by Chris Ayala
Bruno crossed his arms and rested them on his plumb stomach. In this long trip to Paris, she'd heard his insides grumble at every hour on the dime.
Adam continued his gingerly chat with the cab driver, while Royal wondered if her back would be permanently shaped into this smushed form. "So the Union forbid all cars?"
"All of them," the taxi driver said ecstatically, "and we couldn't be more grateful. The money is fantastic, my friend. Only public transit is allowed. And the traffic in big cities are gone."
Adam turned to the window and mumbled, "Yeah, because most of them are dead."
The driver's name was Anton. He was the only cab sitting outside the train station and had graciously given them rides around town, for free. A true gentleman. His English was flawless, thank God, even though it made Royal disappointed not to use the Russian-to-English book for translation, then she could be sitting in the front seat.
A button popped off Bruno's tight shirt. Royal grabbed it, without thinking, and flicked it. The button bounced off the stick shaft, ricocheted off the rear view mirror, rolled on the side handle, and hit Adam square in the center of his forehead. "Ow!" He cried, rubbing the red spot forming. "Why did you do that?" It was more like why didn't she do that earlier? About time he suffered a little too.
"That's incredible aim," the driver smirked, winking at her in the rear view mirror. That look made her heart feel like it was bouncing on cotton candy.
"It's not about the aim, it's about the timing." She replied.
And right on time, Bruno's stomach grumbled. He moaned. From his right pocket, the gargantuan German pulled out a piece of red Lego block. Without hesitating, he crunched down on it and began to chew like the toy was made of taffy not plastic.
"Don't that hurt your teeth?" Royal asked.
"No."
"Weird," she whispered.
Bruno's face drooped and shoulders slumped. "Bruno no weird."
Guilt splashed like a bucket of water on Royal's head. She'd been treating these two men like they were weird freaks. When she was young, her timing ability should've made her the most popular girl in the school. Instead she overhead the High School quarterback call her weird behind her back once, just because she excelled at archery, softball, tennis, basketball, and soccer. Excellence lead to jealousy and scorn. Nobody liked her. If only they had got to know her first before making assumptions. And yet, Royal was doing the same thing here.
"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She cleared her throat. Leaning over, Royal looked at the bald-headed and burnt face of Victor. He must've been called worse names than weird. "So, um, Victor. How you doin'?"
He hesitated then answered, "Nice."
Now that she opened the mental doors to a conversation, she had no idea what to ask next. "Um. So what do you for fun?"
"Burn things."`
Royal sighed, she should've expected that answer. "Well, I mean…you must like other things. How about some music? You like to listen to music? I like good old country tunes. Mostly from the 70s. Patsy Cline's my favorite. How about you? What's your favorite artist?"
"The Prodigy," he said.
"Hmm. I don't know that one. What song do they sing?"
"Firestarter."
Obviously, Victor wasn't much for a conversation. Silence filled the back seat again. Bruno munched on another Lego block. "Sorry," he said, "Bruno hungry when nervous."
"Why you nervous, sugar?"
"Scared of fight. Bruno no like fighting. Rebels want to fight."
Royal nodded slowly, noticing for the first time a soft soul hid inside this six foot behemoth with massive arms and twenty inch neck. She whispered, enough so the front seat couldn't hear. "I'm scared too."
Adam dug through his backpack and extracted a photograph he showed the taxi cab driver. The driver glanced then answered, "No, I do not recognize him. Pierre Durand? A famous blind acrobat? How does he see what he's doing?"
"Not sure. He's some kind of parkour expert too. Has a lot of followers. He joined Cirque de Solllle…whatever that circus thing is called, about two years ago. Hope to find him there."
Her compadre seemed desperate for information. The last target on the Servo Clementia's list had little intel. So far, luck been good to them on their journey to find the list. To find Victor, all they had to do was travel to the local police station in Tunari, Romania and ask for any arsonists. He'd been the only one. Bruno had been just as simple to locate, since he belonged to a traveling circus team near Munich, Germany. Both men didn't hesitate to join the rebellion. But what about Pierre Durand? Would it be more difficult to find him or convince him to join the People of Bliss in their efforts to end the Union?
After about an hour of winding roads and thick forests, they began to approach the bright lights of Paris. Royal stared out the window at the Eiffel Tower. It seemed so much bigger on television. Streets that should've been filled with tourists and lights were blandly empty. France's apocalypse didn't fair well either on Doomsday. At least America's demise came brutally and striking, France had a slow chaotic death as a government-created Flu rapidly spread.
They drove by a park, unkept gardens and trees littered the view. "Luxembourg Gardens," their driver said. The world famous park looked like the set of a horror movie, and the darkness of the clouds just made it more eerie. "It pains me to see Mother Nature like this." After a long sigh, Anton said, "Be not a cancer on the earth -- leave room for nature."
Royal glanced at the rear view mirror and caught Anton staring. She asked, "Is that from a song or something."
Before Anton could answer, Adam rudely interrupted. "It's the last step in the Georgia Guidestones, duh."
Sensing from Adam's abruptness, he was either jealous or being grumpy. Neither of which Royal was having. She crossed her arms, "Well, how was I supposed to know that, dummy."
"I bet you don't even know what the Georgia Guidestones are, do you?"
"I do too!" She didn't. But no sense in letting Adam know that.
Thankfully, Bruno asked. "Bruno not know."
Adam turned his body around, bothering to wear a seatbelt like there were any cars to crash into. "In 1980, stones were erected in the center of the State of Georgia. Not the country Georgia, the state. Anyways, they were created by a religious group of nut jobs. In eight different languages, these crazy big stones, give specific instructions on how to survive an apocalypse and rebuild society."
Interesting.
The massive theater took Royal's breath away. She never been to a show, except when her High School did a revival of Grease. They didn't have enough men that could hold a note so Danny was played by a female. Somehow she doubted any subpar performances could fill that many seats. There must've been thousands of seats and just as many on the balcony. Large wheels that looked like something a hamster the size of an envelope would exercise in occupied both sides of the stage. In the center, a turntable with a glimmering purple curtain surrounded it. The whole set must've been based on a jungle theme with those vibrant red, yellow, and orange. Set pieces of tall green grass and flowery art pieces crowded the empty corners. Two trapeze dangled from the ceiling by ropes fashioned with vines.
Only her and Adam had decided to enter the establishment, the others agreed to wait behind in the cab with the cute Russian driver. Being just the two of them hadn't felt as odd as when they begun their travels to Europe for recruitments; actually, it felt reliving and Royal couldn't quite put a finger on why. Maybe it was all the babysitting they finally got a relief from.
"Looks empty," Adam said, scouring the seats with his eyes. "Power is on though." Both of those statements were obvious, but Royal decided to keep her lips shut. Neither of them moved, afraid or mesmerized by the stage. Lights popped off as they had started their descent between the aisles. Adam paused in the darkness. "What in the –"
Lights slowly faded up. Gentle operatic music played from the dozens of speakers around the auditorium. Then the purple curtain lowered. On a
sort of round metal reel that looked like something you'd wrap your garden hose around, was a man balancing himself. Assuming this was Pierre, she found herself impressed already. His skin tight red spandex costume left little to the imagination, glitter accented his stellar physique. Adam crossed his arms.
"That him?" Royal whispered.
"Yep," Adam grumbled, a little too quickly. Was he jealous?
Laser lights danced around the stage and Pierre spun that reel with his feet, motioning around the monstrous wheels in a figure eight formation. The music and lights enchanted Royal. Pierre waved his arms and body to the score, in sync like the breeze on a grassy hill.
"I thought," Royal whispered again, "you said he was blind."
"He is." Adam shrugged.
They watched as Pierre leapt from onto the stage left wheel and it begun to spin. Flipping and dangling in a routine that even with Royal's power of timing couldn't master. "Sure don't look blind to me."
Pierre leapt into thin air and grasped the trapeze, nearly falling to his death. Royal's hand wrapped around Adam's arm as she gasped. She quickly removed it, questioning why she did that. Adam never even budged, he stared in amazement. "It's the lasers. Gotta be."
"What do you mean?"
"He only sees high-end spectral density. A light source is calculated by the spectrum of the electromagnetic wave's electric field. Understand?"
Royal sighed, "I ain't got no idea what you talking about."
"It's sort of like," Adam thought for a moment, "Like, turning off the lights in your room and only seeing the glow-in-the-dark stars on the walls. Pierre can only see very blinding lights. Nothing else."
The music intensified and so did Pierre's routine. He bounced from the trapezes to the wheels, back and forth, up and down, until even Royal experienced nausea. Spinning and cartwheeling, Pierre landed on his feet in the center of the stage as the music ended. This would be the time for applause as a spotlight formed on him.
Except no one was here.
Even through the white powder, excessive eye lashes, and bright red makeup, Royal could see the disappointment in his face. His chest heaved up and down. He obviously knew no one could be here, so why perform to an empty audience? Many years ago she used to go to the marketplace every Sunday morning for fresh fruits and vegetables back home. And every morning, she'd see the same elderly homeless man outside playing the drums with a cup full of pity change. Once, she asked his name. He didn't answer. After repeating the question, his eyes gazed on her mouth. He had a pad in his hand and wrote with a pen that was deaf. She asked why play then? To this day, she never forgot the words he wrote down. Because it's what I do.
Pierre was no different. His passion didn't end the same day the population of France did. It just weakened. Royal stepped forward and applauded loudly.
The sound of her clapping made Pierre jump and step back, alarmed. "Bonjour? Qui est la?" He called out, with a high pitched and thrilled voice. With the lights dimming down,
"Americans," she answered, approaching the stage. Expecting to hear Adam objecting, she was pleased to see him join the applause.
"That was magnifique," Adam said, failing at mimicking a French accent with possibly the only word he knew in the language.
"Oh!" Pierre said, taking in a deep breath of satisfaction before bowing. "Americans! I love Americans! Come! Come! Into the spotlight." They approached the light, so that the Frenchman could presumably see them. He focused on them both for a while before smiling. "I can see sparkles in everyone, but you two shine like stars. Light has touched you both. Glorious light. Like the rainbows above us, blinded by the darkness. Who are you, gorgeous?"
Judging by his feminine movements and staring in the direction of Adam, Royal assumed she wasn't the one he called gorgeous. Adam blushed, the way straight men did with gay men. Royal replied, "I'm Royal, this is Adam. We've come to find you, actually."
"Me? Pourquoi? I'm just some mere man who sleeps in a theater every night, hoping to awaken and the nightmare fades away like the evening sun. That the cast, my friends, return to dazzle yet another bewildered audience."
This was the part she left up to Adam. The part to explain why they had travelled so far, for one person. He cleared his throat. "What if I told you, we have a way of…foreseeing the future?"
Victor snorted and Bruno laughed when Adam used that first line on them, but Pierre didn't react negatively. He smiled, "I've seen the miracles light can do. Lloyd and Nina gathered many of us followers here, in Paris. This cosmic intuition seems not so far out of reach."
"Well," Adam looked to Royal then back to Pierre, "I can. And some very bad people studied me as a child. My first vision was a list, sent to me by a future version of myself. A list he titled: Those that can alter the future. Unfortunately these bad people, Servo Clementia, decided to chase down and execute most of the people on that list. But since my vision of an apocalyptic future didn't change, and still came into fruition, I came the conclusion –"
Royal interrupted, "Excuse me."
Adam corrected himself and continued, "I mean, we came to the conclusion whoever is still alive on the list must be recruited not murdered."
"Ah, those damn terrorists again, the Servo Clementia." Pierre said, stretching his neck back and studying the ceiling. At this view she could see the blue tint in his eyes. She wondered what his eye color was before he lost vision. "And you want me to join your war." He flipped and tumbled over flawlessly over the stage, then stood in front of Adam. "But I hate wars. Fighting for the right to fight more."
"Then you're the perfect candidate," Royal said, "Because this is the war to end all wars."
Still not seemingly convinced, Pierre grasped onto Adam's arm. "Would you mind walking me to my dressing room, stud? Let's talk some more on the way." Adam didn't seem uncomfortable and walked up the aisle, with Pierre firmly holding him even though she suspected there were enough bright bulbs for Pierre to find his own way. "Your name again? Adam? Right? Have you ever heard of ant mill?"
"You mean, worker ants?"
"Right. I love a smart man. Anyway. Worker ants are significantly blind. They follow each other through a trail of pheromones," he stressed the word pheromones in a metaphoric way, "But when one ant gets off track, it circles around and around. Eventually, other ants, just as confused, circle around that one. Eventually, you have dozens of ants circling and circling, going nowhere. Going nowhere, until they die of exhaustion." They stopped at the doorway of the auditorium, inside the lobby. "Do you understand, Monsieur? War after war, movement after movement, and protest after protest…it won't end."
Seriously stern, Adam replied. "This time it will."
A stranger's voice interrupted from inside the lobby. "No, it won't." The taxi driver Anton, for some reason, was inside the lobby facing the three of them. Tall enough to play basketball, but probably too muscular to be fast at it, this was the best view Royal had gotten of Anton outside of his seat. His neck had to be thicker than her thigh. At 5'4, everyone seemed big to her but this guy seemed monstrous. "I've finally found you, Pierre."
Before Royal could ask how they knew each other, the cab driver lifted a gun from his inner pocket and pointed it. Adam's hands went up, "Woah, what's this about?"
The Frenchman looked even more concerned. "This bastard has been after me for years. I hid in the spotlight, where people like him couldn't murder me and get away with it. Still trying to impress Mommy?"
Anton sniffed. "Shut it. You all are coming with me. I'll fire at the first one who tries to run. And I'm an excellent aim."
Royal had never had a gun pointed at her, so she did the same as the other two captives and lifted her hands.
Adam asked, "Who are you? Illuminati?"
"No." Anton grumbled.
Eyes narrowing, Adam said, "That sounds like something the Illuminati would say."
"God," Royal shouted, "Don't be stupid. He's got a gun. Ain't it obvious who he is." She eyed the member of the
most powerful worldwide covert organization. "He's Servo Clementia."
Anton smiled and had every reason to, because now he had captured those left on their kill list.
We need to be needed, because feeling unwanted means feeling no purpose.
-Victoria Celest
First Lady of the United States
2033-2038
CHAPTER FIVE
Normal never fit in Gerard's vocabulary. He enjoyed spontaneous behavior, even mischievous behavior. But being common was just so…common. Normal sucked.
"Are you listening?" The CEO barked.
"Yep," Gerard lied.
"They are starting to break the glass down there! What if they get in? My employees could be in danger! The Supreme Leader promised me your protection!" The rattled CEO stared out the window, his gray toupee beginning to wobble.
Slowly getting off the leather couch, Gerard stretched his arms out before moving towards the windows. The couch had made a perfect indent of his butt and back. That couch probably cost more than his car, but also had been more comfortable. The flight here to Seattle had been hectic. Not only was the seat stiff, the ride had been bumpy and lengthy as the plane couldn't fly directly the tainted clouds. Flying below the clouds had been eerie and hours longer.
Gerard yawned and moved next to the CEO staring intently out the window. There was still four more hours of security detail before his shift ended. Might as well calm the snob down before his toupee fell on the floor. Marcel owed Gerard big for this one. He didn't become the Union Security Czar to be babysitting.
Out the double plated windows, hundreds of protestors threw rocks, Molotov cocktails, and even toilet paper rolls. The action gave him a sense of excitement even from 49 stories above. But the CEO didn't share his enthusiasm. "Do you see this? They are ruining my building!"
Twisting the wedding ring on his left hand, her heartbeat engraved in the silver band, he thought about Janice. Could his wife be down there in that crazed mob of protestors? Did her devotion to the rebellion turn her into one of these ants in the Union's path, waiting to get stepped on? Then he thought of his child. Would he be raised with these heathens?