Ascension: Invocation

by Brian Rickman

  She looked out across the mass of people that now occupied her little town. Where had they all come from? Amber heard that the elementary school, where she had learned her numbers and affixed candy hearts to poster board was now home to migrants, sleeping on pallets and doing their washing in the cafeteria sinks. The high school football field was full of garbage and the police were losing control. Only weeks before, this was a desolate and charming little place with only a handful of visitors, most of whom were relations or simply passing through. Today, she didn’t recognize this ugly landscape she once had called home.

  A familiar face approached Amber. “Hey, girl.” It was Tommy, one of her boyfriend’s oldest pals and the former bass player for Wicked Suns, his failed garage band. Amber didn’t much care for his company but right now it was a pleasure to see him. “How you holdin’ up?”

  “I just saw the most fucked up shit, Tommy.”

  “Yeah. There’s some chick over on Second Street charging five dollars for hand jobs.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Amber was nearly breathless to tell her tale. “This little girl just got shot in the Dollar Store and then this news lady fucking beat the shit out of the guy that shot her and then she shot his fucking face off.”

  “Woah. In the Dollar Store? Over what?”

  “It’s a news studio now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re doing the news over there, Tommy. It’s CNN or something.”

  “Is the Redbox out front still open?”

  “What?”

  “I was going to get a movie later.”

  “Goddamn it, Tommy,” Amber noticed the uncracked fifth of Jack he toted. “You gonna open that?”

  “Go ahead.” Tommy sat on the curb next to Amber. Her hands shook as she hurriedly twisted the bottle open and took a long draw. A fight broke out about a block away. Amber and Tommy watched as cheers and laughter erupted from the crowd. In a few moments, it was over. A bloodied and angry man limped by the pair shortly thereafter, mumbling something about the assholes that jumped him.

  “What the fuck is happening?”

  “Fuckin’ aliens or some shit.” Tommy took his own drink. “People got shot, huh?”

  “Dude, right in front of me! I saw them die.”

  “What were they fighting over?”

  “The end of the world, Tommy. Ain’t you been paying attention?!”

  “Of course I have. But, unlike you, I have other responsibilities.”

  “What do you mean other responsibilities? You have things to do that supersede the apocalypse?”

  “I got a wife and kid.”

  Amber took the bottle back and helped herself to another belt. “Where are they?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “That little girl I was talking about? The one that got shot?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She said she was a princess from another dimension. We ain’t supposed to stand in that rain they’re talking about.”

  A voice from behind them joined the conversation. “Your friend is wise.” Amber and Tommy turned to find an unkempt man sitting in a ragged lawn chair. His throne was surrounded candy wrappers and empty Mountain Dew two liters.

  “Why do you say that?” Amber asked.

  The man leaned forward in his chair. “This is the end-game. The Illuminati holocaust.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Surely, you’re not that naïve, are you?”

  “Just fucking tell me.”

  “The Illuminati control everything. Always have,” the man said excitedly. “Assassinations, currency manipulation, Super Bowl halftime shows...”

  “What?”

  “Shit’s all executed through puppet institutions. Motherfuckers like the Federal Reserve, the Council on Foreign Relations, the Freemasons, and Def Jam.”

  “Def Jam? The record company?”

  “More like an oppression company.”

  “What are they trying to do? What’s the...”

  “What’s the end game? I’ll tell you what they’re doing. The people that get in that rain, they’re about to be alien food.”

  “That’s... sort of what the princess said.”

  “Which princess?”

  “Sariana. The little girl that I saw get killed.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah, that’s what’s going to happen. Anybody that so much as lets a drop of that pesticide touch ‘em is gonna be paralyzed and then fed to the Reptoids.”

  “She talked about Lucifer and the Humans and...”

  “I don’t care what you call it. It’s all the same shit. From day one, we were put on this Earth for one reason and one reason only.”

  “That’s what she said!”

  “To be brunch for a fuckin’ alien race.”

  “That’s some fucked up shit.”

  Tommy whispered in Amber’s ear. “I think this guy’s a little weird.”

  Amber looked the man over again. Tommy was right. She wasn’t going to find any definitive answers chatting with these lunatics. “Well, thanks for your... insight,” she told him.

  The man nodded and handed her a leaflet about something called the Reptoids Research Center. “All the truth you need to know in fifteen hundred words.”

  “You want to walk?” Tommy asked her.

  “Yeah.”

  Amber was still a nervous wreck, of course. Save for her Grandmother in a casket when she was very young, she’d never seen a dead body before. She’d certainly never seen anyone killed. Perhaps what shook Amber the most, what ripped her to the core, was how unceremoniously all life, all spirit vacated the lonely girl’s eyes. Sariana was just... gone. How could this be? Where were her memories? Did a lifetime of earned knowledge just suddenly cease to be? If she could comprehend it, Amber might have gone mad in that very moment. But it was the fear that Sariana expressed before she departed that unnerved Amber the most. The girl was not at peace in her time of dying. She was fucking terrified. This would, hereafter, be the stuff of nightmares for this young Alabama woman, reared on angels, singing serenades for Jesus.

  “You ever hear from your sister?” Tommy asked and, for the moment, stopped her mind from racing.

  “No. Not for a while.”

  “Cops never did catch her?”

  “Like I said, I ain’t heard from her.” Amber took the bottle back. “She left town with one of her clients.”

  “Yeah, I heard she was hooking.”

  “Escorting.”

  “Same thing, ain’t it?”

  “Just a more polite way of putting it, I guess.”

  “Well, I hope she’s all right.”

  “Me too. Not that it matters much now.”

  

  Milan, on the other hand, had a better understanding of what had transpired at the store and he hurried to be among Sariana’s converted inside the radio station. He quickly found General Ramsey who was already briefed of the circumstances. The Presidential cabinet, it seemed, had placed Sariana’s cries for help aside for the moment. It would become official in the morning but most of the military on-site were abuzz with talk of China dissipating the fog.

  In the hills of Beijing, armed with 37mm anti-aircraft guns, the Chinese shot chemicals into the yellow fog and managed to eliminate it. Scientists the world over were stunned as they watched the radar and satellite feeds of the yellow cloud disappear. The Weather Modification Division of the Beijing Meteorological Bureau was mum on the technology utilized to vanquish the rain but it was remarkable nonetheless.

  In the past several years, China had spent astonishing amounts of money on cloud busting and with good reason. China needed water and a lack of it could potentially cause their economy to collapse. While in most cases, the Chinese effort had been to create rain over specific areas of the country, it was theorized that they had simply used another chemical to eliminate the cloud. Unfortunately, in the process they had eliminated the cloud from parts of Burma and South Korea as well
. There was to be much outrage.

  Unlike the Presidential cabinet, however, General Ramsey had given much thought to Sariana and Alicia. He thought it best that he and Milan meet with Graham and attempt to explain the scenario. Foremost, Ramsey wanted the tapes of Sariana’s interview with Alicia. If the Princess couldn’t be present to state her case to the Exalted One, perhaps she could speak to him from beyond the grave. Triton’s legal department, however, was having none of it. Clearly, this incident at the studio was far too fresh for them to feel comfortable releasing evidence of any potential wrongdoing. In less than thirty minutes, they had refused. No one would see the tapes before the lawyers.

  “General,” Milan urged. “You are the military. Just send your men to take the footage.”

  “The footage would be nice but who says we need it?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “As you said, I am the military. Drastic measures may be in order.”

  Milan wasn’t entirely sure that he liked the sound of that. Nevertheless, General Ramsey ordered Graham to his office. Alongside Milan, they attempted to recount Sariana’s prophecy in somewhat clumsy detail.

  “In short, the Princess indicated that you are one of the most powerful military commanders in the universe. For you to ascend would be tantamount to becoming a traitor against your own kind,” the General concluded.

  Graham began to laugh. “What?”

  “We’re serious, Mr. Barry.”

  Ramsey was a bit stoic for Milan’s taste. “Graham, I realize that what we're saying here is... extraordinary, to say the least. However, I believe that her claims were not without scientific merit; the concept of other dimensions and the like. I realize that this might be a lot to take in but, well, just look at your present circumstances. Out of all of the people in the world, the voice chose to speak to you. Don’t you think that there is some great significance attached to that?”

  Graham, of course, had considered this. It kept him up nights. Why him? Since his fall from grace years before, Graham had always assumed the worst. It was as if he’d long been paying a penance for his past transgressions. Even when the voice was deemed worthy of attention, Graham still approached the honor of being chosen as a dubious one at best. He found it hard to consider this good fortune; instead he found himself wondering why he should have such rotten luck. Perhaps he’d not only put his ego in check, he had, instead, beaten it into submission. Still, an other-worldly warrior he was not. Graham felt certain of that.

  “Guys... I'm sure you understand. It's hard to know who and what to believe these days. I feel that I can trust the voice. I really don't think that it's misleading us. This girl..."

  “That girl was assassinated less than two hours ago attempting to get a message to you, Mr. Barry,” the General interrupted. “Obviously, she didn’t think it was all horseshit.”

  “I never said that, General. And I feel terrible that she died...”

  “I just think that she’s owed a bit of respect.”

  Again, Milan felt the tone of the conversation uncomfortably escalating and thought it best to intervene. “Graham, if I could just show you the evidence. There's not much, I'm afraid, but we believe that the first man that attempted an assassination of the girl had, in fact, died previously. He was ‘possessed’, if you will. Likewise, regarding the bombing. Unfortunately, the body of the producer at the television studio is not likely to yield significant test results...”

  Graham stood up. “Respectfully, doctor. This is a lot to absorb."

  "I certainly understand. We're trying to get the footage of the girl's interview with the television network right now. I think if you just take a look at that, you might understand. Perhaps you might be able to speak to Ms. Parker as well..."

  "Sit down, Mr. Barry!" the General barked and Milan jumped in his seat.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said sit down."

  "And I said that I wanted to think about all of this."

  "General..."Milan attempted to diffuse him but was met with a single, outstretched finger indicating that had he said another word, he'd endure Ramsey's temper next.

  "You need to have a seat, Graham," the General said, quieter this time. Graham hesitantly returned to his chair. For a moment, all the General did was fix an icy stare on him. Graham did his best to return it but, clearly the military had done a better job than rock and roll of teaching expert-level intimidation. Nowhere in Graham's eyes could the General see any indication of a fierce warrior. Nowhere. And he did his best to look hard. Finally, Milan nervously cleared his throat and Ramsey began.

  "Do you know that I've worn this uniform for 33 years? In that time, I've been all over South America, Africa and the Middle East, mostly fighting other people's wars. Wars and conflicts that didn't matter shit to anyone back home. My first deployment was to Chad. You ever hear of that conflict, Mr. Barry?" Graham shook his head 'no'. "That's all right. Nobody did. But my point is this: I've seen warriors all over this planet. I've had the pleasure of working alongside some of the most elite military forces known to modern man. I've also been fortunate to do battle alongside common street thugs, guerrilla soldiers and children, literally kids, fighting to protect their cities and towns, their crops, their brothers and sisters. Over time, I noticed that they all had one thing in common. Do you know what that was, Mr. Barry?"

  "No, I don't."

  "It takes a while but eventually you learn to spot it. It's something in the pupil. It's hard to explain but it's there. It's an unrelenting rage. Fury, really. It's the look of a man that doesn't recognize consequences. It's pure id. Do you know what that is?"

  "I think so..."

  "I didn't either but I studied on it. The ‘id’ is just a concept. It’s not an actual ‘thing’. It’s nothing tangible you can put your hands on. Turns out, though, there's a part of your brain called the amygdala. I've got one, you've got one. It's just a section of grey matter. That's where the rage part of your 'id' lives. You also have another piece of brain called the orbital cortex. That piece is supposed to put the brakes on the amygdala when that rage hits critical mass. Sometimes, it doesn't, though. For some folks, the orbital cortex just withers away over time. Others, it seems, are just born without it working at all. This is where you get your serial killers, real loony types."

  "Okay."

  "Not that it matters now, but science, from what I understand, was real close to figuring out how to scan brains and look for these warning signs in kids and such. They want to find a reason that the orbital cortex just starts to fall apart in some people. That's right, isn't it doctor?"

  "Yes. I mean, I believe so. I'm not a neuro-"

  "After a while, though, Graham, when you’re fighting with and against these types; the kind doing 110 without brakes. You can just see it. You don't need a brain scan to tell you. It's written deep in their eyes. It's a cold, dead look. No. That's wrong. That implies there's no emotion. There's emotion all right. But it's just one emotion: Hate. No empathy, no love, no second guessing. It's just a brain wired for hate. You sure as fuck don't want to try and reason with it."

  “Sounds frightening.”

  “It is, Graham. Personally, I think the orbital cortex is a safety. It’s part of a complex, primal wiring system in our brains. When that orbital cortex shuts down, we’re walking around just waiting for any provocation to set us off. And we’re wired poorly, you see. Just the slightest jarring motion can kick that amygdala into gear. When it clicks... I think that’s who we really are. In fact, I think that orbital cortex only exists to ensure that we didn’t kill each other straight into extinction long ago. If it wasn’t there, I believe we’d crawl out of our mother and, first thing, rip her throat out.”

  "I guess I just don't appreciate what you're trying to say, General."

  "You don't have that look."

  "I don't, huh? I'm not wired for hate?"

  "Don't take that the wrong way. I can see that you're capable of hate."

&nb
sp; "Oh... good?"

  "But guess who in this room is wired that way, Mr. Barry?"

  Graham was now worried that the General was going to punch him or something. He answered on guard. "I... don't... know."

  "It's all right. You can say it. I've got it, Graham. So does the doctor over here. So does everyone I've encountered lately; everyone since the cloud was released. I think whatever is in that gas in the sky is eating away at that safety in our brains. It’s preparing everyone on this planet for a hard reset. It’s slowly returning us to our core. When all is said and done, the ones that stand in the rain will ascend full of vitriol... and that hate. Those left behind will wander the Earth in the same state but without purpose. You’re different, though. I can see it. I think your brain is wired the same but there’s something inside you that prevents you from losing it until you’re ready."

  "So... what does that make me?"

  "It makes you special, Graham. It means you're not like us. It means what that little girl said was true. You're different. That's why the voice chose you."

  "All right. Then... what? What exactly are you asking me to do?"

  "When the time comes you can't ascend."

  “So, you want me to stay behind and be the only sane person in a world full of homicidal zombies? Explain to me why the hell I would want to do that.”

  “It’s what you’re supposed to do. I don’t know what you are. I don’t know what your calling is but Sariana was very clear.”

  “My family has plans to ascend, General. I’m going with them.”

  “I’m sorry but I can’t allow that.”

  "General Ramsey," Milan tried to interrupt. "With all due respect, why don’t we just allow him to think..."

  "That's ridiculous," Graham said. "You can't do that. This is a personal decision. It has nothing to do with you or the government..."

  "I'll grant you one of the two. It has nothing to do with the government. But it has everything to do with me... and everyone else who won't stand in the rain. I won’t allow you to leave us stranded here."