The New Agenda

by Simone Pond

  “No you don’t. The frost will thaw without me.” She recites the words from my poem.

  She squeezes her eyes shut and as she pulls the trigger I’m able to reach out enough to tug her sleeve and yank her toward me. The gun goes off and blood spatters all over my face. She drops to the floor, blood pours from the hole in her forehead.

  “Dickson, help! Dickson, get over here. Help her!”

  An air raid combusts inside my brain, howling like a tornado. Lightning thrusts through my body, catching every cell on fire. I’m convulsing and flopping around in spasms. Dickson jumps his way over to me and shoves the loose cables back in place. Everything goes black and I can’t see what’s happening. I’m fighting to stay conscious, but I get sucked under.

  *

  The ocean is clear today, reminding me of a piece of sparkling glass. I warm my toes in the sand and watch a seagull fly overhead and swoop down next to me. I’m the only person on the beach. One of Mozart’s symphonies soars through the breeze, as two birds fly in synchronicity to the music. The sun glides across the sky in hyper speed, stopping to rest on the horizon and filling it with layers of orange and gold light. I know I’m not really here. I’m in the lab, and I need to pull out of this dream so I can get to Dru.

  “William,” a voice calls to me.

  I can’t find the strength to speak.

  “The capture worked. I can unplug you now.” It’s Dickson.

  A warm sensation ripples through the base of my skull and trickles down my spine. It takes a few minutes to formulate shapes and see Dickson standing over me. There’s classical music playing.

  “What’s going on?” I try to sit up, but I can’t.

  “Take it slow. I just removed the probe. It’ll take a few minutes to acclimate.”

  “Dru?”

  “She’s alive.”

  Dickson’s news sweeps through me and lifts my spirits. I’m relieved and overjoyed. I want to cry out in jubilation. Dru’s alive. “What happened?”

  “The bullet grazed her forehead, fracturing a small portion of her skull. You pulled away her arm just in time. You saved her life.”

  “She’s alive,” I say.

  “She’s in a coma,” says Dickson.

  “Will she come out of it?”

  “Yes, I induced it to slow down brain activity. I’m monitoring her closely.”

  “It’s up to us to finish this, Dickson. We need to get him and the elites back here.”

  “I got a solution. I told them I had a breakthrough in consciousness capture. They’re under the impression you’ve been caught and returned to me to complete the research. I’ve also ordered the security detail to ensure no intel leaves the house. Your men—Sam and Dan—are now the de facto heads of ground security. They’re waiting to hear from us for next steps.”

  “How did you stave them off from killing you after what went down?” I ask.

  “I showed them the surveillance footage. They know I’m not the enemy.”

  “Excellent work. And when can you remove this chip?”

  “It’s too far along integrating with your system, but I’ve reprogrammed the coding sequence so you will no longer experience pain, or emit frequencies. It’s dormant for now. As for Dru, I promise I will restore her back to full mental capacity.”

  “You’re a smart man, putting me in a position to keep you alive.”

  “Honestly, William, at this point I’d prefer death. But I want to help you finish what you came here to do.”

  “You’ve done horrible things, but I don’t think you’re a horrible person. I’m keeping you around. For now, anyway.”

  Chapter 23

  After Dickson gives me the okay to get up and move around, I take the elevator to the second floor to check on Dru. She’s recovering in the guest room down the hall from my suite. Dickson has set up a medical station to monitor her. All these months I’ve put my faith in her and I need her to come back. She’s been keeping me going.

  Dru’s hooked up to a machine and has bandages wrapped around her dirt and bloodstained face. I grab a towel from the bathroom and do my best to clean her up. Instead I smudge everything. I attempt to brush the knots out of her auburn hair, but end up pulling it back. Though I’ve made her messier, there’s a peaceful aura resting over her face and her vulnerability makes her more beautiful. I love her so much. The way her green eyes radiate when she laughs, or how she bites her nails when she’s nervous. I can’t lose her. The coming weeks will be tough on her—Zach was like family and she’ll need time to heal. I’m bummed about Zach, but I wasn’t close to him.

  I drag a chair next to her bed and sit by her side, holding her limp hand. “We’re almost there, Dru. Hang tough. I promise, everything’s going to be okay.”

  The day is coming to an end and everything is hitting me hard. My energy levels are depleted and I’m dragging. I need some rest. I leave Dru and head toward my room; the hallway seems narrower from a year ago. I know it didn’t shrink, but rather my perspective has grown. It’s strange how things seem smaller after you’ve been away a while. My suite is just how I left it before I was sent off to Denver, as though the apocalypse never happened. At least not here. The shelves are crammed with books, my desk is still tidy and the king-size bed is untouched. I breathe in the familiar scent of bergamot and sandalwood. A wave of memories rushes over me and I try pushing them down; I don’t want to remember the past. I want to move on.

  “I need a shower.” I tell the room to break the overbearing silence.

  The bathroom sparkles and gleams from a recent cleaning. Are the servants still keeping up the house? I wonder if Old Martha is lurking somewhere in the shadows. I lock the door just in case. The hot water feels like liquid tranquility soothing my raw muscles. Layers of black soot come off, creating a ring around the tub. I’ve never felt cleaner. I dry off and brush my teeth, which feels like a spiritual experience. It takes a while to find some clothes that fit—my perspective isn’t the only thing that’s grown in the last year. I find an over-sized t-shirt and some workout pants that are snug, but this works for now.

  I climb into bed and curl up under the soft cotton blankets. The luxury of an expensive mattress makes the trek getting here worth it. As I close my eyes, I notice a photograph on my nightstand of my mother holding me. I pick it up and study the way my mother’s beaming with pride. Heaviness fills my body—I’ll never see her again. She wasn’t going to win any awards for being mother of the year, but I loved her. She did her best to protect me from my father. She appreciated the side of me he never understood. I fall asleep holding the photograph close to my heart.

  *

  The smell of eggs and toast enters my sleep, waking me up. Dickson, or someone, has set out a tray of food on my desk. I can’t remember the last time I ate. My growling stomach motivates me to roll out of bed. I sit at my desk and shovel down one bite after the next. The food warms my empty stomach, bringing new energy to my body. I stare out the window to our property where there’s no evidence of the apocalypse. The gardens bloom with fresh springtime flowers; the tennis court and swimming pool are pristine. Everything seems normal until I see the reddish brown sky above the tree line—a harsh reminder that things are not right in the world. I finish off the eggs and toast, and gulp back the coffee. It’s time to check on Dru.

  Dickson’s already up and checking her monitor. His haggard face tells me he didn’t sleep at all. I don’t know how he manages to get any sleep, period. His conscience must be riddled with mountains of guilt.

  “How is she?” I ask, walking over to the bed.

  “She’s doing well. I’ll be able to bring her out later today.”

  “You sure she’ll be okay?”

  “I promised, didn’t I?”

  “I’m not sure if I trust you just yet.”

  Dickson steps away and starts toward the door. “I’ll be in the library so we can go over the details of the plan.”

  “I’ll be down in a few.”


  “You can stop by my room and get a change of clothes if you want.”

  I laugh at the thought of Dickson having anything I’d want to wear. He’s a suit-mongering droid. I glance down at my scrubby pants and shirt. I used to take pride in my lackadaisical approach to fashion, but maybe it’s time for a change. Dickson’s distinguished and put together—he gets things done. If I’m going to save civilization, I should look the part.

  *

  The prestigious library, with its lingering scent of leather-bound books and expensive liquor, sparks momentary deja vu. The mighty room swallows me up as though I’ve entered the belly of the beast—I’m standing in ground zero. These lofty walls witnessed the inception of the Repatterning. Dickson stares out the bay window into the garden, holding a glass of Scotch. He does a double take when he sees me. I’m wearing one of his suits and a white button up shirt. I couldn’t handle the tight dress shoes, so I’m barefoot.

  “You definitely got your father’s genes,” he says.

  I brush off his comment. Nobody in their right mind wants to be compared to that fiend.

  “A little early, don’t you think?” I motion to his drink.

  He remains silent.

  I walk over and hand him the photo from my nightstand. “She loved you. She was miserable in the Subterranea.”

  “I know it wasn’t easy for you. Keeping our secret.”

  “Didn’t matter. He knew anyway.”

  “He didn’t for a long time. After he found out, he wanted to ruin me, but he needed my help with the research. Without me, he couldn’t deliver his promises. But he made sure I suffered greatly for my disloyalty.”

  I can see Dickson becoming muddled and distracted, so I change the subject. “Let’s talk about the details. I have some thoughts, but I need to know typical protocol regarding your meetings.”

  We go to the couches and he explains the way things have been working.

  “They come in via their personal helicopters and get dropped off on the roof. Your father will be with them this time. There will be twenty men, accompanied by their female escorts, and about ten bodyguards. Not everyone brings their own security, which will work to our benefit. The men then gather in the library for a drink, while the women chat in the sitting room. Dinner is served at seven. Afterwards the professor and I take the men down to the lab to discuss business.”

  I picture the dining room table full of guests bantering on and on about their important work. “Where are the guards during dinner?”

  “They wait in an adjacent room, watching the monitor feeds.”

  “If we’re going to pull this off, we need everyone in the same room,” I tell him.

  “It won’t be that simple. These people don’t dine with the help.” He rubs his temples and gulps back the rest of his drink.

  “Good thing we have Sam and Dan. We’ll have to divide and conquer. I’ll handle my father and the elites and they can take care of the security detail.”

  He puts his empty glass down and leans back, closing his eyes.

  “Their security detail is tight,” he says.

  “So is mine.”

  “I have a migraine coming on, William. We’ll have to finish this conversation later.” He heads toward the double doors. “There’s a lot more to discuss. We need to decide what happens with the Planners. Are you going to take them out too?”

  I hadn’t thought about the Planners—the ones who executed the Repatterning. I consider them more of a follow-the-leader type of conglomeration. “Are they a threat?” I ask.

  “We might need them.”

  “I’m putting you in charge of that endeavor. Obviously with my help.”

  Dickson nods and leaves the library. I need to check in with Sam and Dan to work out the logistics and check on our arsenal. We’re going to need massive firepower.

  The library door creaks open and standing in the doorway is Old Martha. As I suspected, she’s still at house; she’ll go down with it. She’s shrunk in the last year and when she smiles her face wrinkles up into itself.

  “Good to see you, Martha.”

  “William! You’re all grown up.” She hugs me and steps back to get a better look.

  “Yep.”

  “I thought you ran off to join the circus.” She winks.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “I had no doubt. Late as usual, but nevertheless, you made it home.”

  She holds my hand and guides me toward the dining room. We walk down the hallway. Old Martha takes one inch at a time. It’d be faster if I carried her. The long banquet table gleams from fresh polish and sunlight glints off the crystal chandeliers, creating miniature spectrums on the walls. She pulls out my father’s chair and pats it for me to sit down. I shake my head. Sitting in his chair seems unorthodox. She puts her arm around my waist, nudging me to hunch down toward the floor. We squat down and look under the table. I’m sure she’s either lost her mind or experiencing a senior moment.

  She points to the underbelly of the table. “I’m thinking we can place some homemade bombs down here. You won’t need to be in the room. You just aim and fire. And boom! We just need some cans of WD-40 and rubber cement.”

  I laugh picturing Old Martha making homemade bombs in the kitchen. “Where’d you learn how to make bombs?”

  “We must always be prepared for anything.”

  *

  I head over to the security office to brief Sam and Dan and the other men. Sam is genuinely stoked to see me alive. He gives me a quick hug and back pat. Dan’s playing cards with a few of the other men. He gives me a nod and returns to his game.

  “Thought you could save the day on your own?” he says.

  “Somewhere we can talk?” I ask.

  Sam takes me into a private room.

  “Dickson’s able to get my father and the elites back to the house for a meeting. That’s our only window of opportunity.” I pause. “Sorry about Zach, man.”

  Sam’s not the type of guy who puts too much weight on loss. He’s seen his share of it. He’s professional about the news and after a few moments of silence, he gets back to business. “He lost his cool. It happens. Dickson’s men are cooperating. Most of them don’t give a rat’s ass who they’re serving, as long as they’re getting three squares a day and a pot to piss in.”

  “How many are there?” I ask.

  “Five total. We took down a bunch getting to the house.”

  “That makes eight of us total. Weapon situation?”

  “Ton of firearms and ammo.”

  “Dickson set up the meeting for tomorrow night. They’ll gather for dinner at seven with their guys waiting in a nearby room. I’m thinking we use explosives in the dining room and snipers on the security. But you make the final call.”

  “From what I hear their dudes are high level. But if they don’t know what’s coming, I’m confident we can handle it. We don’t have any incendiaries though.”

  “I’m taking care of that. Homemade.”

  “Aren’t you the virtuoso?” Sam laughs.

  “I had some good trainers.”

  “While you’re setting that up, I’ll do run-throughs with my boys throughout the day.” He looks me up and down. “We need to get you some cammies, James Bond.”

  I leave the office with a duffle bag of combat garb and head back to the house. Old Martha meets me by the back door and takes me to the gardener’s shed. There are boxes of random supplies that we dig through to find what we need. The two of us get to work.

  Chapter 24

  By the end of the day, I’ve assembled the homemade bombs, secured them under the table and practiced run-throughs with Sam and the other men. I check in with Dickson and give him my updates. After we’re finished talking, I rest my eyes for a few minutes.

  In my dream I’m heading up the City Center, overseeing the operations and bringing in refugees from all over the country—people who had been hiding in the woods or living in death camps.
Dru is by my side as we take in the sick and starving people the apocalypse left behind. I’m building the new world. From the shadows a strange man approaches. His face is split down the middle with opposing sides. “You have two faces,” I say. He smiles and says, “You must hide me from the others.” He points outside to a huge mushroom cloud spreading across the land, effacing everything in its path. I turn around, but he’s gone…

  I wake up in a cold sweat with Dickson standing over me. It’s early morning; the sun is just coming over the mountains in the east.

  “You okay?” he asks. “You were yelling.”

  I stand up and stretch my tight muscles. “How is she?” As always, Dru’s the first thing on my mind.

  “Awake,” he says.

  “What? How long?” I run out of the library and sprint up the winding staircase, leaping over steps to get to Dru faster.

  I open the door and she’s standing by the window, staring off into the woods. Fresh bandages are wrapped around her forehead. Old Martha’s been cleaning her up.

  “Dru…” I approach her.

  “Hi,” she says.

  I stop short and stand back a few feet. I want to hug her, but she’s so frail. Her eyes are dull and lifeless—the radiance has turned to murky swamp water.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I have a splitting headache.” She smiles.

  “Not funny.” I use the moment of levity to move in closer and I hold her tight, inhaling her scent. Heat moves through my body and I never want to let her go.

  “I’m sorry. I was just so upset… I lost control.” She pulls away and returns to the window, looking toward the red sky with her jaw clenched tight. I know Zach’s on her mind, but I don’t want to talk about him. I want to move on. This is our time.

  “Have you heard about the meeting?” I change the subject.

  “Dickson mentioned it. Didn’t go into the details.”

  “They’ll be here tonight.”