as I realized I shouldn't hang around this punishment area. A few cars whizzed by on the highway above.

I wanted to leave, but for some reason I was afraid to. I had come from the outside world, I was pretty certain, but I didn't know if it had changed. Maybe this area I had ended up in was different somehow. Maybe the people outside this compound were worse. Still, other than the virtual reality pavilion, this was a pretty bad world of the future.

I wasn't entirely sure I could find the virtual reality building again, either, as they all looked alike.

Something had to be done. The ditch wasn't very steep or wide at all, so I jumped over and stood on the far bank. I grabbed one of the listless outcasts, much to his surprise, and pulled him out of the water. He lay unmoving on the bank as I scrambled up to the highway and pulled him up again. I stood there for a few minutes, propping him up and wondering what to do next. Then a car slowed down and stopped. The driver (wearing normal, modern clothing) got out and helped me load the apathetic outcast into his car. There was no question of my going as well. I guess even outsiders could tell who was outcast and who wasn't.

My further impression of things, from the driver's mannerisms, was that the locals tolerated our cult compound, but they thought it was a shame how we killed people within who disagreed with us. There was a group in town that would take care of and rehabilitate escapees, and people driving on this part of the highway kept an eye out for people who'd crawled out of the ditch. I guess it was too much like interfering to pull people out of the ditch who didn't leave on their own.

My refugee lolled in his seat, having lost the will to live, as the driver strapped him back in. I held his head and looked into his eyes, and asked that he somehow send word back as to how the outside world was. I figured that he would probably be better after a bath and a meal, and he could tell me how the outside was.

The car left, and I was standing alone on the highway. I was scared to be exposed, so I went back down into the sunken compound. My friend was still missing. I pulled four or five other people up to the road, left them there, and headed back towards the center of the compound. As I started back, I saw two cultists in hip waders approach the ditch. They had long poles with metal hooks at the ends. One end of each pole had a large hook, like a big cane. The other end had a smaller, sharper hook with a point on the top, like a fireplace poker. They had a large garden cart.

They looked at me disapprovingly as they dropped the cart by the ditch. I shouldn't have been there with the dead. They didn't seem to notice the people I'd helped to the highway. The two ditch maintenance guys started poking the people floating in the ditch, to see if they were dead yet. When they found a dead person, they dragged the body out of the water and dropped it in their cart.

I went off and about the daily routine. It was like communism or summer camp, and I got lost and confused now and then. People treated me like I was a member and belonged here, but had through no fault of my own forgotten things about day-to-day living. Either I was born here and had suffered some sickness or injury to forget, or that was just how they treated everyone who ended up here. They were very friendly, but also very bland and boring.

A couple of small streams flowed through the area. I was sitting by one of them when another person I seemed to know came up and handed me a pamphlet.

It was a catalog, probably from Johnson Smith or the Edge or another novelty house. I sensed that outside printed matter was forbidden here, so I went out to the edge of the farm again to look through it.

Inside, in all the margins and on the order blank, a letter was written in a cramped hand. It seemed to be from the man I helped out of the ditch, although I didn't know his name and he didn't know mine. It said that the outside world was still how I remembered it, and that people were looking for me. I didn't belong here and had ended up in the compound by mistake. That happened to a lot of people, but they usually didn't remember being outside. There would be a vehicle sent by to pick me up in a day.

I was relieved. Things in here didn't seem to be as they should. I had shadows of memories of living elsewhere, and was vaguely dissatisfied. Still, living in the compound was like swimming in syrup. Everything went slowly and it was hard to resist.

I talked to people in the place where I slept. Younger people, people I seemed to know from somewhere. They wanted to leave, too, as I told them about living outside.

The next day, a couple of dozen of us headed for the road. We hoisted the living out of the ditch and lined up on the highway. The ditch people at least doubled our number. A large school bus approached. It was painted sky blue.

As we waited for it, there was a murmur of excitement and hope. Even just standing on the road, life was moving faster than inside. People in the farm started coming closer to the edge, milling about at a safe distance. Now and then one would break from the crowd and climb up with us.

The bus arrived and we all got on. As it drove off, I could see the car I'd been driving earlier - it seemed like an eternity away - crumpled in a heap behind one of the fences.

The ex-cultists were excitedly looking out the windows, amazed at everything. I could feel my mind clearing, and I began to remember who I was and where I belonged.