Children of the Program

by Brad Cox

  Confident he could persuade her, Neco made a move. “Ready to get out?” read a note, scribbled upon a tiny square of toilet paper, slipped in with her nightly offering. Neco made sure the message was delivered to hopeful eyes, before returning to the devil's chambers. Seeing the hope in her wide-eye, he knew he could turn back.

  “Dez, we could probably benefit from Michelle's help,” said Neco.

  “What does the gimp have to offer? She's the reason my revolution is in jeopardy.”

  “I understand your concern, but no one understands this the way we do. Girls cover for each other. It's in their nature. I'm sure she didn't realize the magnitude of her decision. How could she? She helped us, greatly, before you boxed her in and duct taped her mouth. She's the reason we have sects all over the world. She's the reason Juno is dead. She may even be able to help us track down Crystal. Who knows, maybe she knows where she's heading,” said Neco.

  “Why do you suddenly care? You never considered this before?” asked Dez.

  “I hate to see our talent crouched and naked in a barren cell. I have a soft spot for humans,” said Neco.

  Dez approached Neco and leered in his eyes. Hoping to find Neco's tell, his couldn't manage a read. Resigned, he turned and walked toward the keyboard and silently faced the monitors. As if distracted by incoming information, he mindlessly flipped through video streams and again turned toward Neco.

  “Ash is at the gates of hell. It won't be long, now,” said Dez, reaching in his pocket and fishing out a thick rusty key. With a sinister glare, he held the key before his eyes and stared through the loops of the base. “If your heart's wish is to set the whore free, be my guest. We're all prisoners, Neco,” said Dez.

  Catching the key, Neco turned to exit. After a few paces, he stopped. “What do you mean she's at the gates of hell?” asked Neco.

  “The Cadence has secured the perimeter. They're not only in her head, but probably in her house, by now,” he said, pointing to a camera feed of Ash's bedroom.

  Ash paced about, brushing her hair and staring upon her plump image in a long mirror. It was the first time Neco had seen her in nearly a year. She was barefoot, pregnant, and visibly due to deliver. She was as beautiful as he remembered. “It won't be long now,” Dez laughed.

  A flood of emotions ran up Neco's spine. Goosebumps created a ribbed appearance on his arms, as an overwhelming dryness befell his throat. His sense of urgency had never been greater. Time had come pounding on the door of his heart. He knew he had to escape.

  “Good to hear,” tried Neco. Turning quickly, he walked toward Michelle's cell. His entire life rested in the delivery of the few gambled words he offered her, but the clock stopped for no one. “I have no time to explain. Follow my lead,” rushed Neco, opening Michelle’s cage. “Crystal and Max are safe, but we have to get out of here, before we're both killed.”

  “What's going on?” asked her broken soul.

  “I've been keeping you alive, for a reason. Dez was intent to leave you for the rats, a long time ago.” he paused, letting his revelation sink in. “You're just going to have to trust me!” Neco furthered, unclasping her wrist from an iron bedpost.

  chapter 34

  Ashes of September

  Smiling and rubbing her round belly, Ash flirted and fawned over her new body. Even knowing they'd never meet, the thought of bearing a savior elated her. Her spirit had never been so driven by purpose. Her physical strength was amplified by superhuman vibrations. A few alarming visits from the Cadence incited her longing for a swift delivery. Nightly, she begged The Council of the Lords for entry into The Beyond, and nightly they'd forsake her request. Knowing she could no longer be his guardian angel, she prayed Neco would remain safe in the cult's lair. Counting down the days, arrangements for her child's arrival were made. She journaled her plans and whispered her hopes to the sky.

  “If I die during my pregnancy, I know you'll provide a perfect life for Akiane,” said Ash.

  “Don't talk like that! You're healthier than I've ever seen you and you glow like the heavens on a clear night. I can practically reach for the stars in your eyes. You're beautiful. If only I could paint this moment with your brush and have it last forever,” offered her father.

  “Have you tried?” asked Ash.

  “To give birth?” asked her father.

  “No, to paint,” she laughed.

  “I'm just playing with you, like I used to. By the way, this came for you today. It's a gift!” Her father pulled a box from behind his back. With the rooster's third crow, it was delivered to their doorstep and packaged to be noticed. “It looks special. Don't worry, I didn't take a peak,” he said.

  “Thank you, Daddy!”

  He turned and walked from her bedroom, to give her privacy. His slippers clopped across the old oak floor just beyond her sanctuary. As she heard him descend the cavatappi staircase, she reached for the box of mystery, carefully shook it and slowly untied the topping bow. Endless visions aroused wonderment in her childlike heart. Though it was Christmas in September, the recent threats left her wary. Paranoid of what the box contained, she slowly opened her bedroom door and gazed into the camera-monitored hallway, before returning. Her solitude was reassured. She didn't want anyone to worry about her recent visits from the Cadence — a bigger surprise awaited their grip on sanity. Taking inventory of her extravagant surroundings, Ash's fear was again unguarded.

  As she opened the decorated box and pulled back the distracting layers of tissue, she came across a taped envelope. The bravado of the unidentified parcel had a sinister undertone and begged her focus. She scrutinized the package for clues, but found nothing. With a sterling letter opener, she tickled the crease, nervously removing a thin layer of tape from the envelope. She had few doubts about the origin of the package, only its intentions. Breaking the seal, a small cloud of white smoke rushed toward her startled face.

  When the dust settled, she looked into the envelope and found a folded note and a match. It read, “Ashes to ashes, we all fall down!” She had never considered the possibility of death by asphyxiation, but could no longer dismiss the clan's seemingly trivial threats. Affected by the cult’s terror tremors, the impenetrable walls her family had built on a marble foundation were cracking. Falling to her knees, she maternally wept for release. She couldn't imagine bringing her child into a spoiled world — a world hungover with discontent.

  Dez was elated. He replayed her reaction and mobilized his minions toward an immediate strike. The crisp fall evening came quickly, as Ash continued to pace around her bedroom. She contemplated how to avoid having her and her child murdered. She considered faking her delivery, which would provide her the temporal security of hospital walls, but compromise her family’s safety. The horrors that would await her return, would haunt her conscious more than facing the immediate threat. As the hour struck midnight, a bright light illuminated her grounds and the main floor. Looking down the staircase to identify the disturbance, she saw a myriad of Molotov cocktails crashing through her stained glass living room windows. Her temple was afire.

  The devil danced — again!

  She heard her mother and father scream. The fire engulfed the lower level instantaneously. “Try to throw the bottles out!” screamed her father. His intentions were split between returning the consuming cocktails, smothering the fire and tending to his pregnant daughter's cries. Following his voice, she quickly emerged and descended the stairs, before realizing the exits were blocked. She was trapped. In the pandemonium, her father's shirt caught fire. His burning flesh filled the air and smelled of the familiar inferno she'd only narrowly escaped.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” she pleaded.

  “Ash,” he cried. Her father was tackled to the ground by demons, while her weakened mother continued clearing an exit. She was consumed by smoke inhalation. Ash returned to her sanctuary and feverishly dialed 999. After a quick plea with an unintelligible emergency operator, she hung up the phone and awaited time to deliver its un
raveling fate. Stress from the situation induced her. Though she could hear her father wailing, she knew she couldn't save them and her responsibility lied with The Program. Tearful, she turned her once baptizing tub into a makeshift gatch bed and feverishly blocked the tiny gap in the doorway with a rolled towel. She was conscious to leave her diary parted on the floor by the running bath. Dipping her anxious toes into the purity of forever, time stood still.

  Pain rushed through her body, as her imagination turned the pool of blood into lava. Lightening ran through her veins. Her determined eyes widened, dilated by her stretched nerves. As fate danced between positive and negative outcomes, flocks of black and gray birds slammed against her bedroom window. They responded to each birth pain. Continuing to push, she reached toward the sky and disengaged the shower curtain with an instinctual grip.

  The lights flickered, as her will collided with the fury of Dez's mad scene. As her body crowned, her baby effortlessly slid into the sanctifying lake. Ash's physical body slowly faded, as she entered The Beyond. With a final crash into the bathroom window, a blackbird signaled Akiane's arrival. Firefighters battled down the obstructed door to find the newborn baby submerged. With an emotional and confused proclivity, the lead fireman grabbed and shielded the infant in his yellow turnout coat, descended through the flames and quickly exiting through the absent doorway. Ash's father and mother had passed, but the baby's heart continued to beat.

  The Council of the Lords rejoiced.

  +++

  Dez danced before the monitors, elated with his affect. Manically singing Frank Sinatra's “My Way,” at the top of his hoarse lungs, he sought a celebratory bottle of champagne. The echoes of his psychosis vibrated through the underground catacombs and awakened the hounds of hell. The inferno of the underworld was stoked by his malice laughter. “We did it!” he shouted, forgetting his suspicions of Neco's intentions. “You have to see this. Ding-Dong! The witch is dead. The house didn't land on her, it consumed her.”

  “Michelle, listen to me,” Neco paused, softly tugging her malnourished limbs. “We have to get out of here, tonight! I don't know exactly what's going on in there, but I'm terrified by the sound of it. If anything happened to her, I'll never forgive myself. She's the reason I came and the reason we have to leave.”

  “Who?” asked Michelle.

  “It doesn't matter!”

  “I trust you, Neco. Please get me out of here,” she pleaded.

  “You're going to have to help me distract him,” explained Neco.

  “Sexually?” she asked.

  “He locks the tunnel and the hatch, every night. It's probably locked now. The keys to the surface are lassoed to his waistline. He neurotically grabs for them, concerned they've magically disappeared. Getting them won't be easy. Whatever just happened is a perfect distraction for us. His mind swings like a pendulum, but at least we can be sure of his mood,” said Neco.

  “Do we have the strength to double team him?” asked Michelle.

  “He's got a black belt in Aikido and a PhD in batshit crazy. We don't need to provoke an impromptu fight club to know how it would end. We'd be dead before the first fist was fired. You can barely stand-up and I'm not a fighter. I'm a pretty lousy lover, too!”

  “So, what then?” asked Michelle.

  “For now, be excited. No matter what he says, smile and nod,” said Neco.

  “I'm a terrible liar,” said Michelle.

  “This isn't lying, it's acting! You can act, right?” asked Neco.

  Though close to choosing his celebratory phial. The sound of Dez rattling through an old ice chest of bottles echoed through the steel beams overhead. The underground air seemed denser and more asphyxiating than usual. Beads of sweat rushed from Neco's brow, as he lassoed Michelle's arm around his tired neck. They limped to the control room and awaited their story to be written by the shaking hands of time.

  “Look what the cat dragged in!” said Dez, elated.

  Bouncing off the concrete walls, nerves fired from Michelle's tense body. “I am sorry. I never meant to disappoint you or keep you in the dark about Crystal's pregnancy. She was scared. She wanted to tell you,” she offered.

  “Shut it! Let's not ruin the moment with the bullshit you've been cherry picking for this day.”

  Reaching over, he slithered his arm around Neco's shoulder and guided his attention to the monitor of Ash's bedroom. It was scorched and filled with lazy flames. The dense smoke nearly eclipsed their view, but the portrait was painted.

  “She's dead. Burned to crisp!” he laughed. “God love her, she tried to survive and almost succeeded, m'boy,” said Dez.

  “Did you actually see her die?” asked Neco, with a reserved enthusiasm.

  “I didn't have to. Firefighters went into the charcoaled bathroom and exited without Ash.”

  “That's it?” asked Neco.

  “It's almost ironic,” he paused. “Don't you think?”

  Neco motioned for the carafe resting on the console and fantasized about beating Dez unconscious. Shaking the fantasy, he calmly removed the bottle opener from Dez's flannel shirt pocket and tested his trust. Celebrating his lover's death for the sake of survival seemed like a travesty, but a far-off hope lingered.

  Michelle followed Neco's lead, and reclaimed her familiarity with Dez by forgetting his crass acts toward her. “I want to help you find Crystal,” she said, sipping on the bottle of Cairn O'Mohr. “She's scared, but I know a few bungalows and people she may have sought refuge with. Have you ventured back to the strip club? This town isn't that large. Hell, the population of New Mexico isn't that large, when you compare its size with the rest of the world. Someone has to have seen her. She's not going to allow her baby to starve to death.”

  “It's trivial. Scared or not, she'd have called by now,” said Dez.

  “If she's scared, she's not going to do anything. You can't spend the rest of your life hiding underground, refusing to trust the world. All I did was buy her time, and ended up locked in a barren cell. You nearly starved me. For what? I've been nothing but loyal to you. You can't rule the planet alone – let me help you!” pleaded Michelle.

  “Why in the world would you do that? My gut tells me you'll run and never look back. You may even call the goddamned police. Where would that leave us? Where? Don't think you'll escape. You're an accessory to our crimes,” said Dez.

  “Nowhere. It would leave us nowhere,” said Michelle.

  “That's right, we'd be the children of nowhere. It doesn't have a very good ring to it, does it?”

  “Actually, it would make a hell of a band name,” offered Neco, trying to steer away from the tension.

  “Fair point,” said Dez.

  Michelle sipped on her wine. Locking eyes with Dez, she refused to blink. The whites begged his trust, her irises remained stern, and her pupils shuttered, with each passing frame, downloading thousands of photographs for her memory to someday dissect. She'd either develop from negatives or be exposed by her bluff.

  “Look, if I run, you'll hunt me down and kill me,” Michelle said, beginning to pace. “If you don't find me, you'll kill someone I love — I know that much!” Uncomfortable, silence consumed the room's attention. “Dez, I know how this works and I'd never risk Max's life. I can't get too far and you know it,” she insisted. She made haste, like a salesman on a month-end sit. “Please let me try!”

  “Dez, she's right. She's got nothing to gain. You know her friends, her family, and her boyfriend — hell, you know her whole life's story. We have to trust someone. If anyone can get Crystal back, it's Michelle. It's that simple. There are more Programmers out there. The war has begun, yet we lie dormant, cowering below ground.”

  chapter 35

  run, run, run

  Crystal had made up her mind and knew that she'd have to find Grayson. Radioactive dust cluttered the air surrounding her decision, but the inevitable fallout was worth her risk. Knowing she'd have to find her way east, she was anxious to access a computer and
make her presence known. Her child was growing fast, and by all accounts, her stomach was smuggling a tiny planet. Only the heavens could bestow enough absolution and grace to turn her tragedy into a miracle, and withstand bearing the cross of her child's birth. As insane as her life had been, she'd either hitch a ride to the Promised Land or die trying.

  “Hello lass, where are you heading?” asked a cynical and flirty pickup truck driver.

  “New York. I'm heading to New York City.”

  “New York City!” he joked, mimicking the popular salsa commercial. “Hop in. I can get you to Texas, but you're on your own after that!”

  “Thank you,” she replied, awkwardly pulling herself into the rattling cab.

  “I don't mean to pry, but I did see you running, no?” he asked, turning to make eye contact with his dirty hitchhiker friend. “Is everything OK? I don't typically stop, but you seemed harmless and a tad spooked. Truth is, you never know who you'll meet on the open road. I just like to know a little bit about my runaway friends, before they kill me, steal my truck and leave me for dead.”

  “New York City! You're so pretty.” chirped a cockatoo, resting behind a slightly parted black sheet in the backseat. “New York City! You're so pretty. New York City! You're so pretty,” it continued.

  Curious, Crystal looked behind the sheet and was startled by the size of the bird’s monstrous and feathered frame and cocked yellow mohawk.

  “Don't listen to him. He thinks he knows everything!”

  “Maybe he does,” she quipped, playfully brandishing a smile.