by Simone Pond
“My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth. A bird that will revenge upon you all…” Brian recites the lines, and then gets serious. “Yeah, we gotta stop these punks.”
“How long have you been out here?” I ask.
Brian’s a former actor and writer who’s been out in the woods since the initial phases of the Repatterning a few years back. He grabbed his buddies and ran to the hills when they enforced the Executive Order of Conscription. They started working with the underground when things really started falling apart. They saw the worst of the worst—families losing homes, starving to death on the streets, the deadly outbreak from the mandatory vaccines. And then the paramilitary dropping in from helicopters and mowing down people in the streets and burning everything. They tried to save people, but most of them were already in such bad shape from malnourishment or disease they couldn’t survive the wilderness.
“I wasn’t about to give up my life for some phony war. I knew we were screwed the second the Planners started collecting guns. Disarmed people are a lot easier to control.” He takes a deep breath. “Those Planners are meticulous executors. They did it right, though. Introducing martial law right before they started dismantling everything. Did you notice when the Repatterning started, there were zero protests or people marching in the streets fighting for their rights? Why would there be? Nobody realized what was being taken. The elites fashioned everything to evolve over a long period of time—like poisoning someone with arsenic. It’s a slow kill.” He shakes his head and sips some more booze. “They started with the small things like body scanners in malls and cafes. Then those asinine ‘work-at-home’ reward programs that amounted to jack squat. Meanwhile, when nobody was looking they shut down systems one by one. By that point the jobless, homeless and half-starved people were too weak to fight back, or they were dying from the virus the elites pumped into them. Most people were so desperate they walked right into the Emergency Crisis Camps—just prolonging their inevitable end.”
I listen to Brian’s diatribe while the rage inside me stirs. “They won’t get away with what they’ve done,” I tell him.
“I hope you guys are the ones to end it,” says Brian. “We can’t get close enough.”
Dru sits up and leans against my legs. “William’s the key,” she says.
I appreciate her confidence in me, but I’m feeling a little shaky. “You think I’m ready?”
“I know you are,” she says.
Brian laughs. “Just pre-battle jitters. You’ll be fine, dude.” He gets up and heads over to one of his buddies, leaving Dru and me alone.
“It’s weird being back here,” I say.
“Tell me about it.” She pokes a stick into the fire. She’s so beautiful, even in her disheveled state.
I remain silent, entranced by the campfire.
“If you want some more motivation, besides Brian’s tirade, I can help.”
“What do you mean?”
“I promised I’d never talk about it again, but I will. For you.”
Dru grew up in Venice a few blocks from the beach. She lived in an artist loft with her mother and a bunch of cats; her mother had a habit of picking up strays and taking them in. A local artist in the community, her mother made a modest living selling her pieces and the two lived a comfortable life. They revered the arts and enriched their lives by visiting museums, gallery openings, and art shops.
When Dru was ten years old, her mother was invited to exhibit her work in a lofty Beverly Hills gallery owned by a wealthy patron of the arts—a young woman who was married to an influential scientist. The pristine gallery was reserved for an exclusive group of people and took an interest in her mother’s canvas pieces of intricate line drawings of nude women. The event was like no other Dru had seen. A string quartet played, while servers carried around trays of sparkling champagne and appetizers. For the occasion, they both wore elegant black dresses and jewels on loan. Dru stood on the sidelines, observing the guests’ dramatic gestures and expressions; they reminded her of characters in a play and she found them amusing.
Despite her best efforts to remain invisible, a stocky man in a tuxedo approached Dru and handed her a glass of champagne. When he smiled his cheeks swallowed up his beady eyes. “And what does your mother’s work inspire in you, dear?” he asked.
“Um, well, I guess I like the way the lines flow together, organically and seamlessly. As though they represent the natural stream of creation.” She loved her mother’s art and dreamed of following in her footsteps. She hoped to one day have her own artwork showcased.
“Very good, dear. Very good, indeed.” He snorted with laughter. “You’re quite the insightful one, aren’t you? And so striking.” He wrapped his arm around Dru’s waist and escorted her through the room, asking about each piece of art. Though she felt uncomfortable in the man’s presence, she remained polite and gave intelligent responses. They had reached the periphery of the room when the man gently led her toward the back of the gallery beyond the coat check.
“Where are we going? I don’t want to miss the party.” Dru told the man, but he squeezed her hand and continued walking down the long hallway. He opened a door and nudged her into the room, leaving the lights off.
“I don’t like the dark,” she said.
“How old are you, dear?”
“Ten, going on eleven.”
“And you’re still afraid of the dark?” He sat her down on a couch, or a chair.
Her heart dropped to her knees. “I just wanna go back to the party. My mother will be worried.”
Dru tried to stand up, but the man pushed her back down. “Your mother is fine.” He sat next to her, stroking her cheek. The closer he moved toward her, the sicker she felt. She reached into her purse and took out her cell phone to turn on the nightlight app. In the bluish glow of light, she saw they were sitting on a couch and the man had removed his clothes. She jumped up to run toward the door, but he yanked her arm and pulled her back to the couch.
“Get off of me, you pervert!” she yelled, and punched his potbelly.
The man coughed and loosened his grip. Dru slipped away and ran to the door, but when she turned the knob it was locked. She banged and screamed for help until the man covered her mouth with a stringent-smelling cloth, then jabbed a needle into her neck. Her fingers grew tingly and her legs and arms went numb. She dropped to the ground and the man dragged her across the floor and threw her onto the couch. He turned on some music, increasing the volume until it blared from the walls. She wondered why nobody could hear the commotion. He activated a strobe light and Dru became disoriented by the flickering flashes. Everything moved in stop-motion and she couldn’t get her bearings. The man approached her with his eyes gleaming and a wicked grin plastered on his fat face. She closed her eyes to block out everything. She visualized her mother’s artwork, concentrating on the black ink of every curve until she immersed herself into nothingness.
Somehow she was back in the gallery with the others, standing under a canvas rendering of a mother and child. Her head throbbed and her body felt sore and torn. Too weak to move from her spot, she stood in the same place until the end of the night, watching the adults move around in swift circles. The pig-faced man in the tuxedo was nowhere in sight.
“Did you have fun?” her mother asked on the ride home.
“Um, well…”
“This is going to change our life, Dru! I have finally arrived!” Her mother’s joy filled the limo and Dru shut down, unable to tell her what had happened.
“Yes, it was lovely,” she said, pretending to be happy.
Her mother took Dru’s hand. “Stop biting your nails, sweetie.”
Soon after the art opening, they moved into a plush penthouse in Beverly Hills to be closer to the gallery. Their new home was too fancy for Dru and she didn’t like the stark interior with white carpets, walls, and furniture—white everything. She was afraid to touch anything for fear of leaving a fingerprint. To give her bedroom some fla
ir, she used her mother’s paints to create a colorful mural on the walls. She painted an intricate underwater world with vibrant fish, plants, and seashells.
One day while getting dressed, she noticed a slight glint coming from behind her mirror. She sensed something wasn’t right—a nagging she had felt since moving into the penthouse. She removed the mirror and found a tiny camera imbedded into the wall. She ran to her mother’s work studio down the hall.
“Mom!”
“What is it, love?” she asked, from behind the easel.
“There’s a camera in my room. Who’s spying on me?”
“Oh, honey, don’t worry about that. It’s for our protection.”
“But who is it?” Dru had an icky apprehension the cameras had something to do with the pig-faced man who had attacked her at the gallery event.
“Sweetie, I’m working. Why don’t you go work on your mural?”
Dru left the studio and went from room to room looking for additional cameras. She found twelve more. She went back around the penthouse and covered each lens with duct tape. But after she had blocked them all, she still felt like she was being watched. She locked herself in her room and tried to focus on painting. A few hours later, the doorbell chimed.
“Please get that, honey, I’m busy,” her mother called out from the studio.
Instead of getting the door, Dru hid under the bed. After a few moments, the sound of a man’s shoes began click clacking down the hallway. She heard muffled voices coming from her mother’s studio and then silence. Her heart raced and she wondered if it was too late to climb out the window onto the balcony. Whoever it was had a key and unlocked her bedroom door and entered.
“Dru, dear. Come on out,” said the man—the same one who had violated her.
She remained curled up in a tight ball under the bed, praying he’d be too lazy to bend down and look under it. He checked the walk-in closet and the bathroom, and he returned to the bedroom where he circled the bed, stopping a few inches from where she hid. He leaned down and pulled Dru out by her ankles. She kicked and twisted, but he was stronger than her and squashed her small frame against his thick body. He covered her mouth with his hand and she bit down hard. He punched her face, knocking her to the floor.
“No use fighting. Nobody can hear you.” He grabbed her by the hair. “Now, let’s sit you down and have a little chat.”
“Get away from me!” She kicked and swung at him, but he choked her until she couldn’t fight back. He tossed her onto the bed and injected her with something. She couldn’t move her limbs, and her tongue grew too thick to speak.
“There, there, little one. Just relax. Everything is going to be fine,” he said, caressing her cheek. “Such a beautiful thing, but so fiery, just like your hair.” His eyes looked like bottomless black holes.
“I… don’t… want this.” Dru wept.
“Your mother and I have an arrangement, and I’m afraid it doesn’t matter what you want, dear. But I’m realizing there is something quite special about you. Yes, you’re different from the other girls your age. Your intelligence and gift for discernment is extraordinary. I think the professor might find your uniqueness quite beneficial. Yes, indeed. But if I give you to him, you’ll no longer belong to me. Nevertheless, a sacrifice that might be worth making in the long run.”
Dru didn’t understand the man. “I… want… my mom,” she cried.
“Don’t cry, my dear. This won’t hurt a bit… ”
He leaned over her and once again Dru closed her eyes and blotted out the world around her. She thought about the mural on her wall—the colorful fish swimming in their turquoise world where nothing bad ever happened. She immersed herself into the water and swam around with the other fish.
She woke up and found herself sitting under a glaring light, strapped in chair with electrodes taped to her arms and temples. A young man wearing a black lab coat stood over her.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“We’re doing some brain functionality testing. Won’t be much longer. Then you’ll be assigned to a group based on how you do.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is John, and believe it or not, I’m your friend.”
“Where’s my mom?”
“She’s okay, but you won’t be able to see her for a while.”
“You can’t keep me here!”
“Please don’t get worked up, Dru. I need to you to relax and focus. You don’t want to upset Professor Morray; he’ll only make things worse for you.”
“I won’t stay here. I’ll run.”
“I’m afraid that won’t do any good. If you run, they’ll come after you and your mother. I suggest we get through these tests and get you assigned to a group. Sound good?” John smiled and though she didn’t know anything about him, she felt a slight calm come over her.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“We’re doing DNA testing with select candidates. Do you know what that is?”
Dru shook her head.
“The professor is conducting research on children with high degrees of intelligence. You’re unique and he wants to study the patterns in your brainwaves and cell structure. We’re hoping to replicate the coding. It’s all for a good cause. Something you’ll be a part of.”
Dru didn’t understand John, but she decided her best move was to stay quiet and pay attention to everything going on around her. She’d need a better grasp of her situation in order to figure a way out. After her testing period, she was assigned to Group A and sent to an undisclosed housing facility with others like her. She met Zach and they became friends. They bussed the children in daily for testing and trial experiments. That’s how it went for another six years until they were assigned to the Subterranea in Denver.
Dru looks up from the fire with tears glistening on her cheeks. “That’s why destroying your father is so important to me. I was one of his earliest lab rats.”
I’m so pissed I can taste bile. I know the pig-faced man she’s talking about—he was my father’s money manager and one of the top investors who commissioned the New Agenda. He sat at his right hand all those years, puffing cigars and guzzling cognac. After we take down my father, I’m going after him.
Chapter 20
“It’s time …”
The words stab into the folds of my brain and I’m awake. More awake than I’ve ever been. The campfire is still going and Dru’s sleeping next to me on the ground. Zach’s passed out a few feet away. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him with his eyes closed. The others must be in their tents, or patrolling the area.
Brian is over by the trees, keeping watch. “Nightmare?” he asks.
I don’t want to wake up Dru so I walk over to him. “Thought I heard something.”
“Just me and the trees.”
“Were you talking to yourself?”
“Nah, just listening to the sounds of silence.”
“I can’t sleep,” I tell him. I don’t tell him I’m hearing things.
“You gotta couple more hours before dawn. You ready?”
“Can anyone really be ‘ready’ to kill their father?”
“You’re a modern-day Oedipus Rex. You know the answer to the riddle, right? What walks on four feet in the morning, two in the afternoon and three at night?”
“Man, right? Because he crawls, then walks and uses a cane when he’s old.”
“You got it. Looks like I won’t have to kill you.” He slaps my back.
“It’s time…”
The voice repeats from somewhere inside. I imagine the sound of trumpets signaling my cue to continue the journey. Somehow I know this mission belongs to me and nobody else. This is my test. The real riddle will be finding out what it takes to outsmart my father. The boy in me wants to wake up Zach and the others, but if I’m to become a man, I must continue without them. I don’t want Dru to suffer any more than she already has. It’s up to me to go on from here and make this right.
&nbs
p; “I’m gonna take a piss.” I tell Brian, who nods as he stares off into the darkness. I picture him spending the rest of his life in the wilderness, trying to save random strangers passing through, giving them longwinded monologues about the state of the apocalypse.
I grab my backpack and head into the woods without looking back. My flashlight shines a path through the trees. They’ll be up soon so I pick up the pace to get some ground between us. I thought I’d be afraid out here alone, but I’m not. There’s power in solitude—a force that can only be conjured when there’s nothing else to rely on. As I jog along, Dru’s story weighs on my heart. She was just a kid when that animal robbed her of a normal life. Somehow she managed to tie all the unraveling threads of her past back together to create a solid rope. I’m going to do the same.
I reach the gray wall that surrounds the property—the same one I’ve come to a hundred times—and my heart hammers away in my chest and adrenaline rushes through my veins. I feel unstoppable. Maybe this surge of confidence is all I need to get into the house. I want to hurry up and scale the wall, but I need to slow down and think. I don’t know what’s waiting on the other side. From my training experience, I usually don’t make it to the house. I could unblock my frequencies to let Dickson know I’m here—that way he can call off the dogs and I can walk right into the house. Suffering a few painful minutes of electric shock will be better than getting gunned down in my own back yard. I take out the digi-pad and type in the codes Sarah gave to me. A low murmuring crackles in my ears and I wait for the intensity to increase, but the pulses remain steady and faint. I secure a rope to the tree branches above and climb up. I leap over to the wall and inch down the other side to my property.
The moon’s glow is the only thing illuminating the path before me. I stay in the shadows behind the trees and move toward the back entrance with caution. I wait and watch for some sort of sign from Dickson. He has to know I’m here by now. The air is hushed and still. There’s not even a breeze to rustle the leaves. It’s a standoff between the house and me. A light at the back entrance comes on and the door opens—my signal to move in. I pull out the digi-pad and type in the string of code again, this time to block my frequency. I need a clear head for my meeting with Dickson. I dart across the lawn and slide into the kitchen through the back door.