Chapter 7: Requiem For Childhood

…..

It would be nice if good could triumph over evil with but inconvenience.

If the schemes of the wicked and the sadistic could be overthrown without any innocents getting hurt or heroes falling, that would be a world nigh-unto paradise, where the very stuff of nature bellows its defiance at evil, where there's always a reliable bulletproof vest to spare, where a few kind words can redeem a villain who, deep inside, was simply misunderstood.

We live in no such world. A fired bullet has no allegiance, only a trajectory, and your only hope is to get out of the way. Good may prevail over evil, but there is always a price.

Being innocent in no way whatsoever begets immunity.

…..

The effects of the evacuation command and Sir Father's final announcement swept through the compound, with varying results.

The grunts, made to labor in obscurity at tasks that ranged from merely tedious to the outright demeaning, dropped what they were doing and ran without a second thought. It was the most exciting thing that happened in months, for many of them. For some, years.

The surviving soldiers, already baffled with how much resistance a band of four teenagers were giving them, received the orders with considerable grace. They felt vindicated as Sir Father offers up a costly sacrifice- if he could find no better solution than reducing the compound to a smoldering crater, then what could they be expected to do? They threw aside their weapons, running.

The newly inducted members of the Church of the Unyielding Rod maintained a façade of calm as their leader strained to retain his composure, but the message in the air was clear- things weren't going according to plan, and there's no divine intercession in sight. When the realization hit some members that their children were to be left behind, hysterical panic was quelled with summary execution. While fear held the remainder in check, it became evident, particularly to Wellfields, any argument about this being part of God's plan was going to fall on deaf ears.

The elite retrievers and recruiters took the news worst of all.

Riley Goabes watched his plans and chance for a promotion crumble as the first church members tried to break from the evacuation march to get their children and were rewarded with gunshots to the head. His leverage on their actions- the redemption through punishment message he was using Wellfields to preach- was going up in smoke with the rest of the compound. Cursing Sir Father mentally, he ran to the garage to secure a place in a vehicle. Sir Father's actions may have been foolish, but so was staying.

Greg and Diane Wilkins, loaded into a car after brief medical treatment, lamenting their bandaged wounds and wonder how the hell things could have gone so wrong.

Barry was unconcerned with the loss of a building, the memory of his beating at the hands of his brother making him livid with rage. He assures himself with the knowledge he will make everyone- those two blonde assholes, that whore Chutney, and most of all Curtis- pay dearly.

Mary Gathwells looked her battered protégé over. "If you ever wondered why we do what we do…" she trailed off, the message clear- Barry would not be the only one thirsting for revenge. She started her car up, looking at the Fortress as one would a dying lover. One message was all it took to bring a factory of punishment to rubble. Joining the convoy of cars, she couldn't help but wonder if the whole mess could have been prevented if someone, namely Sir Father, had been more stringent with security.

The children, new and old, sent doubletime to their cells, had mixed reactions. Some were terrified. Some were numb. Some of the more devout actually held prayer services, pleading with their deity for swift death and a merciful afterlife.

Many of the recent arrivals from the Church of the Unyielding Rod felt a bitter vindication as their parents abandoned them to die, suppressed feelings of betrayal boiling to the surface. To them, being left to die is the next logical step in a long series of parenting failures.

Some who were brought against their families wills wept openly, regretting their last moments will be alone.

In the communications room, the effects were much less diverse.

Curtis gave a resigned "Oh, crap.", the look on his face more appropriate for one who was facing a long list of exasperations as opposed to immolation. His girlfriend, Chutney, held onto him, finding comfort in his grip.

Veronica kissed the bruises and cuts on her baby girl as best she could. "We'll be in heaven, right mommy?"

She tried not to cry. "Yes, baby, yes we will, soon."

Jason sat in mute horror, the weight of the children he has condemned to die crashing down on him. He closes his eyes, and silently begs God for forgiveness.

Calvin's mind raced. He could just simply walk out, saying he wanted one last bite to eat before he died, and use the transmogrifier to get away. No one would know he could have done anything.

No one but him and his best friend, Hobbes. For all his life.

He looked at the P.A. system that had just announced the impending doom. Attempting to defuse the bomb would be impossible, unless the glasses wearing boy was a bomb expert. Even with the transmogrifier, he was too weak to overcome the belief of so many children told that they were going to die-

…told they were going to die.

Told. Not shown.

TOLD.

"C'mon," he tugged at Jason's limp arm. "Come ON…"

"Come on where?" the boy snapped. "We're dead, and those kids are going to die because we tried to play hero, and-"

"So what, you're going to stop fighting? Lay down and die? Fuck that." Calvin walked over to another computer, pried open the cpu, ripped out the hard drive for evidence. "Let's get to wherever they have an announcement system."

Jason looked up at him, the others did as well. "You honestly think we have a chance at defusing a bomb?"

Calvin smiled, an act that cost him untold volumes of energy. "I don't know. We'll find out once we get there, won't we?"

…..

Sir Father walked briskly to his waiting car, slumped inside.

Part of him wanted to go back into the mess hall, find the strongest flask of alcohol, and drink himself half to death before the whole thing blew to smithereens. It would allow him to avoid whatever was coming next, his punishment for an epic failure, and terminate his career on a semi-honorable note.

But it would allow those blasphemous fools one more trophy to hoist in death, a symbol of successful defiance to all the naysayers and the rebels waiting to see some sign of vulnerability.

So he would let himself be taken, brought before his benefactor, made to explain his failures, and then most likely executed-painfully- in the same hour. The car sped off with a palpable urgency coming from his driver, and not without reason.

Two minutes until detonation. Barely enough time for one to exit the compound, much less outrun the blast radius. They would make it- underground tunnels made to occupy vehicles far larger than his would see to that.

His only hope would be with no trace of a compound, anyone called in to investigate the site would only find what would be the remnants of a forest fire. It would take bribes and cover-ups to mask the tell-tale marks the explosives would leave- such was the price of his folly.

Just a few kids. He tortured himself mentally as the earth parted before the massive exodus of cars to reveal the underground passages that would lead them away from the blast.

Just a few kids to undo years of work.

…..

(1:45 to detonation)

Jason didn't know what the hell Calvin expected him to do.

Yes, it was a stroke of luck there was a computer in the same room they found the P.A. broadcast system. Yes, it was incredibly fortunate that it was connected to the mainframe. Yes, it might be slightly better for all their consciences if they died trying to fix things.

Typing frantically, he managed to do things that would have put to shame some of the most dedicated hackers, bypassing firewalls and passwords with equal skill and ease.

Then he got to what he had hoped was an override for the detonation…

CANCEL SELF-DESTRUCT

Invalid command

STOP DETONATION

Invalid command

ABORT EVACUATION

Initiating abortion sequence, Sir Father stand by at Captain Override Post 31 for authorization in

3

2

1

No key input detected from Captain Override Post 31 within 3 seconds, abortion sequence disengaged.

(1:15 to detonation)

There was no time to find this post 31, or whatever key was needed for the abortion sequence.

He was about to relay the news when he saw Calvin fiddling with the PA controls.

…..

"So I'm guessing that the world's biggest asshole just telling you that you're all going to die isn't the worst thing that has happened to you today, but for once, I have good news, boys and girls."

"We have a bomb technician in the building. He's working hard as he can, but he can do the job, I've seen him work on worse stuff before. Long story short we are getting you out of here and then we are going to make the sons of bitches who hurt you wish they'd never been born."

(Are you out of your f-)

(Hang on!)

"But before we do, I need the older guys and girls among you to get the younger kids as calm as possible. I know you've all been through hell, and that by now many of you have given up any hope of anything good happening. But the assholes have left the building. It's just us now."

"Hang in there. We'll get you out just as soon as we diffuse the bomb."

-Calvin's message over the PA to the imprisoned children, briefly interrupted by Jason Fox

…..

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GOD DAMNED MIND?" Jason stood up, exasperation and despair on his face.

"Dude, chill, just-"

"No, you idiot, I! Can't! Shut! It! Off!" Jason picked up the chair he was sitting on slammed it into the console, shaking with rage and frustration, partly at his inability, mostly at Calvin's false promises.

How could he give them false hope, at this point? Did he have no soul?

(45 seconds to detonation)

"You think I can just punch a few keys and save the day? That all I have to do is-" he smashed the terminal again, breaking the keyboard beyond all use, no matter, it was pointless now- "rip out some freaking wires and push the "Make everything okay" button?"

He slammed the chair into the keyboard several times. Curtis tried to wrench the improvised weapon out of his grasp, but despite the pain and his rage and the unfairness of being the false messiah again, Jason shook him off, continuing his assault.

(20 seconds to detonation)

"DO YOU SEE A 'MAKE EVERYTHING OKAY' BUTTON?" wires jutted out now.

(15 seconds to detonation)

"Oh, wait, here's a button, let's press it and NO, SORRY, WE'RE STILL FU-"

(Evacuation aborted, self-destruct terminated)

"Uhhhhhhhwaaaaa?" Jason dropped the chair.

What button had he pressed? It was one on the keyboard he'd assaulted, that was for sure, but the keyboard was in non-working order.

Even as he was enveloped in a group hug, he babbled incoherently.

…..

So maybe waiting until he started pressing- or smashing- buttons was a dick move.

So maybe Jason Fox nearly had a meltdown.

The raging assault on the terminal provided a plausible enough excuse, along with the children's belief things were going to be okay, that reality had insufficient objections to Calvin's Transmogrifier-induced proposal that Jason glitched the system just enough to trigger the abortion sequence.

"Okay, new plan, we find another computer, find out where we are, and get like, every paramedic and cop in every state here. Sound good?"

Jason could nod shakily. Veronica Miles was crying with relief, Curtis had collapsed into achair with the fading of the stress, and Chutney with him.

There was still the matter of the prisoners to release.

…..

If Sir Father had made a list of things that could, impossibly, make his situation worse before he had stepped into his escape vehicle to ride towards certain doom, the facility not exploding would have been number one.

They hadn't taken the time to scrub the facility, the protocols were clear- in the event of an information breach, any compound was to be ashes within minutes.

Some of his advisors had suggested placing thermite on all the hard drives and backups of data they used, so that if worse came to worse, they could at least ensure the feds would get their hands on that. He had rejected that proposal- too many ways for an enemy to use it against them, and the self destruct sequence, an emp blast followed by enough c-4 to level an entire suburb, would leave any computer evidence unsalvageable.

That was, of course, assuming the blast went off.

It had been two minutes, five seconds since he had left. Even with the fortifications of the tunnel, there should have been some noise, some shuddering that signified the destruction of the compound. He had been told the blast would be deafening.

The answer was crystal clear to him within seconds- the Fox brat had disarmed the bomb.

Then that meant that every hard drive, every weapon, every implement of discipline, every prisoner they took that they hadn't killed before leaving was still there, unharmed.

The car's dimensions felt smaller, now. More prison-like. There was no way to make announcements in this car, and with a fleet of cars this size, there was no way to get turned around, headed back to finish the job, not without risking being seen by the authorities.

These were the moments that generals, leaders, the high-ups who had failed their men were permitted to die with some shred of dignity. Cyanide. Hanging. A bullet through the skull.

But he had the burden of secrets that he could not pass onto simply anyone, much less his driver, secrets that would need to be handed over to his superior before he was consigned to whatever grisly fate awaited him.

Among hundreds of his loyal men and women, Sir Father felt utterly alone.

…..

In a car, surrounded by the silent, accusatory glares of his congregation, Matthew Wellfields tried to shrink into himself.

How had everything gone so horribly wrong? How could he, who once held such sway over his flock that they abandoned all their earthly possessions to follow him to a new land, be brought this low?

Wasn't he doing God's will, preaching the discipline-

Torture

….the discipline-

TORTURE

His own mind was beginning to turn on him now, driving him to madness…

…or maybe the comfortable madness was fading, replaced with a horrible clarity…

He had never been doing God's will, he realized. Not when he and his wife agreed to begin Faith's perpetual punishment when she got home from school on her thirteenth birthday. Not when he had preached lies about her to bolster his own message about the virtues of perpetual punishment. In four short years, he had turned his own daughter irrevocably against him, blasphemed his God, condemned hundreds of children to torture, and now, as his congregation sobbed for their losses or glared daggers at him, he had failed to deliver on what he had promised- that at least a handful would be saved, grow up to be mighty men and women of God.

Now each and every one of them was going to die, condemned to hell-

…no. No, none of the children he had sent to their deaths would be going to hell. It would be redundant. If anyone could be said to do so, those children had been made to pay for every mistake they made- or might have made. Or could have made in the future.

The only one who was going to hell, he realized with a vicious irony, was him.

…..

Curtis had no medical training whatsoever.

He barely knew how to do cpr. His most proficient technique was the Heimlich maneuver.

But still he found himself trying to give some comfort to the hordes of injured, mangled children they pulled from the cells of the compound.

Calvin ran from stockroom to stockroom, miraculously finding bandages and splints they needed. He wasn't sure how he found them so fast, or why he was looking so pale and tired, but he didn't find it appropriate to ask.

Veronica had some training, enough to administer injections of painkillers and apply bandages. Chutney was a doctor in all but title, doing everything she could to ease pain and injury alongside Veronica.

As soon as Hope found she could… limp, she brought water and food to those who needed it. With gritted teeth, the child was ignoring her own pain to help everyone else.

Jason worked frantically, finding a phone line, calling in emergency services, cops, the national guard.

It was then that he noticed the six-year old boy in his arms had stopped breathing.

"We're losing him-" was all he got out before Chutney and Veronica took over.

Then the horrifying reality struck him as they desperately tried compressions, defibrillators, soft words and pleas, to no avail.

They weren't going to save everyone.

Veronica put on a numb face, moved to the next one, determined to save as many as she could. Chutney followed, biting her lip until it bled so she wouldn't start sobbing.

Curtis did the only thing he could, setting the corpse on an unoccupied bit of floor, closing his eyes. There was no more time for formalities or mourning. Hundreds of children remained.

It was then that he made up his mind that he would see to it everyone responsible for this died.

…..

When help did finally arrive, 32 children, ranging from age 4 to 15, had already died, from internal injuries, malnutrition, blood loss, or infection. 67 more died despite the best efforts of the paramedics who arrived. After the last child had been transported out, 54 more succumbed to infections brought on by a combination of untreated wounds and a still-unidentified toxin that was allegedly used by Rod and Whip to intensify pain. In total, 153 of the initial 633 children held in the facility were lost.

Paramedics and doctors who treated the surviving children unanimously agreed that it was the combined efforts of Miles, her child, Curtis Wilkins, Chutney Darly, Calvin Halgins, and Jason Fox that ensured the rest had a chance at survival.

Bomb squads confirmed that the compound was wired with enough explosives and emp devices to ensure that any evidence, biological or not, would be lost had Jason Fox not disarmed the detonation sequence.

Immediately, the evidence recovered was used to contact parents whose missing children had been found at the compound. Some parents were later found to have willingly sent their children to Rod and Whip, charged with criminal negligence with more severe charges pending.

For those who had their children taken unwillingly, the calls either confirmed worst fears or the last shreds of hope. For those who had survived, reuniting with their family was scheduled as soon as feasibly possible.

However, for those who learned that their children snatched away had died without one last hug goodbye, the calls only brought anguish. There was no way to soften the news that no, the child had not died being tended to by the heroic Veronica Miles and Chutney Darly, but had died long before, incinerated in one of the facility's many crematories used for disposing of evidence.

Manhunts promptly began for Mary Gathwells, the members of the Church of the Unyielding Rod, and men and women fitting the description of the Rod and Whip members.

Faith Wellfields, recovering in a hospital, initially received death threats, until it was made public that she had been a prisoner in her own home, tortured and lied about by her own parents. Despite her physical and mental trauma, she assisted police and federal agents with descriptions of her parents and the members of the church she had seen.

Curtis Wilkins lived, for a short time, with his employer, Gunther, until he was bequeathed his parent's finances and accounts, sufficient to get an apartment. He described his parents and his brother as dangerous criminals, with no capacity for empathy or restraint. He and Chutney Darly, both diagnosed with Post-traumatic stress disorder, underwent treatment.

Veronica Miles and her daughter, Hope Miles, were treated for injury and released. Both were praised as being instrumental in saving the lives of the survivors. While they did voluntarily seek psychiatric help to overcome the trauma that came from their experience, they continued to speak out against the abuses they had seen.

Jason Fox was released to his parents after medical treatment, to be recommended for formal recognition of his heroic efforts. Reportedly, Jason Fox requested permission to personally interrogate any agents of Rod and Whip who were incarcerated. He began undergoing psychiatric therapy at his parent's insistence.

Calvin Halgins described the experiences he had seen at the compound in minute detail to the police, but was uncharacteristically vague as to how he returned to the compound. As to why, his only response was that he had a 'gut feeling' his presence was required. Interviews with the others gave credibility that if nothing else, Calvin had served as a de facto leader and source of stability for the prisoners, calming them down and allowing for the lifesaving efforts of Veronica and Chutney to be administered more effectively. An investigator described him escaping without serious injury 'a miracle'.

…..

Sir Father knelt, blindfolded. He had no idea of the dimensions of the room, its occupants, or even where he was- on arrival at one of Rod and Whip's underground safehouses, he had been escorted at gunpoint to another vehicle, blindfolded, and informed he, to avoid injury, should remain silent until addressed further.

"Millions in equipment lost. Hundreds of witnesses left alive. A complete and utter breakdown of security systems. Utter failure to break or kill high-priority targets. A security system hacked by a thirteen year old. Failure to successfully initiate loss-prevention protocols. Initiation of a group whose loyalty is wavering led by a leader who they no longer trust." The voice, synthesized, rattled off the condemnations like it was reading a grocery list. "I trust you have a good explanation."

Sir Father would speak plainly. That was his last dignity before they killed him in whatever ungodly fashion befitted this sort of epic failure. "All I have to say is that the six responsible should be classified as highest priority targets. I don't know why the security systems failed. I don't know why my men's guns backfired. I don't know how our encryptions were broken, or how a detonation sequence that physically needed to be disarmed by key was hacked and aborted, but I am certain that they, especially Jason Fox, are responsible."

Silence for a minute.

"You are ascertaining then, that it was not equipment failure or negligence, but the actions of five children and a bleeding heart that caused all of this? You are further suggesting that somehow, this Jason Fox is capable of 'remote hacking' to the point he can cause weapon misfires?" Even with the synthesizer, incredulity dripped from every word.

"We tested those weapons. Every other day. If it jams once, it's trash. We hire hackers to TRY and penetrate our security. Aside from everything we had checked repeatedly for any signs of vulnerability failing all at once, I can only assume such."

More silence.

"You will remain in a secure location until we have further orders for you. You will be briefed on further action. That is all."

He was forcibly stood up, turned, marched.

Wait, what?

He had braced for execution the likes of which would have him screaming in agony. Acid bath. Eaten alive by ants. But now they marched him somewhere else.

It occurred to him, as he was seated in a vehicle, blindfold still on, that this… this debacle might have all been going according to plan. That was the only reason he was still alive.

As to who's plan, however, he had no idea whatsoever.

…..

"…and that's why I'm grounded forever." Calvin finished.

Hobbes gave him an incredulous look. He didn't ask why Calvin hadn't brought him- that much was obvious. There wasn't enough time, and convincing anyone- even the kids- that Hobbes was real would have taken too much time and too much energy.

"Sooooooo breaking into a heavily guarded compound armed with only the transmogrifier sounded like a good idea to you?" Hobbes' criticism of the idiocy of the idea was clear.

"If I hadn't, it would be a crater." Calvin defended. "And what else was I supposed to do? Go home, wait for them to try again?"

"I'm just saying relying on the gun is going to get you killed-"

"I kinda found that out, yeah." Calvin admitted. The gun's use drained him, there was no doubting that, and the more absurd the idea he forced on reality, the more of a drain there was.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes.

"What do we do now?" Hobbes asked.

"They only grounded me from going outside. Probably because those people really want to kill me now." Calvin hopped on his computer. "They didn't say I wasn't allowed to write, or ask questions."

Hobbes frowned. "You know if you keep it up, they're going to come back for you."

"Yeah. But they have other compounds, other places they're holding kids. And if I'm afraid to speak up, that means they win."

Hobbes nodded. No more criticism, no more challenging. He knew that when Hobbes agreed with an idea, he could count on his loyalty. "I'm going to get some rest so I can stand watch tonight."

Calvin smiled. "Thanks, old buddy."

Hobbes curled into a ball and drifted off to sleep as Calvin began to type.

He wanted, personally, to be done with this, to say he had done his part, and now it was up to the feds to get the job done.

But he knew he owed the kids who didn't make it.

Looking at his Omnijournal, he found thousands of questions, all recent. About his health. About what he saw. About what he was going to do now.

It was time to give some answers.

…..

Epilogue

…..

By now many of you have heard about the compound. How it was a torture factory for children. How it killed kids, baited parents, and how, when word was leaked out about how bad it was, the person in charge, 'Sir Father', tried to blow it all up rather than let any of it get into Federal hands. You've also heard I was, at least in part, involved.

Yes, there were people trying to kill me. Yes, they are still out there. Yes, I am afraid.

But I'm not going to shut up.

Because that's what they want. For the people they target to be driven into fear and silence, content with anyone else suffering so long as it's not them. And as long as they can do that, kids are going to keep disappearing and winding up dead.

There are families out there who just recently found out they're never going to see their kids ever again, because some sadistic pieces-of-shit decided it was fine to kidnap, torture, and kill them in the name of some messed-up form of discipline. Make no mistake- this isn't a protest of a rebellious culture, it's not a noble intent to reintroduce obedience to one's country, its terrorism, pure and simple.

There's a girl who was beaten black and blue for daring to stand by her mother and speak out against abuse. She's still talking, still spreading the message that these abusers have no excuse.

There's another girl who suffered at the hands of her father's perverted gospel, called a whore and a liar and so many other things, beaten repeatedly for no reason whatsoever, who's standing up, making it known abuse in the name of religion is still abuse.

There's a man whose own family betrayed him for a few thousand dollars just because they couldn't forgive one minor incident, even when he gave them everything they asked for. Whose own brother suggested using his girlfriend as bait to lure him in.

There's a boy who saved hundreds of lives- mine included- who is demanding the people responsible for the deaths of over a hundred innocent children pay for what they did.

We owe it to them, the survivors, and the families of those who didn't make it to make these terrorists afraid of us. We owe it to future generations. We owe it to ourselves.

(Latest Omnijournal entry by Calvin Halgins aka CalvinOmega)