The B Gene

by Carlos Hardy

  “How do we even know if the building is still there?”

  “You don’t, but you have to try to get to it.”

  Caleb takes the keys after a brief moment of silence. “Where are the girls?” He asks.

  “They’re packing and waiting for you. My friend’s name is Fitz, Caleb. He’s at T and S. Follow the turnpike to 695, leading you to Carlton road and the technology building.”

  “And what do we do when we get there?” Caleb asks as Green pulls on his arm, bringing him towards the girls. “How do we get inside? I’m sure that place is like Fort Knox right now.”

  “Find Fitz, tell him who you are.” Green blatantly ignores Caleb’s critical questions. “I am confident he can help us, and provide assistance on what’s ahead.”

  “What’s ahead, Professor?” Caleb asks, stopping Green in his tracks by raising his arm to his chest. “There you go again. How are we supposed to do all of this?”

  “There isn’t much time. The tankers will return shortly. You need to move.” Green begins ushering Caleb down the hallway stairs.

  “Can we count on Fitz?” He asks out loud. “It looks like we have a bounty on our head.”

  “He’s a dear friend,” Green says, almost somberly. “He also marched with Dr. King.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. He could be a closet racist.”

  “You…” Professor Green sighs. “You would be right, but what choice do you have now?”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Green makes it to the double doors on the far side of the library, ushering Caleb along. Cautiously opening them just a crack, he peers out for armed forces, noting that nobody is there.

  “Are you ready?” He asks, the demolished campus ahead of him.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “I don’t want to speak for your entire race, Caleb,” Green begins, his voice much more controlled and assertive. “But I can confidently assure you that no other race on this planet holds their faith closer to their heart than African-Americans. Some may say you’re the salt of the earth.” He places a hand on Caleb’s shoulder, reassuring him to the best of his abilities. “I won’t lie. I don’t know where this ends, but for decades, the fight for equality sustained your people. Survival is what your people have done, and I don’t see why this situation would be any different.”

  Before Caleb can ask another question, the engine from a nearby tanker roars. Green opens the door wider, noting two military tankers blocking the campus entrance near their building. Two guards begin patrolling the area, weapons pulled back to their shoulders.

  “We’re trapped. How do we get out of here?” Bree whispers, making her way with Micky over towards the professor.

  “I think they’ve found us,” Micky adds. “I saw a few of them in the halls near the lounge, and they don’t look happy.”

  “I’ll divert them,” Green says quickly, wasting no time to ensure their escape. “You three get to the parking structure. Find my car, and haul ass out of here.”

  “They will kill you, professor.”

  A hard stare between the two of them leaves the girls wondering what will come next. “Sometimes you have to fight for what you believe in, Caleb. Even if it isn’t popular.”

  “They’re bloodthirsty,” Bree says, “and you are fresh meat to them.”

  Micky points to the third floor of the library, watching soldiers quickly sweeping through the area, kicking doors into side rooms as they move from floor to floor. Professor Green opens the double doors, strolling out in front of the tanker. The patrolmen immediately notice him.

  “What are you doing here, old man?” One soldier with a crew cut asks.

  “I beg your pardon,” Green says, putting on an acting voice. “I am Professor Green.”

  With their breaths held tightly, Caleb, Bree and Micky stare through a crack in the middle of the double doors. Green switches his stance, putting his back to the door.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself,” he begins to shout, “I know what’s going on here.”

  The soldier tightens his grip on the hilt of his gun. “We have orders,” he says without conviction, “this isn’t personal. Keep it moving.”

  “How can you sleep at night knowing you are part of this massive cover-up?” He asks in his verbal assault.

  Caleb and the girls sneak from the narrow opening in the door, moving over to one side of the tanker truck, making their way to the rear bumper. They can’t hear exactly what’s going on, but the soldiers are chuckling while Green maintains his disgusted expression.

  Suddenly, one of the soldiers turns towards the tanker, obviously interested in something. With his gun cocked back to his shoulder, he cautiously walks around the tanker.

  “Who’s there?” He asks slowly.

  “There’s no one there!” Green shouts. “You took everyone away in those trucks.”

  “Shut up, old man!” The crew cut soldier shouts, turning to his partner. As the second man pulls his gun on the rear of the tanker, he sees that truly, nothing is there.

  A simple diversion, but an effective one: Green notices the three teens in the distance, dashing through the destroyed campus to the Douglas building. Staying directly behind one another in a straight line, they maintain light footsteps through the chilly night air, but only for a moment. Micky bumps into Bree; Bree bumps into Caleb, who’s standing still.

  “What is it?” Bree whispers, but her question is soon answered.

  “That was the Douglas building,” Micky says.

  “Well what do we do now?”

  “Alternate plan,” Caleb says, veering off of their path. “Stay close.”

  Caleb leads them to a blockade on the far side of the campus, leading off to a desolate road ahead. “It’s the least-used entrance,” he mentions. “My dad said that when he came here, they even thought about blocking it off.”

  The minutes’ creep by in silence as they keep pace, walking up the seemingly empty road in the middle of the night. The chill in the air has turned to straight freezing, with the occasional wind to rattle their bones.

  “Look ahead,” Caleb suggests, pointing towards a halted truck in the middle of the road.

  “Time to hitch a ride.” Bree says.

  “We don’t know who that is,” Micky insists.

  “Not military,” Caleb offers. They nod in solidarity, and begin making their way over.

  They approach the pickup truck from the side, noting the colorful logo for Hudson’s Dairy emblazoned on the side. When they reach the other side of the truck, fully unaware of what they might find, they note an African-American male in his forties, leaning over to fix a flat tire.

  “Hello?” He asks, turning around. He looks through his thick-rimmed glasses, and he simply waves. “What are you three doing out here?”

  “Can you help us?” Caleb asks without beating around the bush.

  “Young man, have you been watching the news?” The man asks.

  “Bits and pieces. It’s kind of hard when you’ve been running for your life.”

  “Who’s after you?” The man asks, rising to his feet. “Ya’ll from that university? The roads are blocked everywhere. They barely let me out of that place.”

  “Can you help us?” Micky asks, cutting him off. The man gives a side-eyed look towards Caleb.

  “Who’s she?” He asks.

  “One of the good ones.” Caleb insists.

  * * *

  Minutes later, the four of them are headed up 695. Caleb, Bree and Micky are elated at the floor-level vent heating their frigid toes. Without taking his hands off the road, the man hands a hot thermos of chocolate milk to Caleb, who passes it down.

  “Name’s Clarence, by the way,” he offers.

  “Well, Clarence,” Bree begins to prod. Caleb knows that tone of hers. “What do you think this galactic terrorism is all about?”

  “It’s bullshit.” He return
s rather sharply. “I’ve always said the government would do anything to enslave blacks again. This is just an alibi for it.” A moment of silence passes between them before Clarence’s hands tighten around the leather steering wheel. “They’ve already started choosing for the lottery. They picked my daughter, a sixteen-year-old girl. I still remember bringing her home as a baby, the most joyous little thing.”

  “Wait,” Bree shakes her head, “they’ve already started the lottery?”

  “Once the President signed the bill, they didn’t waste a second. There’s a million of us going. He gave this sob speech about 85% of the military being white. That’s a lie. They want blacks, and I can read between the lines.” Clarence releases a sigh. “My daughter is strong. She wants to go, and my wife says we’ll never be able to keep her from her destiny anyway. It’s best to get out of the Lord’s way.”

  “Clarence, this isn’t 1619.” Caleb interjects. “This is the government’s way of systematic genocide.”

  “They’re giving us a wonderful severance package. Over $100,000.”

  “So she’s only worth a hundred grand to them,” Bree says furiously.

  “She’ll be back,” Clarence says, “it’s just like college. You go off for four years and return. The lottery ain’t no different.”

  “But where are they sending them?” Bree asks, urging Clarence to question this for himself. “Clarence, she’s not coming back.”

  A loud thump bangs in the bed of the truck, bringing them to a screeching halt. An ever louder sound emits from the rear. Micky points to the truck’s bed. “Did ya’ll hear that?” She says, rather shocked.

  Clarence hops out, and the others follow suit. They walk towards the back of the truck, and Caleb slowly pulls the tarp away. As it’s nearly pulled from whatever is underneath, he hears a familiar voice.

  “What took ya’ll so long?” Jaylen asks.

  “How did you get in there?” Clarence asks, scratching his head.

  “What’s more important: the how, or the why?” Jaylen grins. “What’s up, Caleb? You missed me, huh?”

  Caleb tosses the tarp to the ground, exchanging a fist bump with Jaylen. Seconds later, a massive flurry of clouds fill through the sky, stretching across like tendrils from the heavens. The sky opens, bringing strong winds in its immediate path.

  “Hang on!” Caleb yells as they all grab on to the side of the truck, but it’s no use. The lightweight pickup begins to shift back and forth violently, lifting from the ground in short bursts. They ditch the truck, and the five of them head towards an open field off the side of 695.

  Up ahead, a farming tractor in the fields lifts up from the ground, and begins flying in their direction at a rapid pace, like a child playing with their toys.

  Caleb braces himself for impact, tightening his lungs and readying his body. That’s when he feels it again.

  Confidence overtakes him. Something overtakes him, and his palms open. The tractor suddenly stops in its tracks, falling to the ground in a loud thump, leaving them unharmed. In an instant, the clouds begin to dissipate. Clarence scrambles to find his glasses, noting the tractor a hundred feet away from them.

  “How in the world did you do that?” He asks, but Caleb simply looks down to his bare hands, and then to the baffled faces of his friends.

  Chapter Fourteen:

  The Power Source

  In the dark hours of the night since passing the bill, republicans from the House have called an emergency meeting with Adviser Doley. Controversy has flooded the media, accompanied by images and video of protestors parading through the streets. Members of Black to Black fill the hallways of the House, along with reporters barking questions at Doley as he walks through, holding a box in one hand.

  He’s expected to meet with legislators, but instead hears throws of being called a race baiter and a traitor, echoing through the hallway. Reporters continually ask him questions, though he does his best to remain unflinching, ignoring everything coming his way. Doley makes it towards the two large suited men blocking the chamber, watching as they part for him alone, excluding the press from entering.

  Doley walks through the doors, entering The Sullivan, a special room designed to be completely soundproof and disrupt all video equipment. This is off the record in the boldest sense of the term.

  Doley removes his jacket and flings it onto a nearby chair, noting the semicircle of chairs and couches, surrounding a large blue table in the center of the room. All twenty Congressional Committee heads sit throughout the room, their chatter silenced by Doley’s entrance.

  Carl Manning sits at the head of the table, glaring at Doley. He’s surrounded by elderly white men, a few women, all silently berating the fact that this is the first time a black man has sat in this room, in fact, the only minority member.

  Doley stands at the other end of the table while Manning goes over notes displayed before him. Doley puts the box on the floor, clearing his throat to garner attention.

  “I thank you, Committee Chairs, for hearing me out during this pressing time. I will be forthcoming; I have nothing but answers for you.”

  Without looking up from his notes, Manning gestures for Doley to sit down with a flick of the wrist.

  “Thank you for giving us an opportunity to learn more about where we are in the process of the Melanin Experiment.” Manning’s demeanor is cold, calculated; strictly business. “Tell us more about the reported mass incarcerations at the HBCUs across the country.”

  “Members of the military had no choice but to apprehend civilians across the country.”

  “Adviser Doley,” one woman, Sarah Michaels, begins to press with her sharp-as-nails voice. “This is unconstitutional. Who provided the order?”

  “This was a direct order from the President.”

  “Impossible,” she snaps back, noting the wide-eyed glares from her fellow Committee Chairs. “As I said, this is unconstitutional to infringe on the civil rights of citizens in our country.”

  Loosening his tie, Doley raises his voice. “The President utilized his executive powers,” he says assertively, noting the gaze from Manning. “They will stop at nothing. We had no choice but to act.”

  Sarah leans back in her seat, contemplating Doley for a moment, sensing his nervousness and features. “There are checks and balances,” she says calmly. “Now we have an entire group of people that are being alienated, and the rest on the brink of a national race war. Is this what you want, Adviser?”

  His nerves run like ice water through his veins. “With all due respect, the President has taken an oath to protect the American citizens at all costs. I strictly follow orders.”

  “You’re not hearing me,” Sarah interrupts. “There are US Army tanks on the news, capturing and detaining African-American citizens like animals. This all happened before the proposal and signing of the bill. How is the White House handling this?”

  “We are aware that the optics aren’t in the appropriate context, but there isn’t another way to handle this situation.

  “Can I tell you what I’m hearing, Mr. Doley?” A gravelly voice comes from Congressman Caster, leaning towards the edge of his seat as he captures Doley’s attention. “The White House wanted a safety net in its efforts to retain one-million African-Americans. If we didn’t approve the bill, you were going to go out of your way to give them what they wanted. That’s not how the law works, Brad.”

  “We anticipated the conflict,” Doley shouts, a vein popping in his forehead. “We hired top public relations firms to issue a statement. The detainees will be released tomorrow morning.”

  “Brad,” Manning interrupts. “You, your team, and the White House blatantly ignored and defied the law. I think that’s a big assertion. When we stand before that bible and take an oath, we don’t know what’s standing in our way. We compromise daily and administer what’s best for the country.”

  “I don’t buy your hollow patriot speech for one second, Carl.�
� Sarah snaps. They lock eyes. “It’s bullshit. You of all people should notice the systematic and disenfranchising moment occurring here.”

  “How many times do I have to say it?” Manning demands, rising from his chair, a fist smashing down on the table. “This isn’t about race. This is about protecting that flag, and what it stands for: all Americans.”

  “Who are we being protected from, Brad?” Caster interjects, diffusing the tension for a moment.

  Doley leans back in his chair, trying to find the right words. The pressure in the room has shifted, and Sarah’s argument is on the losing side.

  “You demanded these African-Americans because of galactic terrorism,” Sarah says calmly. “Have you not been paying attention, Mr. Speaker? The very premise is ridiculous and an insult to our intelligence. We’ve read the classified material, and we’ve provided you with a blank check with nothing to show for it. Your report fails to mention the length of their stay, where these citizens will be housed. Inform us now, Brad.”

  “You want to know where your check is being spent,” Doley grins. “We’re constantly conducting experiments, Congresswoman. Some public, some private. This particular experiment was created decades ago at T and S.”

  All members of the committee straighten up and listen closely. He’s captured their attention entirely.

  “Our military is protecting Americans from what we know as the Akache, an unknown entity from several galaxies away. T and S have completed extensive research on a partially damaged ship that was recovered at the inception of the project.”

  “Have we had a face-to-face with this Akache?” Caster interrupts. “Are they a viable threat?”

  “No Congressman, we’ve yet to have a face-to-face with them.”

  “This makes absolutely no sense. Who are we bargaining with here, Brad?”

  “It’s complex. I assure you I have everything under control.”

  “It certainly doesn’t appear that way,” Manning states. The room falls silent. “Can you understand us, Brad?”