For some reason, no matter how technologically advanced we become as a society, certain things will never change. Weather, for example, chooses adamantly to remain constant no matter the state of climate change or our attempts to combat it. We tried cloud seeding and that worked for all of five minutes. And then, when passive solar desalination was deemed cheaper, shooting chemicals into the sky was just not trendy anymore.
If you live in the Mojave Desert like I do, you do not want to be outside at five in the afternoon in the middle of July. Unfortunately, most hospitals have a strict "No Smoking" rule, due to oxygen being highly flammable. So there I was, burning my lungs with tobacco while the sun decided to burn the rest of me. Perhaps e-cigarettes wouldn't be so bad after all, I thought to myself as I blew smoke out over the third floor balcony.
The sound of oncoming sirens snapped me back to reality as two vans rolled into the wraparound at the ground floor. Behind them was a patrol car from mainland California, its LEDs flashing in a zigzag pattern like the hips of a gypsy. As far as I knew, there was only one California officer with the testicular fortitude to make his way into Devil's Junction. With an exasperated sigh, I snuffed my cigarette and made my way down the fire escape.
"You have some goddamn nerve coming here, Stubbs!" While I knew my shouting was a write-up just waiting to happen, I wasn't exactly in the mood to care. "You know this territory is outside your jurisdiction. Pull your gun and you'll have four bullets in you faster-"
"Calm your jets, Dalia!" he interjected quickly. "I haven't even done anything yet and you're on the offensive!" Jason Stubbs is a lieutenant with the California Highway Patrol, and he has proudly served the golden state for seven years. Under normal circumstances, he is allowed to have his own vanguard of support cars, but he must leave them behind any time he enters our city. Protocol, really.
Devil's Junction is a special city. While it is enclosed by California on all sides, it does not consider itself part of California and is instead a sovereign territory. When the overcrowding of American prisons became a socioeconomic threat in 2021, President Christie gave an Executive Order to exile all criminals serving more than a ten year sentence. Encampments were set up all over the western United States, and the criminals were allowed to design these fledgling cities as they saw fit.
Devil's Junction grew out of the Owens Valley as a major water treatment facility, and over time, it expanded into a major producer of the chemicals lye and chlorine. Everything we make with these two chemicals gets sold to Mexico, and California gets a cut of the profits as restitution for past transgressions.
In exchange, the citizens of Devil's Junction are free to do as they please without interference from the cops. Unfortunately, Stubbs never got that memo, and constantly finds himself within the walls of this city, delivering justice in whatever way suits his fancy on a given day. It can be quite aggravating.
At six-foot one, Officer Stubbs towered over my much more modest five-foot five. He was also a whole forty pounds heavier than I was, much of that raw muscle. On one hand, he wouldn't dare hurt a fly unless it was in the scenario of protecting someone else. On the other, myself and those who worked alongside me were the ones he was protecting others from.
Undeterred, I pushed my finger to the badge on his chest. "You know damn well what you did if you're coming here with not one, but two Medivacs. You may have the authority to shoot to kill but your little vendetta is getting old!"
"Dalia Webster, that is completely uncalled for!" he retorted back. "Yes, I have taken the lives of your little scum friends on more than one occasion, but each and every time it was completely warranted. I had no part of this afternoon's incident, and you can check the footage if you're not satisfied."
"We'll just have to wait and see, then." I walked over to the first van. "Casualty count?"
"Two bagged, one critically burned."
"Burned?"
"Improper synthesis of Nitrous Oxide. Took out their entire facility and set fire to nearby electrical lines. Was just coming out of Independence when I got the call, but we couldn't get there in time." He raps on the other van. "This joker here survived by hiding under a metal plate. The downside-"
"Yeah, I get it." I grabbed my radio. "Send a triage to Ambulance services." A pause as I turned to Jason. "Tell them to take the other two over to B wing. I'll handle it from there."
He grabbed my wrist, hissing into my ear, "I swear to God, if you do a dive on these guys-"
"That is my prerogative as a doctor within Devil's Junction. Check your feelings at the door, lieutenant." I pulled my arm back enough for him to get the hint. Composing himself, he adjusted his uniform jacket.
"You're all vermin, Dalia. This entire sinkhole is nothing more than a breeding ground for the decadent. You have so much potential with that power of yours, and you waste it on those truly undeserving of it."
"Get out of my hospital." It was only a minute before the LEDs of his patrol car were gone, and I could breathe a sigh of relief. Surely he'd email me the video footage to support his claim that he had no involvement, and a secondary testimony from the surviving victim would be further affirmation.
Regardless, he was my enemy, and had been for the longest time. He would never support the work that I did, and he would never see the potential that I see within the criminal mind. While I couldn't hate him, I could only watch on in disappointment as he continued with this meaningless crusade. The world we grew up in really was no different; how could he say that it was?
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