Ballad of Demise

by Joshua Landeros

  “You’re at Willow Bay Campground, son. Do you have any idea where that is?” Duncan asked.

  Patrick considered bluffing, but he knew it would be no good. “Can’t say that I do.”

  “The New York-Pennsylvania border. Even in a car, it’d take almost an hour to get to Carrollton, and something tells me you don’t have a ride.”

  Patrick slumped in his chair. He didn’t have a worthy response to that, either. Duncan took his silence as a concession.

  “Well, it’s settled then!” he exclaimed.

  “If the UNR even thinks you’re abetting someone like me, they will stop at nothing to find out what you know. The danger is very real on this, Duncan.”

  The father dropped his lax tone along with his smile.

  “Don’t you ever think of me as ignorant, son. I knew the risk when we dragged your ass back here to camp. I’m more than aware of the danger. I’ve seen shit, too, fucking lived it! I just need time to come up with somethin’, all right? Do you think I can handle that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Patrick replied.

  His sons sat dead silent during the one-sided exchange. It was evident to Patrick this wasn’t the first time they’d seen him like this. He followed their lead and didn’t argue back.

  Duncan walked away from the campground, hands on his hips. He was scouring the sky as if waiting for something. In those fleeting moments, it was quiet enough to hear the wind rustling the leaves of the trees all around them.

  “Jonah,” the man said, facing them all again.

  “Yeah, Dad?” the teenager answered, standing upon hearing his name.

  “You think you can patch him up before sunset?”

  Jonah got behind Patrick and began to examine his wound, tilting his head as needed. Patrick passed the time by observing the tiny lizard scurrying through the rocks at his feet.

  “Yeah, should be able to. His hair’s short enough to avoid making this difficult.”

  “Good, good, Robbie go get the kit and then me and you are going to start closin’ up shop. Double time it.”

  The little boy did as he was told, and Duncan got to work. Patrick attempted to relax, watching the man clean up the campground at a feverish pace. Patrick, likewise, was thinking a mile a minute. It was hard to consider this man an enemy for several reasons, and bolting seemed a pretty lackluster option. There’s something he’s not telling me. He’s way too militant about this…of course, he’d rather bring me in personally for the recognition…no, no, no, that doesn’t make sense.

  “Does your hair grow fast?”

  Jonah’s question hit Patrick like a splash of cold water. Though the conversation could have very well been a distraction, he decided to bite.

  “Sort of. Why? You need to shave the entire back of my head?”

  Right on cue, Patrick heard the buzz of an electric razor.

  “Not all, per say, but you might want to become a hat person in the meantime.”

  Patrick smirked at that one. “Shit, well let’s just get it over with.”

  He never did stop considering the possibility that his saviors might actually be his enemies. A trap, just like yesterday. Then there was that question as well: Did any of them make it? If so, surely they think I’m already dead and they’ve booked it back to Hosbon. He wasn’t angry at that very real chance. It was better than imagining all his friends were dead. For now, he took comfort in that he wasn’t alone.

  Chapter 5 – Legacies

  The man raced up the stairs, heart throbbing and palms sweating. Once he reached the top, however, he saw no sobbing woman. His wife was laid out on the green couch in a white blouse polka dotted with orange and her summer capris. She’d been reading, but the man’s sudden arrival caused her to look up from her book.

  “Something wrong, honey?” she asked, setting the book down on her stomach. The man stood there speechless. He was snapped out of it by the sound of an electric guitar coming to life. Is that—he felt a kiss on his cheek and saw his wife smiling at him.

  “Earth to Carl, do you read me?”

  “I thought I heard the house phone ringing. My mistake, but I am alarmed that you’re reading The Last Unicorn for the tenth time,” Venloran replied.

  “Oh, hush. I still think you should give it a chance.” Janet began to descend the stairs. “I’ll go ahead and get dinner started. Ravioli tonight?”

  “Yes,” Venloran answered, “I’d like that. Thank you, dear.”

  Venloran headed down the hallway following the sound of the guitar. The dark blue walls were there, but this time there was ample sunlight and the whole house had a soft glow to it. He got to the last door, finding himself hesitant. Slowly, he twisted the knob and entered. The music stopped.

  “Hey, Dad. Am I to loud?”

  Warren was on his comforter, one hand already outstretched to the amp on the floor.

  “Your mother hasn’t complained yet, so I think we’re good,” Venloran, he said with a casual tone few ever heard. Warren smiled in return. His hair was the same color as his mother’s and was long, something his father had chided him for in high school. He was a skinny kid, and every shirt he owned had a band on it. His cheekbones were well defined like his father’s, and like his office, his room was neatly organized. The shelf of movies and books was dust free, his bed was made, and his shoes were arranged in a row along the wall.

  “What was that song you were playing just now?”

  Warren looked up from adjusting his strings, baffled at the question. When he saw his father patiently awaiting an answer, he told him, “Evil Warning by—”

  “Angra, yes, I remember now. You’ve been practicing it nonstop. Care to show your old man what you can do?”

  Venloran took a seat on the beanbag in the corner of the room and Warren’s face lit up. “I’m down. What should I play?”

  “How about a little Rush?”

  “Okay, try to guess the song though. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Warren started playing, Carl watching his fingers do their intricate work. His son began to sing softly, his voice as caressing as a warm breeze. Carl had expected him to play a faster and more energetic song, but his choice brought a warmth to him. Losing It. He’s playing Losing It. He wanted to triumphantly report this to Warren, but the words were caught in his throat. His son saw his father’s glassy eyes and knew all the same. On he played, and father enjoyed the concert more than anything in the world.

  Venloran awoke to a white ceiling. His chest was bare, sore as hell and covered in sensors. The man sat up despite his agony, his view settling on a telescreen on the wall. Displayed on it were his vital signs. He’d been stripped down to his briefs and was covered in a familiar mauve blanket.

  “Carl!” When he heard this, he knew for certain he was in his bedroom. Feeling his wife smother him with kisses and hold him was ass surreal as it was gratifying. After pecking his cheeks and forehead numerous times, Janet kissed him on his lips. He was grateful to run his fingers through his wife’s hair. They parted lips, both breathless.

  “Now that’s better wakeup call than a thousand cups of coffee. What’s the occasion?”

  Janet got off the bed, still in her plum robe and arms folded. Her face was one of shock, her tone one of subdued anger. “Occasion? Carl, you had a heart attack! Mordecai resuscitated you before the med team even got on the scene, thank goodness.”

  “Really?” Venloran said in disbelief. “This is a first.”

  Janet stomped closer and slammed a hand down on the nightstand next to their large bed. The lamp was knocked over and she had a ferocity to her now. “You think this a joke? Carl, you almost died! Don’t! Don’t act like nothing happened!”

  “Who knows?”

  “What?”

  “I said, Who. Knows.”

  The humor was gone from Venloran, evident on his face as well. At the sight of this, Janet did her best to clam.

  “I only told Kearney, like we agreed.”

 
“Good,” Venloran nodded, assessing what had happened. “He’s on his way, I presume?”

  “Yes. He’s—”

  “Tell him to head back to New York right now. Things must remain on schedule. I will have no delays.”

  “Are you hearing yourself?’ Janet croaked, her voice cracking. The lines of age on her face were cascaded in tears. “We also agreed that if anything like this ever happened you’d take the day off to recover.”

  “I cannot do that, Janet.’

  The woman was ready to walk away, but Venloran took her hand. Not roughly, but his touch gave her pause. At first, she could not bear to look at him, but when she did Janet saw his eyes were full of guilt.

  “I can’t do that, Janet,” he repeated much softer this time. “I’m sorry. I wish I could.”

  Janet sat down on the bed next to him, gathering her strength. “You don’t even want to tell Damien?”

  “He’s got enough on his mind. I refuse to burden with this, too.”

  “Carl, I’m scared for you. I…” Janet stopped herself. She had rarely mentioned when doubt was on her mind and she was ashamed to do so now. Her husband knew this and held her chin up.

  “I’m scared, too, Janet. I’m lucky to have you by my side during all this.”

  “I will always be there for you. Always.”

  “Then be honest with me. I’ve hurt a lot of people, countless scores of them. The very situation in April is because of me. I’ve made so many mistakes. Tell me, have I done more harm than good?”

  “You follow your gut instinct. Always have.” Janet took Carl’s face in both her hands. “A man who follows his gut instinct one hundred percent of the time will still one day find himself wishing he had chosen differently. You set out to do good, and you’ve done lots of good. You extended mercy at times, and I trusted your judgment whenever you did. Still do. You brought this country back from the brink. You gave people hope. You gave Damien a chance, and he’s the man he is today because of it. I believe in you.”

  Glee overcame Carl. Still aching, he kissed his wife fondly. She obliged by throwing aside the blanket and climbing on top of him. They forgot all about their duties, the summit, all the orders and documents. Janet let her robe fall away. Forty-five years they’d been together, and his hand rubbing her skin was as arousing as it had been the very first time they’d given themselves to each other.

  ***

  October 23, 2065 – Carrolton, New York

  At this point, all who had needed treatment had been tended to. Luckily, Joseph Halsey was among them, and he’d stabilized. Now there was a different matter at hand. All those who weren’t busy had gathered here in Vivi’s office. Gabriella, Alex, Vivi, and Hamza were all there. Sergeant Neeson was surprised to see Bri there as well, but she let it be. Will stood as the group’s unofficial head.

  He was sure they all knew why he’d called this meeting. What he wasn’t sure of was how they’d react. He’d considered flat out ditching without consulting anyone, but he couldn’t do it. A few months ago, it would’ve been simple and painless, but not now.

  “I brought everyone here for one reason,” the super soldier said. “I know we’ve taken more than enough losses. I’ve also been told Declan has ordered us back to base. Heading back is probably the safest option. I will not judge anyone who chooses not to go. As for me, I have business to settle with the Chancellor. I’m tired of waiting, tired of feeling insignificant and powerless. Tonight, I’m going to end this.”

  “You’re insane,” Hamza said.

  “I think we’re all aware of that,” Alex replied.

  “Don’t,” Vivi cut in. “You want payback, I get that. Throwing your life away isn’t the answer.”

  “Jacob and the others were taken alive, Vivi,” Gabby said. “If there’s a chance we can save even one of ours, I’m in.”

  Vivi saw she wasn’t getting anywhere. As much as she hated it, she would have to hit these kids low.

  “A lot of work went into last night and look how that turned out! Gabby, please, be reasonable. This place will have a lot more security and you have no plan!”

  “I can help with that,” Alex stated.

  Vivi glared at him but then looked at Will. At last, after learning of Unit 21 almost two decades ago, the silver-haired woman bore witness to the man she’d heard so much about. Six months ago, the cyborg had been injured to the point he couldn’t even stand, and still Vivi had been too terrified to come remotely close to him. Hearing tales of how he butchered a myriad of UNR soldiers from the likes of Jacob, Patrick, and Halsey eased her either. Fearful as she was, she defended her position.

  “I’m sure Halsey told you who I am,” she said to the cyborg.

  “Yes,” Will replied. His answer came off as a machine-like recitation of a textbook: “Vivian Thurman, senior member of the Crimson Angels.”

  “I was fighting the UNR while all of you were doing your homework and you were still on the other side. I’ve been through this before, and the only thing that’s changed are the faces. Julissa kept on pushing when others wanted to quit. I did, too. We paid the price for it in the end.” Everyone could see the anguish on Vivi’s face. It transformed each wrinkle into a battle scar. “I knew your family briefly, but they were good people who deserved better. There’s no reason you have to make the same mistakes we did.”

  Will withstood it all, though it was easy to tell the mention of his long-gone wife had left him hurting. When he answered this time, it was not as the machine Unit 21. It was as a man.

  “I appreciate your concern. Halsey told me everything he could, both the good and the bad. He even confessed how he wanted to do things differently, but he made one thing abundantly clear: at no point did Julissa and Zaneta ever quit. No matter how bad things got, they took it. They went on. I must follow in their footsteps. Anything less and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  “You really are a Marconi, then,” admitted Vivi in surrender. She argued with him no more.

  Will grasped this. It was now time to see where the remainders stood.

  “You, Hamza?”

  “Count me out,” he declared. Will had figured his answer from his eyes alone.

  “All right, and you Bri?”

  Brielle didn’t answer hastily, something Will was thankful for.

  “By doing this, we disobey a direct order. Even if we succeed, we could be arrested on sight once we return to Hosbon,” Bri pointed out.

  “If we make a big enough impact, then perhaps not. If we fail, then yeah, you’re right, but it’s all we’ve got,” Alex argued.

  Bri now walked up to Vivi, a woman she had only met last night. She had treated her sister and for that she had Bri’s eternal gratitude and trust. Vivi’s answer would decide hers.

  “Ma’am, for their plan to have any chance of succeeding they’ll need the Peregrine. We all know a mission like this is going to bring down a lot of heat on our heads. I don’t think we’ll be able to come back here. Everyone who stays will need a way out of the country. So I ask, will you help them?” Bri queried.

  Vivi knew if she said no, then Brielle would turn down the cyborg’s offer. She would, in essence, be saving the girl’s life. Deep down she felt this “mission” was a suicide pact, but she’d also watched Bri sob for hours. It didn’t need explanation. She lost friends yesterday, probably lots. Vivi had experienced the pain of rage and loss.

  “Yes, I give you my word, child. Gael will take them to Passaquoddy Pleasant Point Reservation. We have a contact by the name of Ruby up there. She’s one of us and will help without question,” Vivi said.

  “Then I’m in, too,” Bri announced.

  The old woman sighed and crossed her arms, briefly taking control of the meeting.

  “I have a munitions room under the truck yard. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”

  “Thank you,” Will said. “Thank all of you. All we need to do is get me inside the main hall and I’ll do wh
at needs to be done.”

  “You want to go in alone?” Gabby inquired. Her tone was skeptical.

  “It’ll be easier to get in and out if it’s just me.”

  “If we move fast, no lingering mind you, I can see this working,” Alex commented.

  “Then we have a chance, and a chance is all we need,” the cyborg proclaimed. “I promise we’ll give them the fight of their life. Now let’s move. There’s work to be done.”

  A four-man team. It was small, but it was a lot more than Will thought he would get. He felt a lump in his throat. He’d convinced them to help him, but he hadn’t told them his true objective. They’d hate him for it when they found out the truth, but hate was something the soldier was accustomed to. They don’t know how to start a war, let alone finish it. All he could see was the mission, and Secretary General Vanzetti had ensured him of its importance.

  Chapter 6 – Damnation

  October 23, 2065- Warren Sanctuary, UNR Headquarters

  Amongst all the greenery, chief of staff of the UNR Air Force Lawson dearly wished he was in boots and jeans. He held his hat to his side and let the breeze flow over his bald head. He also desired a dirt or woodchip walking path, not this concrete monstrosity that off puts the array of colors. Along the sidewalk’s edges were purple snowdrop flowers, small and frail looking. Above them were the towering rose bushes, but the bright red roses were aged and lacking a few petals. This winter is shaping up to be a cold one.

  Lawson got to the center of Warren Sanctuary where the pond was located. Flower petals floated around on its surface. He had no time to take it in before a voice called out to him. “Must you always take your time in this place?” Admiral Montalbán complained. He was standing next to a bench. Of the senior Cabinet members, the Admiral’s hair had remained untouched by age. On the bench was a sullen Redford, who greeted him with a nod.

  “A garden this immaculate deserves recognition, Montalbán. Much like all the time you must put into maintaining that Errol Flynn mustache,” explained Lawson. That’s when he noticed the S.S.C. Unit leaning onto a tree few feet away, arms folded and eyes hut. His military flat-top and aged face gave him a much older appearance than most other cyborgs. Lawson was aware even a ‘sleeping’ super soldier was armed with sensors to warn it of impending danger.