Children of the Program

by Brad Cox

  Crystal could hear the familiar rattle of his mania. Everything was beginning to make sense. “Do you love me?” The words fell from her tongue, casting a brilliant line over his flimsy logic and towering walls. They pierced his soul and taunted his guise — never had those four words had the power to stop a man dead in his tracks. He was fearful of the mines he’d laid. Knowing the truth would set the universe back into balance and answer The Council’s calling, he stewed in checkmate. The illusion he viciously protected from himself began shattering. He gazed out of the windshield, as his mind drifted with the vehicle. An alerted patrol car took notice to his swerves and followed.

  “Now, look what you made me do?” Dez said.

  “I didn't make you do anything. I asked you a question and you didn't answer.”

  “Just shut up! Goddamnit,” Dez barked.

  The circus lights atop the car mocked his sense of freedom. Dez knew it was best to pull over and face the authority. With a rush of blood to the face, they both sensed it was more than a mere traffic violation — paranoia suggested the authorities had been following them and were prepared to link Simon's disappearance, Juno's murder, and a laundry list of unsolved Cadence crimes to their names.

  After a slow-rolling approach to their vehicle, the cop finally emerged from his dusty patrol car and walked toward his scraggly offenders. The officer's hesitant posture amplified Dez's rattling mind. He felt the law's heavy footprints crushing their freedoms beneath. He cracked the window cautiously, allowing only a brief waft of soiled air to mingle with the crisp clean atmosphere. Crystal felt compelled to run.

  “License and...”

  Before uttering his rehearsed dialog, Crystal flung open the passenger side door and hopped onto the solid ground. Without a thought, she sprinted into the unknown. Startled, the officer tried to verbally thwart her, before radioing for back-up. Dez remained in the vehicle and began feverishly sweating. He could see the fear in her sluggish rhythm and knew she was putting him at a greater risk of being detained.

  “Where is she going?” The deputy officer screamed.

  “I don't know! We were heading to the hospital, due to complications with her...”

  “Save it,” he said, bringing his lips to his Handie-Talkie. “We have a young woman, early twenties, on foot. She's running towards the highway. We're on 152, about eight miles out. She's crossing the desert fields, approaching Santa Clara. Please be advised.” Crossing behind an old field house, a barn obstructed their immediate view. Quickly making her way to the intersecting route, by a nearby overpass, she crossed U.S. Route 180, scaled a minor hill by the exit and began flashing truckers for rides.

  “Why do you suppose she's running?” asked the frustrated officer. Patrol cars began to swarm Dez’s vehicle.

  “She's not dangerous — she's scared! We were heading west, toward Silver City. She's pregnant.”

  “Is she armed? High?” asked the officer.

  “Armed? No. She's concerned about the baby and probably heading to a hospital,” said Dez.

  “Do you have her number or a way for us to reach her?”

  “We can't afford phones. Let me help you find her. We're not criminals.”

  “OK. Why does your van smell like grass and why were you swerving all over the damn road?”

  “We were arguing!”

  “About pot? It's not the kind of thing babies are into, ya' dig?” The officer mocked his anxiety.

  Dez's shoulders slouched. He knew his words had fallen deaf and struggled to maintain his humility. “What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? We've had a lot of marijuana smuggled down this road. Coincidentally, it's always in a white van,” added the officer.

  “Is that so?” snarked Dez.

  “You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Smokey?”

  “We don't have anything on us. Are you arresting me?”

  “Search the vehicle.”

  Dez offered a statement and was eventually released with a citation for reckless endangerment. He hopped back into his van and consumed by curiosity. In the days that followed, Crystal never appeared. He feared a large scale search of the compound was imminent.

  chapter 31

  Ash to Ashes

  Ash was turning the corner on the 26th week of her second trimester. Time was short, but she remained intent to see Neco. Making arrangements, she booked a plane ticket to the states. She hoped to surprise him at his Baltimorean home. As she packed her leather bags, she sifted through various medallions and ornaments; items that incited the gorgeous memories of her recalcitrant days in Los Angeles. She furtively longed to smuggle a piece Neco's impenetrable soul to The Beyond. She always toted a lock of his dirty blonde hair in her favorite heart-shaped necklace.

  Before taking her flight, she sought an update from Grayson.

  “Any word on my dearest? I was thinking about surprising him in the Land of the Mary,” asked Ash.

  “Maryland?” asked Grayson.

  “Yes.”

  “Cute. He's been hovering below my radar. I have been conscientious about following various New Mexican police blotters and keeping a long watch on story blurbs from southwestern news affiliates, but nothing has come across my radar to suggest he's been hospitalized or murdered. I am still worried about his overall plan for this mission and general well-being,” said Grayson.

  “Wait, what do you mean?” asked Ash.

  “The last we spoke, he was holed up in the same hotel room that Simon stayed in. He seemed a little anxious, but it's hard to fault a guy for being a little nervous about joining a death camp, cult or whatever. I still can't believe he had the guts to go in. If anything, he's got heart,” said Grayson.

  “I meant, in general. What are you talking about?” asked Ash.

  “He shot like a cannon toward Los Angeles, met up with Elisa and worked his way over to New Mexico. He went to find Dez and Simon alive! Things got bloody when Magnus recreated a perverse Shakespearean death sequence in a Santa Monica convenient store parking lot. So, they're gone! We very well may have four dead Programmers on our hands,” said Grayson.

  “It's a tragedy,” she sobbed. “I was planning to surprise him. Why didn't you tell me about this? You know how much he means to me. Why would he risk going to New Mexico with all of this chaos unfolding?” asked Ash.

  “I don't know how this will land on your conscious, but I'm fairly confident that you are the answer you're seeking,” said Grayson.

  “I can't believe this.”

  “He didn't want to put any added stress on you or the baby. The truth is, in his own words, he 'Didn't have anything left to lose.' He figured he would try and do something about Dez — for all of us. He was concerned about you, especially after Juno's horrible murder. Trust me, we are all in considerable debt, and better hope he never comes to collect.”

  “I'm speechless,” said Ash.

  “It's hard to believe it's happening and he's there, but once...”

  “He gets an idea into his head...” said Ash, finishing Grayson's line.

  “Exactly.”

  “I've got to find him!” she said.

  “You absolutely cannot. You're pregnant. If he is in trouble, you can't risk your life or your baby's. That baby is bigger than your feelings for Neco and I don't say that to be hurtful or to invalidate your mindset. Think about all of the people who've yet to be born. I beg you, don't miss your opportunity to leave this vicious cycle of life,” Grayson pleaded.

  “Where is he, Grayson?” asked Ash.

  “In good conscious, I simply cannot tell you. He's going to have to save himself.”

  In utter disgust, Ash slammed her phone down on the marble floor. Pieces shattered and spun, just like her ill heart and reeling mind. She understood Grayson's concern, and that he was only trying to shield her child, but she remained determined to find a way to communicate with Neco. For weeks, she pined by her broken phone and stared at the plane ticket, knowing it would always be the ‘goodby
e’ that never was. While penning her last will and testament, she was startled by an untimely buzz at her towering gates.

  “Hello?” she asked, peering through the thick curtains.

  “Is this the virtuoso they call Ash?” asked Cass, drenched in a black trench coat.

  “Yes, this is she. Can I help you, sir?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you'd buzz me in. I have a few parties interested in viewing your lush works.”

  After her scrambling black and green gate monitor settled, she was able to make out the silhouettes of four bodies. The communicator seemed young and arrogant, as if he was trying to impress his cohorts. Their wicked smiles, illuminated by the whites of their teeth, helped decipher their intent. Cass repeatedly looked over his shoulder for reassurance, but also for patrolling vehicles.

  “You can come back during an open house, but we do not have regular visiting hours,” offered Ash.

  “Of course, you don't. I'll just leave my business card,” he paused, furling his brow and offering a distorted smile for the adjusting camera. He flashed the card before the lens, to reveal the Cadence logo, before flicking it through the gate. “Oh, and Miss Mckenzie, we'll be back. Remember this face. We're very interested in what you have to offer,” said Cass.

  Ash's mind was suspended by suspicion. In a trance, she faded from the monitor and debated whether she should stir her slumbering parents with the obvious prank. If her life was in danger, she wanted to warn Neco. Knowing the best way to communicate with the outside world was through her brush, she decided to publicly part with her “Neco: Into the Art of Darkness” painting. Collectors knew of the piece, and her insistence to never part with it.

  The following morning, Ash welcomed the world to a game of Where's Waldo? “Find and deliver this man and WIN this painting, valued at $8,582,475 (5,000,000 pound sterling).” The piece quickly became one of her most popular works. She contacted various news groups and editors to spread the word of her offer. It quickly went viral. Her official landing page and the Children of the Program website also featured the bait. To create a demand for its attention, the proposed value of the work was set high.

  It was to be an offer Dez couldn't refuse.

  chapter 32

  the war begins

  When Dez was away, Neco used his lush musical background to serenade and win the favor of the 1969-reveling sect members. His campfire jams included classics, from artists like: Jefferson Airplane, The Rolling Stones and The Doors. His years of siphoning in his father's musical collection had come in handy. He also wasn't shy about littering in a few original cuts. Having musical talent gave him an instant connection with the aspiring cult culture and enabled him to captivate the minds of those moved by the pulse of a good vibration. Neco tried to lasso in the wayward, by reminding them of the peace and love missing from their hippie narrative.

  Dez and Neco both strummed the same sermon, but to different ends. They both understood that the combination of drug use and rhythm could transport any audience to a place far beyond rational thought. Music was the cornerstone of their manipulation. It could start a revolution, and sound a battle cry for war. Its power came through the mad receivers of their fluttering words. Neco was always penning the songs of tomorrow, by candlelight.

  The Cadence, always flirting with a looming endgame, would soon sound the trumpet for an all-out blitzkrieg. Though the flames had been stoked, its declaration was a matter of semantics and time.

  Dez was fuming after his brush with the law. He stormed his trailer and began destroying the fixtures and screaming coarse words. Crystal, on the run and missing, forced his hand to compensate for his loss of control. He no longer had time to debate her intentions, nor fear for her life. If the police came looking, they’d find his compound turned into a Hollywood stage. Cautiously, Neco approached Dez’s shaky trailer, but was turned away. His concern for what Crystal may have revealed begged an answer. For hours, Dez seethed, smoked and prayed for his phone to ring. When he finally emerged from the trailer, he lassoed an impromptu meeting.

  “This has gone on for long enough!” Dez proclaimed. “Our war begins tonight.”

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Michelle.

  “I'm not done with you, Michelle. As a matter of fact, take her to confinement,” he instructed.

  He unraveled a plan that would permanently place the Cadence on the map. “The outside knows we're here. With my citation and Crystal's behavior, the cops will come looking. We have no time to waste. I want you to hide the drugs and guns in the underground tunnel. We will be more effective on the run. We must disperse from these premises. We're leaving tonight!”

  “Can they even find us?” asked Neco, hoping to maintain his stay.

  “I'm not willing to take any chances. Helicopters are an amazing invention. For all we know, they're already running surveillance and waiting to pounce. Besides, I'm sure we could all use a nice hotel bed and bath,” said Dez.

  “You don't have to ask me twice!” Neco jested.

  “Just remember, in for a penny, in for a pound,” Dez added.

  The group dispersed and began cleaning up the campsite. His directives generated more questions than answers. Tiny whispers filled the lawn's brush, as they mingled about the reality of being on foot, their methods of survival and the danger of being arrested or isolated. The cult’s challenged faith left them hoping Dez had specific assignments and meeting points in place; though, it was clear he was being reactionary. Their only consolation lied in their acquisition of the town's money tills. They had a silo of money to graze from, while hiding in the shadows.

  “Each of you will play a part,” Dez shouted. They scurried like church mice, fearing the finality of his instruction. “For now, I will develop a plan and find feasible meeting posts. It’s time for us to make our move on the world's chess board. In the meantime, please be diligent and thorough with our clean-up effort. Burn anything that doesn't pass the sniff test. Meet back at dusk, and we will prepare to defend our legacy.”

  Neco became increasingly concerned over his relevance to the operation. Though he wanted to be sure he gathered enough information to keep Ash far from peril, he could feel the magnetism of time's arrow and the heavy sands slipping through his quaking hands. He knew if Crystal chose to return, Dez would have him killed. Debating his options, he decided to stay the course, knowing his fellow Programmers, their offspring and his family's safety were more valuable than his own lot. He could only hope the seeds he'd sowed into Crystal's mind would continue to resonate; though, awaiting their harvest might leave him guilty of a crime by association and behind bars. Lucky or not, he wasn't given much time to consider his options.

  At dusk, the Cadence huddled around a final bonfire and awaited Dez to return with a list of operation-specific initiatives. Without their wished partners, Dez placed them into groups of two and gave his orders. He understood that separating their interests would create a longing for their reunion and keep everyone's mind focused on the mission — the prize was communion.

  Though frustrated with his inability to access the Children of the Program website, Dez knew Grayson had received the Cadence’s sinister message to the world and had made a conscious decision to draw a line in the sand, separating the future villains from the vigilantes. For security, he tasked Neco with being his sidekick in crime. He couldn't risk Neco developing a change of heart. They were to remain on the battlegrounds, awaiting Crystal's return and to run the international operations. Should the authorities descend, they had just enough room, food and technology, stashed in a secret lower level of the bunker, to survive.

  Like soldiers, the Cadence groups marched from the site, hitched eastbound rides and accepted their orders; the less glamorous side of taking a stand. Dez fired up the computers, adjusted the surveillance cameras and allowed his racing heart to settle.

  “It's time to let our story unfold. Aside from Vietnam, because we lost, can you think of a war that was ever won witho
ut a successful leader? I'm standing down, because I can't risk being captured. You and I are far too valuable to this mission. It's bigger than we are, or The Program. I don't want you to see my directive as cowardice,” said Dez.

  “Our very world depends on us not being seized. Have we gotten any word back on Ash?” asked Neco.

  “I've had a group scouting her mansion for a couple days now. It's the same group that took Juno Vestris camping. They've made contact, and startled her, but they need to make sure their timing is right. It's not like she's hiding out in a tiny apartment, she’s her own township or capital. I assure you, she remains our number one target. A promise is a promise, m’boy! I understand your betrayal and pain. At the moment, I couldn't be any closer to that sentiment. I'm sorry to say, her talents and money probably made it pretty easy for her to leave you.”

  “Way to dig the knife in a little deeper, Dez,” said Neco.

  “I was being candid, not rude. Let me ask, how were you able to convince Crystal?”

  “By building her trust, while hiding behind the smile of a leveraged guilt. It was hard to read her sincerity, at first, but I assured her it was the right thing to do. I figured if I could plant the seeds of doubt, she'd come to the desired resolve, whether it was right or not. When backed into a corner, people have a tendency to lack conviction,” said Neco.

  “You don't say.” Dez laughed.

  “You make them question their reasoning, by always offering a counterpoint. In so, you can typically get them to see your point of view, while convincing them they came to it on their own. It is basic psychology,” said Neco.