Devolution (24 page)

“John No-lan, John No-lan” the congregation chanted. Their universal love propelled a tingling sensation that rapidly spread throughout John’s being. A more dynamic sense of pride he could not recall.

There was just one lingering problem that dampened this otherwise euphoric moment. How would he explain this to April, his parents, or the government?

*

An exhilarated Warren Wickham floated into his office with John and Tony following closely behind.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “That gives me so much hope.” He extended an arm, offering his guests a seat. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”

He grabbed a water bottle out of a small refrigerator next to his desk.

“No, thanks,” John said, too wired to consume anything.

Wickham’s office looked more like a makeshift meeting room than the central command center for an intricate revolution. Rudimentary street maps and satellite images of nearby cities hung on the peeling red walls. Uneven ceiling tiles shifted with each creak of the old wood building. It smelled of a strange combination of old dirt and men’s cologne.

“How about the energy in that room?” Wickham opened his water. “I know, it’s not the most beautiful office,” he said when he noticed John’s wondering stare. “We never know when the government is going to raid us.” He chuckled. “So it doesn’t make sense to decorate.”

Wickham and Tony laughed as John forced a smile. His nerves had returned via his conscience.

“John, I’m very happy that you came here today,” Wickham stated. “It truly is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you.”

“You know,” Wickham continued after swigging from his water bottle, “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me. I’m a simple man, John. I didn’t want this to happen.” His smile appeared real, matching his sincerity. “But it had to. I hope you don’t mind we used your work. Your ideas are brilliant. People are hurting. The nation is hurting. Now is the perfect time for your ideas to take hold. We can’t control everything, but we can still control our future.”

Wickham smiled. “And hey, our membership buys thousands of your books
every week
. Tens of thousands, even. Perhaps more.”

John nodded.

“This movement is about the country, not any one person or group of people. We certainly can’t keep living like this.” He gestured towards a copy of the leaked Bushtell Counter Intelligence pamphlet that rested upon his desk. “Because of you, John, and your ideas, we will be a force like this nation has never seen.”

They were already well on their way.

“Come on!” Wickham stood up, throwing his water bottle into the trash can. “Let me show you around.”

The three men walked out of the office and back into the now-empty barn. The cold air hit John as he entered the old structure. It didn’t take long for the heat to escape after the people dispersed, though it still held a magical aura that lingered in their absence.

“As you just saw, we hold our rallies here,” Wickham explained as they continued on the dirt floor. “Soon, this place will be too small. The first few rallies we had a couple months ago attracted, like, 200 people. The one you just saw had about 2,500 and it was the second one today.” He stood tall and with deep pride, gazing around at what he had built, a gaze in which he seemed to get lost.

“Do you charge for these rallies?” John asked, breaking Wickham from his trance.

“No. People contribute. We don’t force anyone to pay.” He continued towards the far door. “This is all voluntary.”

When the three exited the barn, they entered into a long, narrow concrete hallway that seemed 200 years newer. It had hard vinyl and bright lights. The vibrant sound of hundreds of energetic voices rang clear. The continuous operation of machines distorted the recognition of any individual word.

“These are our offices.” Wickham held his arms out to the side as he walked past the rooms. “We make recruitment calls, ask for donations. We have people printing newsletters and updating websites. Creative comes up with slogans and sayings. We lobby people for their support. And I am very happy to say the federal government is making our jobs pretty easy.” His smile seemed a bit disingenuous as they meandered down the hall.

John didn’t expect the movement to be like a business. “How many people are here?” he asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Wickham replied as they passed the accounting offices. John, who walked slightly behind Wickham and in front of his uncle, peeked into one of the rooms where large stacks of money were being placed into briefcases. “Many people want to help. As we expand, we can put them to work. This was our first property. Now we have dozens across the Kingdom.”

“So that rally you—”

“Yup,” Wickham interrupted his guest. “That was just one of dozens from all around this great nation of ours.”

They traversed through the labyrinth of hallways and offices, rounding a corner, and something peculiar caught John’s eye. He stopped as the others continued. Inside a room workers were writing from that afternoon’s rally. On the cover was a picture of John waving to a maniacal crowd with the headline, “The Moment.”

He rushed to catch up to his host.

“You see, John,” Wickham was saying, “we believe in our cause. We all do. We are motivated.” He stopped and placed his hand on a silver door handle. “Right now, it’s not a glamorous life. But someday it will be.”

He turned the handle and pushed open the door, filling the stuffy hallway with an influx of chilled air.

“This is our last stop,” Wickham announced, stepping out into the winter sun.

He led his visitors up a small hill that evolved into another. After cresting a third, Wickham proclaimed. “Look.”

John turned, setting his eyes on a vast maze of metal shoots and rectangular extensions. The section they walked through was merely a scintilla of the network.

“The old barn is the least impressive aspect,” Wickham joked.

John was in awe of the sheer size of the complex. Wickham pointed out where new recruits were trained, where they housed the needy, where they produced their own electricity. He explained where the maintenance, custodial, and culinary offices were located. It was a self-sufficient community.

“This is why we bought this old dairy farm,” he explained. “It gave us space. It might have a little smell, but we deal with it.”

“Does the government know this is here?” John asked, though he knew the answer.

“Of course. But we’re
pretty
safe,” he explained. “The Crown controls the media, but they have to be careful. They don’t want to give us more attention by reacting to us.”

John was now beginning to understand the scope of his involvement. And it terrified him.

“This movement is real,” Wickham said directly to John with a semblance of mysticism. “Join us, John. Your Constitution could be the Constitution of
this
nation. I want it. Everyone here wants it.” He paused to allow John to think.

“Your name could be spoken in the same breath as Washington, Bonaparte, and Caesar. But
you
have to want it.”

*

Before John knew it, he was trudging up the stairs towards April’s apartment. With her at work, he was destined to spend the evening pondering his life—something he could not do at his parents’. As he approached the door, he reached into his pocket for the keys. From behind, a low, raspy voice spoke.

“You had quite the day, Mr. Nolan.”

John whirled around, wide-eyed, to see the major general emerging from a cloud of smoke. The young man released the breath he had trapped in his lungs.

“We have plenty to discuss,” Harris said, taking the keys from John’s petrified hands.

He rotated the knob and pushed the door open.

“After you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE NEW MACHINE

T
he next morning, John awoke to find April sleeping peacefully by his side. A rare blanket of snow thinly coated the battered city in a neutral serenity. Like in slow motion, the flakes tumbled aimlessly from the heavens. The tranquil aurora made it possible for one to follow a single white dot until it landed. John remained in bed, gazing through the window at the temporary peace that had befallen London. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

It wasn’t often that John stayed with April at her apartment. She insisted their relationship progress slowly, in keeping with her family’s religious heritage. Although recently, John’s sleeping over had become more frequent. The city had deteriorated to where April felt safer in his company.

“Are you awake?” April asked from the depths of her pillow.

John broke his stare with the dawn. “I am.”

April rolled over, partially throwing her body on top of his. A warm gust of air from underneath the covers caressed his face. “How’d yesterday go?”

John took a deep breath of his own. As he exhaled he mumbled, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

April groggily opened her blue eyes to see the falling snow. John turned his head towards the window to share in the moment.

“I can’t make a decision,” he reluctantly admitted. “I can’t do it. I just can’t. Maybe I shouldn’t... for now. See what happens.”

“Is that what you want?” April asked, knowing it wasn’t.

“At least I can’t lose,” John answered honestly.

“It seems cowardly to me,” April said abruptly, catching John off guard.

He glanced down at the top of her head which was partially resting on the left side of his chest. Even though he didn’t necessarily like it, John saw her point.

“Great leaders make decisions.” April slightly lifted herself up, locking eyes with the young man. “John,” she said with great sincerity, “at first, I didn’t think you understood the situation. Now you do. And you must decide. Whatever you choose, I will support you. But you must also support yourself.”

April gently laid her head back on John’s chest. He hated when she made sense.

*

“Gentlemen,” Warren Wickham said urgency as he stood at the head of a long table containing his highest deputies, “Mr. Nolan is not yet ready to join us. We must convince him. Ideas?”

Confused eyes stared back, hungering for some sort of answer.

“We gave him our pitch,” Wickham continued. “He knows what we stand for. He knows our mission. We have to go beyond that.”

“Could we bribe him?” asked someone from the back of the room.

Wickham shook his head. “We need his heart.”

A dirty looking woman in the front spoke up loudly. “Offer him a paid position.”

Wickham smirked at her suggestion out of conformity. “This is a 20-something professor who has spent his life in academia. We can’t give him authority. We just need his name.”

“I have an idea,” proclaimed a confident voice from the back corner. The focus of the room shifted to a confident man leaning against the wall. “Trust me,” stated Tony Manning. “This can’t fail.”

*

“Do you have to go?” John pleaded from the comfortable confines of the bed. April stood in front of the mirror applying her makeup.

“I won’t be long,” she promised. “You can come if you want.”

“It’s cold. It’s snowy. It’s the perfect day to stay home.”

“I told these people I would meet them.” She put on her jacket and grabbed her purse out of the closet. “I aim to keep my promise.”

Apparently his allure was not quite as enchanting as her job.

“I only have this one appointment.” She pulled her hair and pulled a black wool beanie over her head. “This kid is so cute, though.” She briefly vanished into the back where she kept her work papers. “I’ll be home before noon.”

“The life of a social worker,” John stated halfway annoyed.

April hustled out of the room, sneering at John’s tone. “Families with disabled children don’t get a day off.”

April walked over to his side of the bed, placing an affectionate kiss on John’s forehead. “Any plans?”

John crossed his arms, determined to resist her little game. He did not want to make lunch, which he knew she was going to ask. She held her smile, flashing her eyes until he wore down.

“What do you want?” he said in defeat.

April took a seat on the bed. “I have been fixing for some sloppy Joes. Homemade sloppy Joes, with French fries.” She collapsed forward onto John’s chest. The gentle pressure of her body pressed against his, combined with the euphoric aroma of her perfume, rendered John defenseless.

“Fine!”

They both knew he’d give in.

April sat up and gave him another kiss on the forehead. “Bye,” she said, hopping off the bed and skipping towards the door. “Don’t add too much mustard. I don’t like bitter Joes.”

“Hurry back,” John commanded, though he couldn’t help but smile. “Be safe!”

After hearing the door shut, John again turned his attention to the window and the weather it kept at bay. This time, his enchantment did not come from the snowfall. It centered on how April made him feel when she was with him, and how much he anticipated her return when she was gone.

*

“Hopefully, this won’t take long,” said Major General Bernard Harris as he marched into a crowded board room in Westminster containing many of Great Britain’s most powerful officials, including the prime minister. Despite the dozens of people packed into the small space, very little noise was made.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” Harris stood at the head of the long table hastily arranging his things. Stress had worn greatly on his mind and body.

“We are losing,” he asserted. “The resistance is gaining converts faster than we can count them. We estimate they have the loyalty of 35 to 40 percent of the British people. Ladies and gentlemen,” his brow furrowed and his voice coarsened, “this is serious. It is projected our economy will not even
begin
to climb out of this depression for another six months to a year. We do not have that much time.”

Harris’ words fell on blank, worn out faces.

“Pass these around.” The documents Harris handed out revealed detailed pictures of resistance facilities and data, rallies, fund raising efforts, and the intricacies of FreeGB’s propaganda machine. “Here’s what we’re up against. They have hard money, manpower, and offices all around the country.”

The sophisticated scope of the enemy had been realized. And it was terrifying.

A mellow voice emerged from the back of the room. “How did they set all this up?” The Prime Minister had not been privy to the intelligence.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” Harris chided, “at this point, it doesn’t matter.”

The room exploded in fierce whispered conversations. If there was one person to blame this on, it was him. He had yet to be in office for a year and control was lost. He was determined to get it back—somehow.

“You are wrong, Major General,” the PM countered, controlling his voice. “It does matter. I am the prime minster as voted by the people. I deserve to be briefed.”

As much as Harris wanted to, he couldn’t argue. “Agreed. Deputy Freeman will fill you in when we conclude.”

The two leaders shared an unpleasant stare.

“Despite how bad this looks, we still have John Nolan,” Harris explained. “We
must not
lose him. So we will protect him. I have placed guards around his girlfriend’s apartment and parents’ house. I have informed him of this protection.” He spoke slowly, stressing every word as if it were of great notability. “We cannot lose the man upon whom the resistance has built its entire movement
.
And Warren Wickham will do anything to get him.”

*

“Thank you for coming.” April Lynn unlocked the door for her departing client. She knelt down to give little Michelle a big hug. “Now you be good for your mom.” A wink and smile accompanied April’s soothing tone.

Michelle smiled warmly. Down Syndrome children have a unique way of capturing our hearts.

“Thanks for coming in this morning to meet with us,” Michelle’s mother said, truly grateful. “I know you were supposed to have today off.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I’d never miss a chance to be with this one.” She patted the nine-year-old on her tight brown curls.

“Be safe,” the mom stated in what had become the contemporary way of saying goodbye in Great Britain, especially London.

April appreciated her concern. “This door will lock as soon as you are out.”

With her hand still grasping her mom’s leg, Michelle lunged forward with every step her mother took out the door. Yet, she still managed to turn and wave goodbye with her free hand.

Though April’s job didn’t pay well, it was moments like this that made her feel rich.

“How are you guys doing, you know, with the economy and all?” Michelle’s mother asked with real concern as she helped her child in the car. “Will you be able to stay open?”

“We should get the funding we need.” April smiled with certainty. “I’ve been working a great contact in Westminster. He wants to help us. In fact, I’m going there now before I go home. He just wrote me. He needs me for something.”

The mom nodded in relief and drove away. April locked the door, grabbed her coat, scarf, and gloves off the rack, and made her way to the back door and her car.

Her drive home vividly detailed the expansive scope of London’s desperate situation. Homeless, some covered by a thin layer of snow, lay huddled around smoldering piles of wood and debris. Many were either dead or on the verge of death. It served no purpose to even beg for money. There was little to beg for. They lay curled against a backdrop of abandoned and boarded-up buildings.

The once familiar sound of gunfire and gang violence had faded just as quickly as the retail and entrepreneurial spirit before it. In harsh reality, there was nothing left to steal. Most anyone who owned anything had left. The people who remained were desperate and not to be trusted.

If you looked hard enough, you could still find some commerce that managed to survive. April’s company was one of the lucky few. Despite Britain’s troubles, its desire to help the disabled had endured.

“I’ll be home in a little while. I have to make just one quick stop. I’ll only be about 20 to 30 minutes.”

“Where are you going?” John inquired. He found it odd she shouldn’t come straight home.

“It’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it.” With one hand on the steering wheel, April blindly searched her pursue for lipstick and perfume.

John didn’t want to press her. But something didn’t feel rights.

“I’ll be very careful.” April promised. “I know, I know. I won’t get out and yes, the doors are locked. I’ll see you in a bit.” When John hung up the phone, the call disconnected. From the sound of nothing in her car, a relaxing jazz instrumental emerged.

The snow had ceased to fall in the time that April had counseled her family, and the warmer temperatures brought a heavy blanket of fog. Like an expanding wave, the dense air engulfed the city in a ghostly white. Visibility was mere feet. The few inches of melting snow made for slick roads.

BEEEEEP.

The piercing, high-pitched tone wailed out from behind her small two-door car. April’s heart thumped. Her eyes darted back and forth from the rear-view to the side-views mirrors. All she could see was a solid cloud of nothing. Gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, her panicked breath matched the intensity of her heartrate. She vaulted forward in her seat, grasping the wheel even tighter. Then it came again.

BEEEEEP.

She recoiled into her seat, releasing a panicked shriek. Her body trembled. In her rear-view, a flash of blue lights emerged from the milky shadows.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” April quivered. “Why is he pulling me over?”
She rolled her car to a stop and tightly clasped her eyes shut, reciting an impromptu prayer. The melting snow sloshed beneath her tires. She removed her seatbelt and reached for her purse in the back seat.

As the police car approached, the flashing lights reflected off the condensed haze. Despite the close proximity of the parked car behind her, April could only make out the grille. The rest of the vehicle vanished into the pearl.

The slamming of the car door jolted April off her seat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark figure emerging from the fog. Her palms moistened, and she attempted to calm her breathing.

The officer rapped his baton on the glass

With great caution and even greater reluctance, April lowered the window just enough to allow for conversation.

“Hello, Ms. Lynn.” The officer was far friendlier than April had anticipated. He was a younger, nice looking man, with dark skin and a smooth complexion. “I noticed you were driving very slowly. Is everything alright? This is not your normal way home.”

His mellow, amicable demeanor was trumped however, by his knowledge of her identity. John failed to mention that morning the government was now their protector.

April began to unravel. “How do you know my name? Why was I pulled over? I was just driving to—”

“Ma’am, will it be okay if I follow you home?”

April’s shakes gradually subsided as the officer explained the situation. She smiled nervously. No one could know where she was going. “I appreciate it. But, no thanks. I can make it on my own.”

The two shared a brief smile as he turned to make his way back to his squad car. While their eyes were still locked, two powerful gunshots echoed throughout the city’s shattered facade. April cried out as she watched two holes open in the officer’s chest. Stumbling for his gun, he fell sideways, shattering April’s window and partially falling into her car. As he struggled to stand, his hand became wrapped in her seatbelt. She screamed frantically as his blood splattered her interior. Struggling to move him, she unbuckled her seatbelt to free his hand. With the last of his life, the officer pushed himself out of the car. The front of his body was now saturated a crimson red. Wobbling, he fell to his knees, his eyes rolling deep within his head. With his final breath, he murmured in a liquid voice, “Go!”