Clues, Blues, and Poppies

Jestin rushed through the dim hallway at a dead sprint. All pretense of subterfuge was gone, replaced with sheer, frantic determination. No alarm had been raised, so it was possible he was still undiscovered. But the youth he had encountered had certainly been suspicious. At the very least, someone of higher rank had been informed of Jestin’s presence. They wouldn’t be able to recognize any description of him-none of them had ever seen him before-so at least they couldn’t trace him back to the UTR.

He was almost there. To the left was the small lab full of unstable substances he had found, to the right a locked door he hadn’t bothered breaking in to. Past that, rooms full of computer monitors carrying encrypted information. He had managed to snag a few files for the techies to look at later. Just a little father…

There! He pulled the loosened air vent free and practically dove in before shutting the grate behind him. Then he started to crawl frantically away. He didn’t have much time now, he was certain. He could hear voices behind him, their words sharp and clipped. No one outside of the Threshers knew the language-their leader, a brilliant, maniacal sociopath, had created it himself.

Jestin cursed himself mentally. Why had he opened that stupid bottle? Yes, he had been sent to investigate, but he was a professional. That had been a rooky mistake. He should have simply taken the sample with him, not tried to determine its contents while in the field.

Too late now. His only hope was escaping quickly. He ran through the code phrases in his head over and over, hoping against hope that some lingering trace of them would remain in his mind.

Bret and Virian waited on the rooftop, the scorching sun finally dipping towards the horizon. Bret wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, drumming the fingers of his other hand against the gun strapped to his waist. Virian was watching the street, green eyes narrow.

“He’s late,” Bret commented. Virian didn’t reply, but her lips pulled to a tight line. Then she straightened abruptly.

“There.” He followed her pointed finger to the figure stumbling out of an alleyway. He wore simple jeans and a rumpled t-shirt, and his brown hair was mussed. He moved as if drunken.

Bret let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank the heavens.”

“He’s putting on a good show,” Virian noted, one eyebrow cocked. “Everyone will think he is laborer who got started at the pub a little early.”

Bret chuckled. “That’s Jestin for you. Let’s go.” The two made their way down to ground level and then crossed the street. Jestin was looking around, seeming utterly baffled. He examined the building behind him with hands on hips, head cocked.

“Jestin,” Bret greeted, smiling amiably and giving no indication that anything unusual was amiss.

Jestin spun, eyes wide. Then he relaxed. “Oh, hello, friends.” His voice was slightly slurred.

Virian rolled her eyes. “Jestin, did you actually get drunk?”

Jestin smiled lazily, eyes half-closing. “No, don’t think so. Somethin’-somethin’ else. Don’t quite remember.” He blinked several times very slowly.

Bret and Virian shared a glance.

“Jestin, we don’t have time to screw around,” Virian said sharply. “Tell us, did you find the base?”

Jestin frowned. “Um, yes?” He cocked his head. “Think so, a’ least.”

Virian rubbed her temples. “How can you only ‘think so’?”

Jestin shrugged, a quick, bobbing motion that made his head wobble a bit. “Dunno, really. Just sorta…‘appened.”

Bret stepped forward, examining Jestin’s eyes. They were dilating abnormally, the pupils expanding and shrinking rapidly. Bret reached out grabbed the other man’s wrist, finding his pulse. It too was irregular.

“He at least came into contact with an agent or a trap,” Bret said, grimacing. “He’s showing the same signs as the last UTR unit that was attacked by the Threshers. It’s some sort of poison meant to disorient. Non-lethal in small doses, supposedly.”

Virian sighed. “Perfect. How do we fix it?”

Bret scratched his head. “We…don’t know. The few survivors just recovered on their own after a day or so.”

She sniffed. “So, what, we just…wait?”

Bret ground his teeth together. They didn’t have time to wait. It had taken months for them to find even a hint of this base’s general location. No doubt if they waited even a day, the Threshers would already be cleared out, likely after performing whatever grizzly work they had come to Lorain, Ohio for.

“Jestin,” Bret said, snapping his fingers in front of the man’s face to get his attention. Jestin jumped, and then blinked slowly as he focused on Bret’s fingers. “Do you remember anything? Any clues?”

Jestin smiled, closing his eyes. “Clues, clues. Blue’s Clues. The color blue, ya know, like in that one book. Something ‘bout blue skies…no, that’s not it. What’s it called? Oh wait, its eyes.” He started humming to himself, tapping his chin and tilting his head back and forth.

Bret gave Virian a wide-eyed look.

“Well, this is going to Hell faster than a sinner a church,” Virian said, folding her arms.

“What about the color blue?” Bret prodded, hoping to glean something useful.

“Blue eyes. But that’s it, I don’t think. It was somethin’ else.”

“What else?” Virian demanded.

Jestin frowned, tapping his chin.

Bret sighed. “Let’s start walking back the way he came. Maybe it will trigger something."

“You sure we shouldn’t contact the base?” Virian asked, looking uncertain.

“We’re on radio silence,” Bret said firmly. “We’re too close to the Threshers to risk getting intercepted. And it would take too long to get clear of the Kill Zone. By the time we got a message out, we wouldn’t be able to get back and find the base before the Thresher’s strike.”

Virian grimaced. “Right then. Let’s follow the crazy man.”

They walked back through the alleyway, which led to a residential area. The further they walked, the larger the plots of lands became. Soon, they would reach the outskirts of the city.

“Any idea where we should go next?” Bret asked, glancing at Jestin hopefully.

Jestin looked around, seeming puzzled. “I just walked through here. Why am I back?”

Virian groaned softly.

“Oh!” Jestin exclaimed, pointing. Bret spun, eyes scanning for whatever Jestin had seen, his hand going to his gun. Jestin was pointing at someone’s house. On the porch, an eccentric tower was made up entirely from Bloody Mary bottles.

“Ah, you little bastard. You are drunk, aren’t you?” Virian accused.

“Didn’t drink any. Just sniffed it.” Jestin seemed distracted. “Mary. Mary. Mary. Not red, like blood. Golden Mary? No, that’s wrong.”

“What on earth are you babbling about?” Virian cried exasperatedly. Bret winced. These two didn’t often get along under the best of circumstances. He hoped she wouldn’t do the Threshers job for them and strangle the addled man.

“Let’s keep walking,” Bret said quickly. “Come along, Jestin.” He had to grab the man’s elbow and lead him away. He was still mumbling to himself.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary. No, wrong garden…”

They soon came to several larger plots of land, the bustle of city life giving way to the tranquility of a suburb. A middle-aged woman was tending a small flower garden full of poppies, tulips, and iris.

“Mary Poppins?” Jestin muttered, still talking to himself. He looked up and noticed the flower garden. “Oh!” he cried, again pointing. “Poppins! I mean, Poppies! Yeah, Flander’s field where poppies grow. No, that isn’t right…But it is a flower.”

“What is a flower?” Bret prodded.

Jestin gestured. “Flowers. With petals and stems and leaves, ya know?”

Virian snorted. “Yeah, we know.”

“A specific flower,” Jestin muttered, eyes distant.

“A rose?” Bret offered.

“No, not a rose.”

“A lily?” Virian asked.

“No.”

“A chrysanthemum?” Virian guessed again.

Jestin paused, finally looking at her. “What in tarnation is a chry-chysen-”

“Never mind,” Bret said, feeling the conversation beginning to deteriorate. “Let’s keep moving.”

They did, although Bret had no idea if they were going even remotely in the right direction. Jestin took them in a winding path, occasionally making nonsensical comments.

“You never get to find out what they look like, ya know,” he said conversationally. “Never bloom. Dangedest thing ever.”

“Perhaps we should have gone back to the UTR,” Virian mumbled. “At this rate, we are more likely to run into trouble than find anything useful.”

Bret grimaced. She might be right. “We don’t look like agents, and we don’t have any communication online. They shouldn’t have any reason to suspect us, even if we’re spotted.”

Virian huffed but gave no argument.

Jestin suddenly stopped, eyes narrowing as if in intense concentration, head cocked just slightly to the right. He was staring at a girl sitting on a porch swing, reading a book. “She has blue eyes. Real, real blue. The bluest I ever seen.”

Bret frowned deeply. There was something behind Jestin’s wild commentary. It was too filled with motifs and threads of connection to be pure nonsense. Blue eyes? Flowers? Bloody Mary? No, Golden Mary.

Something slid up from the deep recesses of his mind, filed away in the ‘utterly useless’ section that had been reserved specifically for his high school English classes. He tugged on the memory, groping for the tendrils of foggy recollection and dredging up the horrors from ten years ago.

Memories of mockingbirds, dust bowls, and green lights filled his mind. And there, amongst it all, a faint memory from freshman year. The Bluest Eye, about a young girl who wanted blue eyes. What did that have to do with anything, though? What had Jestin said? They never bloom. Bret narrowed his eyes in concentration. In the story, the girl’s friends had planted flowers for her, right?

His eyes went wide. He started walking briskly, eyes scanning his surroundings. Virian cursed and followed, dragging a distracted Jestin.

“What the-”

He cut her off sharply with a wave of the hand, stopping short and letting out a long, slow breath. Before him stretched a field of golden flowers, and behind it, a large storage unit used for holding grain.

“I went in there once,” Jestin said off-handedly, pointing towards the storage unit. Then he frowned. “I think.”

Bret and Virian shared a look. Her eyes were alight.

“That’s it,” she whispered. Bret nodded, and a grin split his face.

Virian rubbed her hands together, eyes practically glowing with eagerness. “Let’s get out of this Kill Zone so we can get the location to the UTR before those rats can scurry off.”

“Agreed,” Bret replied.

As they strode away, Jestin glanced back over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Look, marigolds. That’s so nice.”

Agrista Anthuni oversaw the operation with deep satisfaction. The Thresher’s had done him proud today, proving their merit with speed and efficiency. By the end of the day, Lorain, Ohio, would be a stark reminder to the world of what happened to those who rejected The Truth.

Agrista noticed a youth scurrying about, ordered around by one task masker and then another. He frowned. The youth claimed that a spy may have infiltrated the base, but that was impossible. The security regulations were far too tight, and the cameras had picked up nothing unusual. Not even the UTR could get someone inside.

The UTR. Agrista felt his lip curl up into a sneer. The ‘Underground Terrorist Resistance’ had been a thorn in his side for years. Nothing more than a thorn, of course. Merely a fly buzzing around his head that he could never quite swat.

“The operation is ready,” Agrista’s lieutenant called.

He smiled. “Perfect.”

At that moment, the power went out.

“What in Damnation happened?” Agrista demanded. People scrambled around, cursing and jostling into things.

“It’s not just the computers,” someone cried. “Our communicators aren’t functioning.”

Agrista felt a cold fist close around his heart.

The attack came seconds later, a legion of UTR. The flies, it seemed, had finally outdone him.