by Brian Parker
“Oh, yeah. Good eyes. Here you go.” He handed her one of the bottles of water and she untwisted the cap. It came off easily, but she didn’t notice.
“Thanks, it’s really hot in here.”
“I know,” he replied and stuck out his hand. “My name’s William.”
She grasped it and shook gently, “Reagan.”
The two of them chatted for a while and she eventually agreed to go on a date with him. Everything that she’d been through the past several months had meant that she didn’t have time for dating and it made her happy that she was moving beyond that and actually taking time for herself.
As they talked, the music became more intense and the bass kicked up to an extremely loud volume. “Is it just me, or is the music getting louder?” she asked.
William looked around and said, “Maybe. It’s been so loud the entire time I’ve been in here, that I’m not sure if I could really tell. Do you wanna go outside?”
Reagan stared at him but had a hard time focusing on anything but his nose. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “What did you say?”
He leaned in close to her ear and said, “I asked if you wanted to get out of here.”
She nodded dumbly and turned to kiss him. Wait! Something is wrong! her mind screamed at her. She didn’t know what it was, but she couldn’t focus on anything and she never kissed a stranger.
William’s hand cupped her butt and the other slid up to her chest while he was kissing her. Reagan shoved weakly against him and fell backwards, landing on her rear end. “Uh oh, too much to drink. I’ll take you home,” he said loudly as he bent over to pick her up.
“No… I didn’t drink,” she mumbled weakly. There was no way that anyone heard her.
He helped her to her feet and together they stumbled towards the entrance. To everyone in the club, it looked like a boyfriend helping his girlfriend home after drinking too much. Reagan’s mind fought against the haze that muddled her thoughts.
They stumbled towards the exit past the restrooms and she forced her hands to work long enough to squeeze William tightly. “I’m… pee my pants,” she lied. “Gonna go quick. Then home… with you.”
He nodded and turned back towards the restroom and held the door while she wobbled her way inside. She sat on the toilet seat with her jeans still on and fumbled through her clutch purse until her cell phone emerged. She drunkenly held it in front of her face and touched the “Emergency” button.
When the operator answered, the only things she could say were, “Club… Bathroom… Help…”
The police were able to locate the club from her phone’s GPS. By the time they arrived, “William” was long gone. He’d been at this game long enough to know when a sure thing had gone south. Luckily for Reagan, she had video of the guy and the police were able to post it to their Crimestoppers line.
Her parents met her at the hospital and the doctors said that she’d received a fairly standard dose of Rohypnol. She’d been extremely lucky that she’d had the presence of mind to refuse to leave with the guy and call the police.
She vowed to her parents that she was done with the club scene. The research for her paper was complete, although she decided to shift the focus of the project once again.
*****
The next day came way too early for her when Ansley jumped on her bed at three in the afternoon. “Oh my God, get out of here!” she moaned into her pillow.
“Okay, just wanted to check on you. You’ve been asleep all day,” the youngest Lockhart replied.
Reagan pushed her hair out of her face. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I just don’t feel good. Do you think you could bring me a glass of water?”
“Of course!” she said and leapt from the bed. If the shaking of the mattress wasn’t bad enough, Ansley’s pounding footfalls on the hallway’s wooden floor were a killer.
The events of the previous night came crashing back to her. She’d almost been raped by some creep in the club. How could she have been so stupid as to have accepted that water from him? She began to shake and then the tears began to flow at the thought of how close she’d come to being a statistic.
Ansley returned and set the glass down on her nightstand. She may have been a pre-teen, but she knew when to keep her mouth shut and just hold someone when they needed it.
Reagan finally cried herself out and squeezed her kid sister’s shoulders. “Thank you. You’re gonna be all right, you know that?” she said.
“I’ve got a great big sister to help me out,” Ansley answered seriously.
You almost lost her last night, Reagan thought. She kissed the girl on the top of the head and said, “I’m gonna get cleaned up and then go get some food. You wanna go?”
“Yeah! Hurry up already!”
They took a bus to Ansley’s favorite Thai place and had a late lunch/early dinner. When they got back Reagan had to assure her mother that she would be alright and that she wouldn’t bottle her feelings up.
Heather Lockhart relented and let her return to her room. She wanted to begin revising her project so she sat at her computer and wondered what she could write that wouldn’t make her burst into tears. Or was that what she needed to do?
The act of writing out the details of the event turned out to be cathartic for her soul. The hours flew by as she hammered away at the keyboard. Ansley checked in periodically and brought her water and juice like the doctors recommended. By the time the 11 o’clock news was on, the written portion of Reagan’s project was complete.
Her next task was to edit the club footage together into a coherent video clip with her voiceover. When she was done, she took the entire document and posted it to her blog. Before the night was over, Amethyst received hundreds of emails from girls—and a few boys—who’d had experiences similar to hers.
Reading through the messages made her sick, but it gave her a purpose. She’d always wanted to be a journalist, now she had a platform. Battling sexual assault would be her new calling card and the first thing she wanted to do was compile everyone’s story into a book.
It was well past her normal bedtime and the first rays of light were beginning to peek through her bedroom windows when she finished mapping out her ideas and where she wanted to go from here. She yawned and stretched lazily. It had been years since she saw the sunrise and it was less than ten minutes away.
Reagan rushed downstairs and hastily brewed a cup of coffee. Within minutes, it rested on her lap as she sat on the front porch waiting to see the sun come up. Behind her, the screen door opened, startling her. It was her father; he sat down heavily on the loveseat beside her.
He rested a hand on her knee and asked, “You doin’ okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah, I think so, Dad.”
“Been a long time since you were up this early.”
“I was writing and lost track of time,” she answered.
“Well, you’re definitely up for the best time of day. It’s so peaceful and quiet. The city hasn’t woken up yet and before the daily grind begins, you can visualize how this place must have looked hundreds of years ago.”
“Dad, D.C. was a swamp hundreds of years ago. That’s why everyone agreed to give up the land for the capitol.”
Her father frowned and said, “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know Dad.”
The two of them sat there until the sun had risen and then Garrett Lockhart said, “What the heck is that?”
“What?”
“Look down at the end of the street,” he pointed. “There must be a hundred of them.”
“Uh, Dad, they’re coming from the other side too.”
“Quick, get in the house. We’ll call the police.”
The two of them jumped from the loveseat and rushed inside. Their peaceful morning was shattered by the appearance of hundreds of skunks. The family watched in fear and disgust as the creatures surrounded their house and began spraying every surface with their foul-smelling projectile liquid. By the time the police arrived to
clear out the wild animals, their entire house and both cars had been covered in the dripping substance.
The behavior was so strange that the FBI made an appearance in Reagan’s life once again. She didn’t know if it was a coincidence or if she was somehow being targeted by something. No one could explain it, but it was probably the weirdest thing that had happened in the city to date.
FOURTEEN
“Are you ready for this?”
“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”
“Brigadier Patel assured me that the music only needs to play for one minute and then we can remove the CD and take shelter somewhere in order to make it seem like we were just victims like everyone else here.”
“Let’s do this, sir,” the major replied and extended his hand across the car’s center console.
The two Canadian Foreign Exchange Officers shook hands and then exited the vehicle to walk towards the installation headquarters building. Colonel Kirk Tragord didn’t have the clearance to know how many phases were ultimately in the Collective Protocol, but he knew that Phase Four was one of the most critical phases of the operation.
He knew the Protocol phases up until his part and watched the news in awe like everyone else. He’d seen demonstrations of the girl’s powers, but when her full power was unleashed, it was nothing short of spectacular. Phase One had been a small demonstration to show the prime minister that they were ready to move on to the next event. Phase Two was the mass control of animals all over the country so they would attack the civilian population and leave them feeling harried and on edge. Phase Three involved the uprising of the nation’s homeless population in the larger cities and the intermittent shut down of the power grid. The news carried stories of roaming gangs of everyday citizens who now exterminated the homeless at every opportunity. The United States was falling into anarchy.
Colonel Tragord had been groomed for years by the Protocol for this very moment. Every officer currently serving as an exchange officer in the U.S. military was a member of the Protocol and today’s operation would cripple the military, leaving the country open for attack. So far, everything was going exactly as they’d been briefed it would. He wondered if his phase was the last before a full-scale invasion or if there were more nefarious deeds to further weaken the Americans before Canada swooped in to save the day.
He took his beret off as he walked inside the foyer of the headquarters. Two young, bored Military Police officers checked his badge and then briefly rifled through his backpack. “You’re good to go, sir,” one of them stated.
He walked a few feet from the desk and waited for the major. They’d both worked here for over a year so they knew the routines—and where they could hide things where the MPs didn’t search. Major Crisp successfully made it through the security checkpoint and glanced at his watch. “It’s 0626, sir,” the major stated.
At 0630, across every installation in the military they played Reveille as they raised the U.S. flag. There’d been no reports from any of the East Coast installations, so he had to assume that they had already initiated the Protocol’s directive. His mission was to infiltrate the base operations center and switch the standard CD that they used with the one that he had. The music will play like normal and no one will ever know the difference. Then, at a pre-designated time, the girl would send out a signal and it would unleash hell across the entire nation.
They walked down the stairs into the basement and swiped into the secure operations area. The Americans had foolishly granted them access to the entire building. They were trusted Allied partners, as such they were privileged to all sorts of information and allowed to come and go from even the most secure parts of the building. Major Crisp turned away from the surveillance camera and pulled the Taser from his waistband in a fluid motion that didn’t interfere with his movement.
The door that controlled access to the Base Operations Center stood slightly ajar. The colonel grasped the handle and pulled it open quickly, expecting a fight. Instead, two soldiers stood there looking at him. “I’ve been waiting,” they both said in unison.
“I’m… I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” he stammered.
“It’s almost time. You need to hurry.” The soldiers’ dual voices were extremely unnerving and his hand shook as he gestured for the major to proceed.
The younger Canadian pulled a clear CD case from his briefcase and rushed over to the sound system in the corner. The digital clock connected to the system prominently displayed the time as 0629. He jabbed the eject button and swiftly replaced the CD with the one he’d brought in. As the tray closed, the time changed to 0630.
The CD player took a few seconds to read the disk and then Reveille burst out of the speakers and the base’s cannon fired, signaling the start of the day. Outside, the flag detail dutifully raised the nation’s flag and the Stars and Stripes snapped in the wind as it ascended. Speakers all over the installation blared to life, carrying the message that the flag was being raised and the formations saluted in respect for the nation’s colors.
“You were twelve seconds late,” the two soldiers stated. “They have their watches set so they know when to hold their formations. The soldiers will know that something was wrong.”
“It happens all the time, ma’am. No worries. The message was played and we can proceed with Phase Four,” Colonel Tragord replied, trying to avoid making eye contact with the blank faces of the men in front of him.
“Bah, I should rearrange your mind and turn you into a slobbering simpleton. Go, before you are discovered. I still need to wipe the minds of these two before I can leave.”
The soldiers both pointed towards the door and the Canadians turned and rushed from the room.
*****
At noon in Calgary, Paige used the Neuroactuator to send out a massive blast to the amplifiers placed near the thirty military installations that the Protocol had targeted. The message that was hidden in the morning song was a directive to the soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen of the U.S. military.
Paige’s activation order started the clock on the hidden message. They were to stop whatever they were doing and leave their bases for the surrounding communities. In one hour, they were required to kill at a minimum of two civilians and then kill themselves with whatever means available.
The message was the brainchild of Mark Patel. Not only would hundreds of thousands of Americans be murdered, it would decimate the military. Most of their forces would be dead at their own hands and it would pave the way for Phase Five, the removal of all emergency responders.
Canada had a small population and an even smaller military. The entire active Canadian Forces, to include the Royal Canadian Navy, equaled less than three American divisions. If they were going to have a shot in the upcoming war, they had to level the ice in the rink. The only way to do that was to be both specific and indiscriminate in their attacks. They had to specifically wipe out the military and the police while indiscriminately decimating the population.
Colonel Tragord watched in awe from his desk as all the military who’d heard the message this morning filed out of the building in silence. Several of the senior-ranking individuals tried to intervene, but there was no stopping the mass of moving personnel.
The colonel stood in his window and observed as the soldiers got in their vehicles and made a beeline for the front gate. “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” a voice said over his shoulder.
“Hmm?” he said and turned around and then snapped to attention. “Oh, excuse me, sir. I didn’t know it was you.”
“It’s alright, Kirk. Looks like we’re part of only a handful of folks who didn’t just up and leave. What do you think it means?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, sir. Have you called the authorities?”
“That’s the first thing I did. I told the police chief that he had forty-five thousand troops descending on his city. I tried to call the Pentagon, but every number that I called just rang and rang. What is it about the U.S. that’s attracti
ng all of these plagues? Why isn’t any of this affecting your nation just north of us or the Mexicans to the south?”
He’d been trained for these types of questions. “Sir, I think it has something to do with all the homeless people.”
“Say again?”
“Well, what I mean is this. The news said that the homeless people all acted strangely and just began attacking people. Almost like a nest of those damned fire ants that you have down here. Something agitated them and they spread out to find whatever it was and kill it.”
“Hmm… So, you think that some type of hive mentality is implanted in our brains and something sets it off?”
The Canadian exchange officer ducked his head. “Exactly, sir. Obviously, I can’t explain it, but that’s what I’ve been thinking of when the news described the events. Just now, when I watched those people leave with such a single-minded purpose, I thought that it absolutely resembled ants in a colony.”
“Okay, I give you that; it did. But what does it mean? And like I asked before, why aren’t our neighboring countries affected?”
“Well, I’m no conspiracy theorist, but something definitely stinks, sir. Maybe there’s some new strain of foodborne bacteria or even a parasite. I did watch a Discovery Channel show one time on a parasitic fungus that took over ants’ brains and used their bodies to transport the spores around.”
The general smiled and clamped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me to look out for aliens next. Kirk, there’s some type of logical explanation for this; I just don’t know what it is.”
“At this point, I’m not sure that aliens are any crazier a suggestion than anything else. It’s baffling, sir.”
“Where do you think they’re going,” the general said with a nod of his chin towards the soldiers waiting patiently to get off post.
“Again, there’s no telling, sir. They don’t seem to be in any hurry though. Look at them. They’re following the traffic signals, being courteous to one another. It looks like the end of every other duty day on post.”
“Yeah, except its 11 a.m. and I didn’t release anyone for the day,” the general replied flatly.
