Children of the Program (25 page)

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.

              “Give him a finch and he'll talk you a mile.” he punned and paused.  “So, are you?”

              “Yes, everything is fine!  I'm pregnant and have to get home,” Crystal added.

              With authority, the truck driver pushed his foot on the pedal and ushered her toward the sun.  His lustful intentions were cold-showered by an instinctual tug on his being.  He knew the highway wasn't a safe place to let her wander and was empowered by her dependency; her security came first.  They traveled the road for long hours and filled the time with much-needed laughter and revelations.  Succumbing to sanity, Crystal cuddled in the comforts of traditional human values.  For the first time in years, she felt alive and secure.  It was as if The Lords were driving, while she nervously felt her way back to reality. 

              As the hours passed, time no longer held its negotiable value.  She was content to spend years traveling the open road with her new trucker friend and their pet narrator.  About seven hours after their chance-rendezvous, they stopped at a locals' gas-and-go diner near the Texan border.  He offered her a hot cup of coffee and slice of warm apple pie, in exchange for the companionship she'd provided.  She swooned for real food.  With lazy legs, they hopped from the cabin and hobbled under the tin roof.  His long years of paving the open road with rubber warranted the staff's pause and adoration.

              “Hey there, Romeo,” said a female waitress, dolled in a frilly yellow sundress and a cliché apron.  Her character was hallmarked by a predictable raspy southern accent.  “I see you've found yourself a lost puppy?  Don't let the help see this one, ya' hear!” she garbled.

              “She's just a friend, Rosey.  How about two hot coffees and a slice?”

              “I'd ask you if you want sugar, but I already know the answer to that question.”  She winked.

              Though they'd grown fond, the fluorescent lights and reality of their situation renewed their awkward palates.  A world of unknowns lingered between Crystal and the trucker’s longing eyes. 

“OK.  How about I go first?” he offered.  “I've lived in Texas my whole life.  I'm gratefully divorced.  I have two brilliant children, whom I rarely see and a stupid bird, content to remind me of just how dumb I sound when I open my mouth,” said the trucker.

“I don't think you sound dumb,” said Crystal.

              “I appreciate that.  Though, I have to say, I'm a bit more interested in your back story.  I may not be the smartest guy in our modern universe, but it's not often I find a pregnant girl running up to my trailer and wanting a ride to her New York City home.  I guess, I'm a bit curious, is that your residence or is it just the furthest place you can think to go?” he paused.  “You don't have to...”

              She debated her response, staring into her black coffee with a voided stare.  “You guessed it, I'm on the run.  The father of my child is a dangerous man, whom I once loved dearly.  Believe it or not, this baby could change the world and that stupid white bird of yours is a little more than you give him credit for.  To me, he’s a symbol.  He represents synchronicity,” said Crystal.

              “Petey?” asked the trucker.

              “Yes, Petey!  I don't have the time or energy to tell you the whole story, but I already trust you.  My heart believes you were sent to intercept me.  I do have a friend in New York City.  He is writing a story that will someday change the world.  It'll end religion and enlighten humanity.  Have you ever heard of the Cadence of the Sun?” asked Crystal.

              “I reckon, I have.  They are an international terrorist organization.” 

              “It's a cult,” clarified Crystal.

              “It's become a universal movement.  Discontents subscribe to their nonsense.  It's growing like wildfire.  No one really knows where it started, or their scope, but its followers are out for blood.  It has become the world's latest headline.  Interviews and speculation suggest it has something to do with aliens, government testing, hybrids and a New World Order,” said the trucker.

              “It's a terrible lie.  I am carrying their leader's child.  Its delivery will change everything, and not in the way he's preaching.  Do you know anyone who can get me the rest of the way?  It's important that I get to New York, safely,” said Crystal.

              “I know a lot of people who might be willing to help, but I'm tempted to take you myself.”
              “Do you have a computer?” asked Crystal.

              “I do.  Name's, Joe.”

              “Crystal,” she paused.  “My name is Crystal.  If we can lay low, for a couple of days, it'll give me time to make arrangements with my counterpart in the city.  In exchange, I'll be happy to purge my very soul.  Are you confident you can afford the time off work?  Are you sure you want to go gallivanting about the planet with a disturbed damsel in distress?”

              “Time is all I have.  Besides, I could use a little excitement in my life.  Do you have any family?” asked Joe.

              “My father was an alcoholic and my mother died before we met.  This is her,” she added, opening her locket.  “I used to sit around gazing into my father's old pictures, trying to piece together her memory.  It was my only means of learning how to accept myself.  She was a renegade – a total badass,” said Crystal.

              “It doesn't sound like the apple fell too far from the tree,” said Joe.

              “Here's your pie!”

+++

              After a long talk, they retired their check and headed to his country home.  Joe comfortably resided in a predictably small cottage, just off the woods in Plainview, north of Lubbock.  When day broke, Crystal awoke, dazed and confused.  She was startled by her new surroundings.  Reclaiming her bearings, she scrolled through her mental to-do list and whispered, 'Connect with the Programmers,' under her sour morning breath.  She allowed Petey and Joe to rest, privately investigating the whereabouts of his promised computer. 

Beneath scattered newspaper debris, Crystal unearthed an old Compaq monitor resting atop a messy desk.  The surface was littered with ashes, cigarette butts and Budweiser labels.  After toggling and toying with the sticky keys, she opened the Children of the Program website.  Defragmenting her memories and backtracking through her conversation with Neco, she validated her password and entered.  Within the site lied the unpalatable answers to her stillborn questions.  Every black and white detail, projecting in living color.  She scrolled and marveled through the remaining names and archived news blurbs. 

              A rush of spiritual energy connected her with the forgotten universe; a place Dez had desperately tried to blot from existence.  Its coding read like a cosmic Playbill, and she was standing center stage.  The more she consumed, the more her horror-filled memories haunted her conscious.  Baptized by clarity, she was forced to take ownership of her malice involvement and the impact the cult had had on The Program.  'How would the world have been different if Juno or Simon lived?' she wondered and reeled.  Though Dez's picture was missing, his information, name and general whereabouts were deliberately left on full display.  She couldn't believe his depths.

              “Good morning, sunshine!” chirped Petey.

              “I see you've found my magic picture box,” furthered Joe.  “I hope that's all.”

              “Yes, I hope you don't mind.  Once you've had a chance to wake-up and digest your morning cup o'
Joe
, I want you to take a look at this.  I'll fill in the blanks.” Crystal said with a renewed, but anxious spirit.  “I need to make a phone call.”

              “Be my guest!  But, try to keep the conversation short.  Bills!” exclaimed Joe.

              Pushing her way through the rickety screen door, she settled into a properly placed patio rocking chair.  A cool breeze brushed her hair to the side.  It offered her a heavenly calm, while her nervous fingers tap-danced atop the old portable telephone keypad.  Mounting rings tested her patience, but finally submitted to her heart's flutter.

              “Is this Grayson Miller?”

              “Yes, of course it is.  This is a private line.  Who is this?”

              “This may be the most important call you ever receive,” said Crystal.

              “Again, who is this?” asked Grayson.

              “My name is Crystal Lynn Holmes.  I am carrying Dez's child.”

              “Wait, what?” asked Grayson.

              “Neco told me everything.  I don't have a lot of time to get into the specifics, but I believe I may be carrying a divine fetus.  The Lord's have visited my dreams.  The urgency in protecting this baby is crucial to humanity,” she furthered.

              “It's mission critical, for all of us.  Where's Neco?” asked Grayson.

              “Neco is in serious danger.  I took my first opportunity, and ran.  I'm currently holed up in a trucker's home in Texas.  He is willing to escort me to New York City.  Neco said you could help.  It seems, everyone in the States is dead or unreachable, except for you,” says Crystal.

              “How do I...” started Grayson.

              “You're just going to have to trust me.  I could have never found you without the password, right?” she asked.

              “Right,” he paused, still shaking off the shock.  Before allowing the call to go static, Grayson left her a rendezvous address.  Her surprise call and candor left him with a warm rush of blood painted across his otherwise pasty face.  He'd never had a female roommate, nor been forced into a paternal calling. 

Aggressively trying to piece together his work stories, Grayson vigorously logged every detail of their conversation.  The slithering path that The Program traveled always took precedence.  The general public, awaiting their next clickbait headline, were at the mercy of his scattered focus.  Plagued by deadlines, he'd never had so many unresolved questions trumped by an unattainable resolve.  Ironically, his entire existence was dedicated to documenting and understanding other peoples' lives, while he deliberately ignored the vast questions lurking in his own life.

              “New York City!  New York City!” crowed Petey.  He strutted across the eggshell covered kitchen counter, while Crystal delivered the promised eulogy of her abandoned past.  From time to time, Petey repeated recognizable words to feel involved in the excitement of the conversation.  He loved his new friend.

              “Do you think we should bring Petey with us?” asked Crystal.

              “I'd love to, but I think it's probably best if he stays.  We don't know what arrangements we'll need to make or where he'll be welcome.  He loves the road, but I don't want to put your host in an uncomfortable situation with his landlord and I really don't feel comfortable leaving him caged on the New York City streets.  He'd hate that,” said Joe.

              “New York City!  New York City!” he repeated.

              “It sounds to me like he'd love to come with us, but, you're probably right,” said Crystal.