The Boy Who Would Rule the World

by Brian Toal

  He pushed open the double, emergency exit doors from the school gym and saw his van parked only a few feet away in the school parking lot. Tonight, they were having a meeting. A real big meeting and almost everyone was invited.

  He wasn't. Which was a bit of a surprise to him. After all, he did important work and they called on his skills constantly. They needed him badly. So, he wondered, as he carried his tools into the gym, why he had been told not to attend.

  Normally he dealt only with other members. The architect responsible for the renovations. The banker that provided the funds. The woman that seemed to know everyone and be in charge of everything. But his instructions to complete the work at the school and then leave, without attending the meeting, had reverberated through his brain only a day ago. He knew that voice, although he had only heard it twice before. There was no way he would even think of disobeying that one. Still...he might have been able to make a contribution tonight. He had opinions and thoughts on their upcoming projects. He might have contributed to their agenda - whatever their agenda was to be.

  He took out a short length of chain from his toolbox and wrapped it around the push-bars of the emergency exit doors and padlocked them tightly closed. He pushed agaist the bars. The doors were secured tightly. Then, attaching a wide concrete bit to his drill, began to drill through the wall, by the door.

  Walking through the school to his van he paused beside a custodian's cart. Then out of habit, he returned to the gym with the broom to clean up the concrete dust. The open end of a three-inch steel pipe protruded into the gym above the pile of dust.

  They were told to arrive at eight - which they all did. A traffic jam a block long formed as one hundred and thirty two families lined up to drive their cars through the single gate and into the school parking lot. But, there was no honking of horns. No impatience. No jockeying for position or cutting in front of others. Oh, no, they were beyond that. Disciplined, organized, following internal directions without question as they each waited their turn to enter the parking lot. Then without conversation, three hundred and ninety-four men, women and children moved across the parking lot towards the school.

  They were almost silent as they walked. A dozen babies, wrapped in blankets against the fall chill, wailed or chortled to themselves as small babies will. Another dozen toddlers waddled along behind their parents or dashed ahead, darting between the legs of the others walking towards the doors. Their high-pitched voices and occasional squeals of laughter, followed often by stern commands from their parents, was the only babble that evening.

  The doors to the school closed behind the last of them. Over four hundred chairs had been set up on the tiled floor of the gym, the basketball hoops and climbing ropes cranked up and out of the way. As the three hundred and ninety-four men, women and children moved into the gym, they sat themselves orderly upon the plastic chairs. No spaces were left between families or individuals. The front rows filled as quickly as the back. They were ordered, their actions harmonised, no longer subscribing to petty social norms.

  At the front of the gym a small stage had been set up, with a microphone and two chairs. Beth sat in one and her son Todd in the other. Released from hospital two weeks ago, she had never bothered to take him to therapy. Todd would never recover. Would never be anything comparable to what he had been. He spent most days sitting in front of the television with a dumb look of quiet deliberation on his face, as Beth and her various guests moved around him. Now he sat, slumped in his seat beside her as she watched the crowd take their seats.

  Beth did not like what she had to do. Denied of all true emotion and compassion, she still disliked her duty this night. It would be difficult. The most difficult thing she had ever done and impossible if it wasn't for her conviction - but it was the only way.

  Yes, it is the only way. The voice spoke to her. Your responsibility is paramount. The basics have been provided and now development outweighs the needs of the multitude. You will conduct your duty without remorse.

  Beth nodded to herself, convinced she must complete her role but aware of its perilous consequences. She stood as the last of the members seated themselves.

  "Hello, everyone..." she spoke into the microphone, "tonight I want to discuss our future."

  There were no helpful smiles or welcoming murmur from the crowd. They sat silent, their eyes upon the woman at the front. All of them knew her, although many had never met her - the overseer, the speaker of their cause, the one aware of all actions and their rational. They would listen. They had been told to attend, therefore it was necessary. Consequently, they would heed her words and learn.

  Beth continued. "Some of you already know some of what I will say, others don't. Over the past month, all of you have joined with us to achieve a common goal, namely the recruitment of others to our membership that, through their position or their competence, can assist us in completing certain tasks. Your role in this endeavour has now been completed. Through your initial contacts, we have now developed members in virtually all levels of government and Police Agencies that are represented in Detroit. As well, we have recruited members within certain industries and businesses necessary to advance our cause."

  It had already started. The people sitting in the rear rows were no longer looking at her, the muscles of their necks relaxed so their chins rested on their chests. As she watched, another two sat up straight in their chairs, their eyes widening briefly, before they too slumped in their seats.

  "So, we have been unconditionally successful in recruiting members that can assist us with the various projects we have undertaken. Some of you know we have leased space downtown for a central office. This is only the beginning, but it is necessary for us to consolidate our business enterprises as well as provide a corporate front to the public. As well, we have managed to have a zoning by-law changed that will permit us to construct housing for thousands of our future members. When we are fully intact, and it is likely the boy will be apprehended soon, we will be able to make advances on the government and its institutions far removed from the Detroit area. Until that time though, we must continue to develop our power base by making use of the individuals that you initially helped us recruit..."

  Less than half of the audience was aware now, the consciousness of the majority terminated as they sat in their seats.

  Beth continued, for the few that continued to follow her words."...we now have members, well placed within the important social and economic communities within Detroit, that can assist us better than you are able, in recruiting additional members in advanced influential positions. So, your role has been completed. After endless interrogations with each of you, we now realize none of you present are able to assist us in recruiting any further individuals of merit. Also, because you lack any specific skills or abilities you are unable to directly assist us in furthering our aims. Unfortunately..."

  Beth stopped.

  The entire audience sat silently, with their heads bowed, motionless except for the dozen little babies wrapped in their blankets and the small children sitting on the floor or in their mothers’ laps. She no longer needed to speak. They had been subdued, sedated by the power that linked them. Reduced to sitting statues.

  There was a hiss of air brakes in the parking lot, just outside of the gym, followed by the rumble of an idling truck engine and Beth realized her part in the night's activities was at an end. She reached up to the microphone and slid the small switch to ‘off’ as a clunk of metal against metal, announced the next stage of the plan was about to occur.

  Still, she had some sense of regret. Some of these people had been her friends.

  The Wrens sat two rows back. Greg and Joyce had been her neighbours ever since she and Charlie had moved onto Oakwood. Alice and John Nielson, sitting at the rear, had become their best friends - card games, movies, renting cottages side by side - the four of them had shared many laughs together. Kiri Shields, sitting by herself on the far left, had worked with Beth at the hospital.
Had done so for five years. There were others too. Faces and names that had become part of her life. Tonight, they were all here. Sitting motionless, entranced below her.

  There was a liquid gurgling sound rushing from the newly installed pipe as the first of the fuel oil burst from its end, spreading across the tile floor in a quickly widening pool. The door at the end of gym swung open as Charlie pushed it all the way back, then stood waiting.

  Beth turned and looked down at her son. His tan was fading, she noticed, his white skin again accenting the brilliant red of his hair. He sat before her, dazed and complacent like the others. She moved her hand once, twice, in front of his eyes. Nothing. No response. Todd was entirely gone from her now. Removed from her life. It was just as well really, she had little time to administer to his needs and he was unable to assist their cause in any way. Yes, it was for the best, he had only been a reminder of a past life, a life that no longer held any meaning or consequence.

  Without another glance she stepped down from the stage. None of the adults moved, their heads hanging from their shoulders, like dead appendages, without reason or understanding.

  The pool of fuel oil spread across the waxed floor opposite to where she walked. One of the toddlers pulled on her mother's hand. "Mummy, there is a mess on the floor over there." She pointed to where the oily pool advanced towards the first rows of adults and older children sitting in their seats.

  It had to be done. She knew it was the correct choice. But the years of caring, the empathy for human life, the understanding of its difficulties and joys was in conflict with her new values. She felt it. Just a little uncertainty. The injustice of their actions. Charlie’s eyes met hers as she crossed the floor towards him, but his expression remained the same as always. Cold, determined and competent. He returned to the hall outside.

  "Mummy, it smells." The little girl was still tugging at her mother's hand and some of the other toddlers had now left their parents’ sides and had wandered over to investigate the oily substance moving in between the chairs and encircling the shoes of their elders. The smell of oil was strong and Beth's nose wrinkled involuntarily at its heavy odour as she reached the doorway, just as the little girl spoke again.

  "Mummy, I want to go home. It smells in here." Beth didn't turn around. Control and confidence were returning, she needed no more uncertainty.

  Charlie lit a propane torch and rolled it across the floor then, following her out the door, he pushed a wooden bar through the handles.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ONE

  The chartered 737 arrived at Vancouver International Airport at 11:00 a.m., Friday morning. The last surviving members, all fifty-five of them, climbed down the mobile steps pushed up against its fuselage. At the bottom of the ramp stood a woman in her mid-thirties, a clipboard in her hand. "Is Ms. Garrett here?" She asked as the crowd gathered before her.

  "That's me." Julie nodded, "are you from Executive Facilitators?"

  "Yes. I'm Nancy Martin. I’ve arranged for your hotel accommodations as well as the bus transport and other vehicles you requested."

  "Good." Julie looked behind her. "Charlie, this is the woman from the agency I was telling you about. She has arranged for the truck."

  Charlie stepped forward. "Can we bring the truck in here or does the plane have to taxi to another parking area?"

  "I don't know. We don't usually get involved with freight shipments." The woman from Executive Facilitators answered apologetically. "I understand that your shipment has pre-cleared Canadian customs, so you won't need to worry about that, but I don't know where you can unload the plane. However, Airport Administration will know. I'll show you where their offices are, when we go inside."

  Charlie nodded.

  "So..." She continued. "Why don't you all follow me and I’ll show you to your chartered bus and other vehicles. Also, I have some paper work you will need to complete, Ms. Garrett."

  They trooped across the tarmac towards the long airport buildings as the last of the morning's rain clouds drifted away above the mountains inland. It promised to be a wonderfully warm and sunny afternoon.

  The Province of British Columbia is essentially broken into three parts: The Lower Mainland, which is a broad expanse of fairly flat land which contains B.C.'s largest city, Vancouver - as well as numerous satellite cities and communities. Three quarters of British Columbia's population live in this geographically small area, pinched between towering, snow-capped mountains and the broad expanse of the Pacific. Behind the solid row of mountains which dominate Vancouver's skyline is The Interior. An area the size of Texas, Michigan and New York States combined, which contain the Rocky Mountain Range. The most rugged peaks and ridges in North America. It was not until 1881 a passable way was found through these towering crags and inhospitable gorges, with their churning and foaming rivers. With the exception of the Okanagan Valley and its rich farmland, few people live within the rugged terrain of The Interior. The third geographical area of B.C. is Vancouver Island, where the Provincial Capital of British Columbia is located, the City of Victoria. This city occupies the southern tip of Vancouver Island, and is separated from The Lower Mainland by thirty miles of water, known as the Strait of Georgia. A fleet of huge ferry boats transport automobiles, passengers and freight between the Lower Mainland and Victoria as well as Nanaimo, another smaller city on the Island.

  The B.C. Ferries, Tsawwassen Terminal is vast jetty. Built at the end of a long man-made peninsula, stretching almost half a mile out to sea, its loading area can hold over a thousand cars and tractor-trailers as they await transport out to the Island. Close to forty departures and arrivals occur at the Tsawwassen Terminal each day and each Ferry can carry between three hundred to five hundred cars, depending on the number of trucks, and up to fifteen hundred passengers. These immense ships, four decks high, packed with passengers, automobiles, camper trailers, recreational vehicles and dozens of tractor-trailers churn the waters between the Lower Mainland and Vancouver Island seven days per week and three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

  A chartered bus, two dark blue mini-vans, and a white twenty-four-foot Tilden rental truck entered the long causeway to the Tsawwassen Terminal. Inside the rental truck a single, twelve-volt electric light glimmered off the golden sides of a metal box festooned with pipes and tubes that entirely covered one end. A few feet away, with her back against the wooden interior of the truck-box sat a middle-aged woman with long red hair, dressed in dirty jeans and a smoke blackened shirt. The very same clothes Sharon had been wearing the last time she had seen her son. Today she would see him again. Possibly for the last time.

  "The Queen of Selkirk is now arriving at berth two. Would passengers departing for Nanaimo please return to their vehicles." The loudspeakers mounted on tall aluminium poles located throughout the expanse of the parking lot blared. "Passengers departing on foot for Nanaimo will embark through..."

  The announcements continued as Carman stopped at the end of a long line of vehicles. A van with handicapped tags, full of children, was parked just in front of her and behind her, cars continued to arrive for the three-thirty sailing to the small city of Nanaimo on Vancouver Island.

  "Well, we made it and the cops never found us." She announced as she turned off the ignition. "I just hope your Uncle Charlie will keep up his end of the bargain, and your mother will also be here."

  "So...you are positive your Uncle Charlie and his other zombies won't be on the ship?" Jon asked from the rear seat. Chris was up front, peering through the windshield at the towering ferry gliding into the dock ahead of them.

  "No. They can't come out here. Or if they did, they would no longer be part of it and Uncle Charlie would be just like he always was." Chris turned in his seat, facing Jon. "Uncle Charlie was alright before. He kind of had a temper, but he never hurt me or Todd and he would never kidnap my Mom. No..." Chris paused as a convoy of yellow school busses passed beside his window. The children in the van ahead of them, waving and yelling to
their friends in the larger vehicles. "...likely they will have sent some other people with my Mother. Probably people that work for money, but they won't be part of it.

  "Like hired killer-types?"

  Chris shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

  "Where the hell would they get people like that?"

  "I don't know. But I suspect the cops would know where to find people who do that sort of work."

  "So...you’re pretty sure they will try to kidnap you and take you back to Detroit?" Carman asked.

  "Definitely. They can't know I’m going to the media after I get my mother back, but they can guess. And besides it still needs me real bad. If you were them - what would you do?"

  "Try to grab you when I had the chance." Carman stated. "But, how are they going to do it?"

  "I don't know...probably they’ll try and get me from behind and then blindfold me, so I can’t do anything to them. But, look at all these people waiting for this ferry. If I stay where everyone else is, the people Uncle Charlie hired will have to come looking for me. And they can't afford to create any sort of disturbance, not with all these other people around. Also, they don't know what you guys look like, but they do know you are with me. So, if they manage to capture me, they know you guys will call the police or do something that would interfere with their escape..."

  "Hey, Chris..." Jon interrupted from the back seat. "Do you have my lighter?"

  "Yeah..." Chris patted a lump in his hip pocket. "You left it on the table where we had lunch."

  "Jon, hold off for a bit. You’re smoking an awful lot more than you used to, and besides, I don't like people smoking in my car."

  "Oh...alright.” Jon slumped back into his seat.

  "What do you want us to do, if you do disappear?" Carman continued.

  "Call the Police. The pamphlet said there were pay phones on the ferry. In fact, if my Mom hasn't appeared within an hour and a half into the ferry trip, call the police anyway. Then when we dock in Nanaimo, the police can search for my Mom and see if she is on the ferry. And since I’m in Canada, it will take forever for Uncle Charlie's friends to get me extradited back to the United States. I’ll get a chance to tell my whole story and it will be over."