The Dystopian Gene Read online

  “Great, thanks Jack, it would be an honor to follow in her footsteps.” Anna replied, fighting the resurgence of tears and forcing a weak smile.

  Anna turned her attention to the back of the room as Damarion Brockman walked through the doorway, followed by his son Richard. Anna squeezed Billy's hand tighter. “Stay close. Richard gives me the creeps,” Anna whispered as she led Billy back to their seats.

  The funeral service went as funeral services go. Father Thomas recited his prepared words of consolation, followed by a speech, detailing Margaret Morton's life. It was a fine speech. However, Anna knew the words coming from behind the pulpit, spoken by a man who barely knew her mother, except for the brief exchange of platitudes once a week, couldn't portray her life.

  The service ended and Father Thomas closed with the final prayer. Tears once again stung Anna’s stormy eyes. She leaned over and whispered to Billy as the pallbearers gathered next to Margaret's body.

  “There's one more thing I have to do before they close her casket. Will you come up with me?”

  “Of course,” Billy replied.

  Anna stepped toward the group of pallbearers with Billy in tow. The group comprised her father, Jack, and Atticus, along with three more men from the homicide department that Anna never met. The men moved to one side as Anna reached her mother. She let go of Billy as she looked into her mother's still face. Placing one hand on the casket's cold frame and the other on Margaret's, Anna let herself go. Sobbing, her body heaved in waves for several minutes.

  Anna removed her hand from the edge of the casket and ran it across her nose, sniffling. She kept the other one on Margaret's chest. I love you mom. I already miss you. Anna sniffed again and her father passed her a tissue. She tried to empty the contents of her nose, but there was no end to the heartbreak leaking from it.

  Anna reached into her coat and fished out a rolled up, ragged booklet. She removed her shaking hand from her mother's chest and smoothed the faded book along the edge of the casket. It was well worn with a ripped cover and peeled binding. Fresh tears splashed down onto the book as Anna read the title. “Molly The Sheep,” she breathed.

  Anna placed the book on Margaret's midsection, below her cold hands. I will find out who did this mom. And I will find out why. I won't stop until I do. Anna looked up from her mother's face with bloodshot eyes to see Atticus run towards the back of the funeral home.

  “You!” he screamed, pointing towards the back row. He fell onto Damarion, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up off his chair. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here!” Atticus continued to roar as he pushed Damarion up against the wall.

  “Can't a man pay his last respects?” Damarion choked through his restricted collar.

  Jack ran towards the back to intervene. “Atticus, what's the meaning of this?”

  Atticus ignored his Captain, but loosened his grip on Damarion. He looked into Damarion's eyes. “Get out. Get the hell out of here before I throw you out!” he said, letting go of Damarion and pushing him towards the door.

  “Fine,” Damarion replied, rubbing his neck while stepping towards the door.

  “Richard!” Damarion called out to his son. “Come, I can see we’re not wanted here.” Damarion escorted Richard through the door and then stopped. He turned around and leaned towards Atticus, who was still behind him. “I would choose my words more carefully if I were you Atticus, and the things one investigates,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so no-one else could hear him. Damarion sneered. “Despite what you think, I had nothing to do with Margaret's death, but you would be wise to stop certain unauthorized investigations or you might find yourself in her situation.” Damarion closed the door.

  Jack moved in closer to Atticus. “What in the hell was that all about? What is your problem with Damarion?”

  “My problem Jack?” Atticus replied, turning to face his Captain. “My problem is that's-”

  Atticus lowered his voice so no one else could hear him before finishing his sentence through clenched teeth. “That's the son of a bitch who killed Margaret.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Anna's Present

  Anna dug the sleep from her eyes as she walked into the kitchen. Ugh, no coffee. I'm going to miss coffee, she thought, opening the refrigerator and finding a pitcher of orange juice. Anna held it up in front of her face, squinting, trying to decide if there was enough left in the pitcher to fill a thimble. Sara walked into the kitchen as Anna grabbed a can of frozen concentrate from the freezer and opened it.

  “Was that you who left a trickle of juice in the fridge so you wouldn't have to make more?” Anna asked her sister.

  “No,” Sara snipped with a grimace. “Good morning to you too!” she added before going to the cupboard and pulling down a box of cereal. Sara filled her bowl, added milk and then set off for the living room. Anna rolled her eyes and closed the top of the cereal box, placed it back in the cupboard and then returned the milk to the fridge while shaking her head.

  I swear I'm the only one who puts anything away around here.

  Anna jumped to the sudden onset of an alarm going off in the kitchen, setting off a skull splitting migraine behind her eye sockets. “What the hell is that?” she said as Aunt Delores bustled in.

  “That would be breakfast deary,” Dolores replied in her cheerful tone before making it to the Chefmaster 3000. She bent over as far as her midsection would allow and then opened the oven door, filling the room with the smell of pancakes.

  Anna swallowed hard as a fresh wave of nausea punched her in the stomach. She wrinkled her nose.

  “What's the matter, love?” Delores asked, turning around and noticing Anna's blatant expression of disgust. “I didn't burn them this time.”

  Anna grimaced, forcing another swallow.

  “She had too much to drink last night, that's all,” answered Steven as he walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

  Anna fought the urge to run to the toilet and finished preparing the orange juice. She poured herself a glass before setting the pitcher on the table in front of her father.

  Delores plucked the pancakes out of the oven and set them onto a plate. “I love this new smart stove Steven,” she said, setting the plate of flapjacks onto the table.

  “Mm, they smell wonderful,” Steven replied before licking his lips. “So how does that thing work, anyway? I've been too damn busy working to get a good look at it,” he asked.

  Delores walked to one side of the range and pulled open a door. “See here? All you have to do is fill each of these different compartments with your basic ingredients. Flour, sugar, powdered eggs, powdered milk, salt, yeast, all your different seasonings,” she explained and then closed the door. She pushed a button on the front of the stove, activating a display screen. “Then all you have to do is find a recipe in the oven's computerized recipe index. You can download recipes directly from the internet, but it comes with the basics,” Delores continued as she pulled up a recipe for vanilla cream waffles. She pushed the button to select the recipe and then the quantity of servings. “Now all you have to do is press the 'Cook Now' option,” she explained, pressing the final option on the screen. “And there you have it! Fresh waffles in about ten minutes when the timer goes off.” she finished.

  Anna cocked her head. “It's too bad someone couldn't figure out a way to make pancakes by hand somehow, like in a pan. Then they could save themselves the thousands of dollars spent on such an appliance.” Anna sniped, the sarcasm dripping from her tongue like battery acid.

  Delores frowned for a moment and then smiled holding up her index finger. “Well, yes, it might be a bit much for pancakes, but see what else it does!” She waddled over to the other side of the stove and opened a door. “See? Here is where all the dried pastas, rice and vegetables go. It also tracks the quantities in each bin and automatically orders more when they get low. When you're preparing a meat dish all you have to do is add the amount into this little container inside here.” D
elores opened another small door on the inside the oven. “It'll cook you a feast every night for a week as long as you keep the bulk ingredient bins full. It does everything else, all while monitoring the inside and outside food temperatures for a perfect texture and consistency every time. It's also a smart stove, so with the smart phone app, I can pick a recipe before leaving work and have dinner ready and waiting when we all walk in the door. Or order up breakfast from my bed, like I did this morning!” Delores exclaimed.

  “You should be a Chefmaster saleswoman, Delores,” said Steven.

  “Oh, this thing sells itself,” she replied.

  Anna drained her glass and stood up. “I'm glad you like it Aunt Delores, I can't deny that it's convenient. Although, I'm not sure how convenient it is when a person has to work a second job to pay for it.” She turned to her father. “Well, I'm out of here. Can I use the spare car dad since I don't have a work car anymore? I have to get to treatment and I have to take Aunt Delores with me.”

  “Sure, that's fine Anna,” Steven replied. He stood up and left the kitchen, returning a minute later with something under his arm. “Here Anna, you'd better take this with you.”

  Anna lowered her eyebrows, recognizing the tin box from the night before. Find Their Monkeys.

  Whatever that means.

  Anna let out a deep breath while Steven held out the box for Anna to take. “Here, you should read the letter.”

  Anna nodded. “I'll bring it with me. It'll give me something to do during treatment. Come along Aunt Dee. It's time to go.”

  Anna walked through the living room in time to see Sara slide her empty bowl under the couch.

  She did it again.

  Growling through clenched jaws Anna set the box down on the small table next to the door and then sat down on the couch next to Sara. She looked into her sister's blue eyes.

  “What? Do I have food on my face or something?” Sara asked, wiping her chin with her hand. “Something in my hair? What? Why are you staring at me?” Sara continued, this time running her hand through her yellow-blond hair.

  “No, it's not that. I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

  “Great, here we go,” Sara replied, rolling her eyes.

  “Look Sara, I realize I give you a hard time, especially about doing stuff around here, but you're almost sixteen. You're about to become an adult. You're graduating in a few months and then you'll be working full time, or school, or both.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get that, okay? You're not my mom.”

  Anna leaned in and kissed Sara on the forehead then leaned in closer and gave her a hug.

  “Whoa, what's all this?”

  “I love you, sis,” Anna said. “That's why I give you a hard time, okay? It's time for you to show some responsibility around here. At least pick up after yourself and put your dishes in the sink occasionally. You do not understand how hard it is to scrub off three-day-old dried bits of cereal.”

  “I always put my dishes in the sink.”

  “Okay, well I have to go. I have treatment this morning,” Anna said and then reached under the couch to fetch Sara's empty bowl. “Here, Miss 'I-always-put-my-dishes-in-the-sink'.”

  “One time,” Sara groaned.

  “One time...every day,” Anna replied, shaking her head as she got up off the couch. “Now get to school, you're running late.”

  “Yes Mother,” Sara replied, dragging out the word with disgust, then added, “bitch-asaurus”

  “Hippo-twatamus,” Anna sniped.

  Sara stuck her tongue out while displaying her middle finger.

  “If I had more time, I'd kick your ass for that,” Anna teased as she grabbed the keys to her dad's car, picked up her mother's tin box from the table and took a deep breath.

  The light switch in the living room flipped on and off five times.

  Anna took another long breath through gritted teeth. “It's time to go Aunt Dee,” she called over her shoulder. Shaking her head, she threw open the front door.

  Damn, I really need to find my own place.

  ◆◆◆

  The light was finding its way through the drapes of Cornelius's bedroom when there was a loud knock on the door. The butler stepped from the early morning shadows to find who would be so bold. He clicked the latch and opened the door to find Richard Brockman.

  “I need to see him,” Richard exclaimed from behind wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

  “I'm sorry, he is not to be disturbed. Mr. Cromwell is, for lack of a better term, busy.”

  “I don't care,” Richard replied and then pushed past the butler. “And he won't care either once he hears my news.”

  Richard walked to the window and threw open the drapes before turning to face his grandfather.

  Cornelius was sitting up in bed, squinting at the sudden blast of light that filled the room.

  “Grandfather, I have great news,” Richard exclaimed.

  “It better be!” the old man rattled and then patted the blanket on his left side. “All right, that's enough, love.” The sea of blankets moved to produce a tall, and fully nude, blond woman.

  Richard's jaw slacked. “Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realize.”

  Cornelius patted the blankets to his right. “You too, dear.”

  There was another wave of blanket tossing and a brunette slipped out of the bed on Cornelius's right. The brunette was young, thin and also nude. Richard smiled with pride as the two women left the bedroom through a doorway that opened into a large master bath.

  “I can only hope I'm as energetic as you are at your age,” Richard laughed. “Good for you.”

  “Yes, well, we are Cromwells. Even when we're old, we can still rob a woman’s heart,” Cornelius replied while crawling out of bed. The butler steadied Cornelius while he dressed. “At my age though, it's more often a hold up than a stickup.” Cornelius let out a hoarse laugh that turned into a productive cough. Richard returned a chuckle and then tossed the thought of his Grandfather doing such a task from his mind.

  The butler held a gold monogrammed handkerchief in front of Cornelius's mouth as the old man labored into it for several seconds.

  “All right then Richard, what is so important that it couldn't wait?” Cornelius asked after wiping his mouth. He reached for his cigarettes and pulled one from its case.

  “It's finished. It's finally finished!” Richard replied with a proud smile. “Come, I will need to show you. We need to go down to the main Ballroom.”

  “Do you mean what I think you mean?” Cornelius gargled and then ran the handkerchief passed his lips again. “Project Shepherd?” The butler lit Cornelius's cigarette and the two men walked out into the hallway.

  “Yes, sir. We finally finished the code and network design to complete your ambitions.”

  Cornelius smiled. He tried to steady his hand as he pulled the cigarette from his lips and exhaled. They made their way down a flight of stairs and then entered the mansion's ballroom. They had renovated the grand space into a state-of-the-art computer lab. Dozens of computer screens littered the walls on both sides of the room and several occupied workstations stretched out along its middle.

  “This is exciting news Richard. I want you to show me as soon as possible, but since I'm up and the staff is here, let's check the headlines first,” Cornelius croaked.

  Richard raised his voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “You heard him everyone. Let's have a look, shall we?”

  Several computer screens switched to show graphs and charts. “As you can see the story about the President went well. We sent it out through all of our media outlets as breaking news. Eighty percent click-through rates and the social media bots are pushing the news with success. Seems like the public is buying the sexual misconduct allegations,” Richard explained.

  “Excellent. That son of a bitch will learn not to piss me off. I'm a Cromwell damn it!” Cornelius took another drag from his cigarette. “And Cromwell's always get what we want.” Cornelius smile
d. “What else is happening?”

  “Your recent philanthropy was highlighted on prime time last night and we have sent whispers through our online news magazines you’re being recognized as the man of the year again this year,” Richard continued.

  “Good. And what about the Consolidated Foods fiasco?”

  “All taken care of,” Richard replied. “We squashed the rumors you have any ownership and further removed you from the corporate board of directors listings. We set up a new holding company that will re-absorb all five of the top food companies under your majority stock holdings and we spun off two more, to add a little more illusion of choice.”

  “Yes, yes. Excellent. And where are my public ratings at?”

  Richard nodded towards a young woman sitting at the workstation closest to him. She clicked a few keys, and another chart appeared on the screen.

  “Looks like seventy-eight percent. Up another five points,” Richard replied. “But you're climbing strongly across social media and stand to gain there. Thanks to the tens of thousands of fake accounts our computers monitor. They're always working hard to sway their,” Richard held up his fingers making a quote sign before continuing, “friends.” Richard smiled. “They also engage in conversation in as many news feeds as possible so we‘ll see that number climb. Especially with the food thing behind us.”

  Cornelius stared at the numbers on the screen for several seconds and then shook his head. “Damn, can't seem to break eighty percent.” He dropped his cigarette butt into a cup of coffee, to the disgust of the man sitting next to it.

  Cornelius let out a sigh.

  “All right then, I‘m ready. Show me why you interrupted my morning,” he barked.

  Richard gave another nod across the room. He waved his hand in the air for greater effect and then took a bow. “I give you, Project Shepherd.”

  The first screen showed a picture of a middle-aged man with glasses and a goatee. The second screen was filled with financial information. The third was split into two screens. One side showed a live video, and the other was filled with internet browsing data. At the bottom of the middle screen there was a box labeled 'Threat Level'. Below that, in large green letters, was the word 'LOW', alongside it was the number 53.