Adams’ Apples
22 Die Hard with a Vengeance
THE COLONEL’S NEW YEAR’S EVE PARTY drew more people to our house than the Christmas party had. I constantly expected protesters to show up in front of the house because so many people knew Jack, Evelyn, and Lily were in residence there. But while it was common knowledge in the neighborhood, it seemed to be a tacit secret elsewhere. By the end of the party, there was another stack of gifts for Lily under the Christmas tree. It was like the entire community was bringing gifts to the manger where blessed baby Lily lay.
Aside from a continuing barrage of ‘need to know’ requests, I was able to concentrate on writing an article describing the changing society brought about by the Testevirus. Mattie told me it looked like the requests coming in from Washington were automated now. Everyone in the city had gone home for the holidays and left a stack of requests on a timer to be mailed every two or three days.
Thirty days after he was attacked, Jack confessed to feeling better but still too sore to work. On the other hand, Evelyn had a brighter smile on her face than she’d had for a long time. It looked like the couple were reconnecting in a very physical way. Both Sheila and Dr. Simpson signed statements indicating Jack would need another thirty days of rest before he could be of use to either the NRP or the NIP. Both organizations immediately joined in a public relations war with each other.
“We are taking care of the specimen,” reported Dr. Pius of the NIP. “He is getting the best possible care. Our number one objective here is to protect Mr. Adams and see that he gets the rest he needs to recover fully and produce the best apples he can. In thirty days, we’ll be harvesting apples by the bushel and the NIP will begin planting those seeds in fertile fields where more apples will grow. Before long, we will have a regular orchard full of apples.”
I grimaced at the release from the director of the NIP. I wasn’t certain if Pius was really that backwards or if he was simply a horticulturist and didn’t know any better way to speak. Dr. Mangeler’s release was at least as confusing.
“We have determined the sperm of Mr. Adams is no longer needed to launch a national reproductive resurgence,” Mangeler said. “While he is of interest as a curiosity, we have determined that the virus will run its course in about twelve years. This comes from extensive testing we have conducted on male babies under the age of one year who were born after the release of the virus. While these infants are currently incapable of producing sperm, examination of the testicles indicates they will develop normally. As a result, we expect normal reproductive activity as soon as the current crop of baby boys reaches sexual maturity. It will merely give us twelve years of reducing the strain on the earth’s resources—a badly needed respite.”
Of course, there were others releasing their own opinions, not the least of which were Dr. Simpson’s of Orlando General Hospital.
There is nothing wrong with our sperm, according to Dr. Simpson. “The problem is in the epididymis and not in the sperm production. We are working on ways to shock the epididymis back into activity so the sperm released to it are able to mature before ejaculation. This process normally takes about two months but we are seeing positive movement in test subjects. We expect men treated with our solution will produce viable sperm in sixty to sixty-four days following treatment.”
Not all the news was as positive. With the turning of the New Year, protests began in earnest in Washington DC and threatened to turn violent. Antigov, a newly organized resistance movement, marched on the White House and Capitol, loudly demanding the government stop interfering in their reproductive rights. At the other end of the Mall, right wing Ejaculators demanded “No redhead babies!” Their protest seemed directed toward genetic purity. Signs also read “No yellow babies!” and “No black babies!”
That made it a matter of racial protest and the Rainbow Coalition, revived from the 1960s, moved between the two groups at the Washington Monument protesting racial purity and advocating government regulation of sperm distribution with an equal balance among the races. And, of course, there were still those on the other sides, proclaiming conspiracy, advocating to “Clean up Earth, abandon humanity!” and even small groups advocating adoption, decrying abortion, and declaring “Defund Doctors!”
Of course, the National Park Service had to call in reinforcements for crowd control. Not being content that the various demonstrators would escalate to violence on their own, local police and the National Guard were called in to make sure they did. This gave all sides of the protest a common enemy and signs were dropped to be replaced with rocks and eventually, Molotov cocktails.
Stimulated by the conflict, the stock market rose and regained nearly all it had lost in the aftermath of the initial announcement of world sterility. For most of the month of January, Jack was blissfully forgotten.
“Gin!” I declared, laying down my cards and taking another sip of my third martini.
“Vodka,” Jack laughed as he recorded the points and drank from his own glass.
“It’s been quiet,” I said. “Too quiet. When was the last riot?”
“Not sure. I think it was a week ago. Wasn’t that Martin Luther King Day?” Jack responded.
“Yes. That’s it. Everyone wore blackface and sang ‘We are one in the spirit.’ No one countered them because it was a Federal Holiday and all the government employees were off work. It was the first peaceful demonstration since the first of the year. Maybe they all figured they’d won.”
“It was all pretty scary,” Jack said as I poured another round. “I don’t want to go back to Washington, Ramsey. I won’t go back.”
“Do you think the Colonel, the Smiths, and SORDID will let you escape?”
“I don’t know. But if anything should happen to me, please make sure Evelyn and Lily are safe. Will you do that?”
“Do you really think they’d abduct you and lock you up?”
“They did it before. You got caught up in it that time. I don’t want you and Elizabeth to get hurt. You’ve been too kind to us already.” A tear escaped Jack’s eye and we raised a glass to each other. I’m not usually a maudlin drunk, but found my eyes moist.
“Here’s to the good times,” I said.
“To times that are far out!” Jack rejoined.
I crawled off to bed and the arms of Dr. Smith. She giggled when I snuggled up next to her.
“Did you and Jack solve the problems of the world yet?” she asked.
“Scarcely started numberating… enumbering… counting them.”
“Well come and make me happy, then the world’s problems won’t mean so much.”
I was drunk, but even in my condition, the secondary effects of the virus let me rise to the occasion. I didn’t have the energy to move much, but Elizabeth took care of that. Eventually, we both fell into an exhausted stupor.
We sat at breakfast together wondering where everyone was. It was unusual to be the only ones up on a weekday. Mattie was always in the kitchen where she’d been perfecting her skills as a breakfast chef. Lily cried down the hall.
“Well, they’ll be out shortly. Nothing like waking up to a crying baby,” Elizabeth sighed. The baby kept crying. There was a thump in the Adams’ bedroom and the baby continued to cry. I was a step ahead of Elizabeth as we rushed down the hall. I threw open the door to Jack’s room and saw Evelyn on the floor. Tape was over her mouth and zip ties bound her hands behind her and her feet together.
“What happened?” I yelled as I rushed to the fallen mother. Elizabeth ran to comfort baby Lily, who was in bad need of a fresh diaper. I got the tape off Evelyn’s mouth and ran to the kitchen and back with a steak knife to work on her bonds.
“They took Jack!” Evelyn screamed. “They took him!”
“Who? Did you recognize anyone?”
“All in black,” she said as she took her daughter from Elizabeth and offered a nipple to the upset baby. “Ski masks. Gloves. They put a bag over Jack’s head and led him out while they tied me up.”
“Sounds familiar. Wait! You were tied up. What about Sheila and Mattie?” I ran to the room next door and saw the two women lying face to face with hands and feet zip tied. It looked like they were kissing but I decided they were trying to get the duct tape off each other’s mouth. I sawed through the bonds on their hands and feet and they removed the tape. Only then did I realize both women were naked. “Oh dear. Um… here… uh… do you have robes or something?”
“Just get out and find Jack!” Sheila snapped. It was no wonder she’d done so well as an escort. She was gorgeous. On the other hand, Mattie was damn fine looking with her nipples poking out against Sheila’s as she held the nurse.
“Right! I’ll get right on that.” I backed out the door and saw the two women move toward each other to kiss. “Well, I never expected that.” I ran to the kitchen where my cellphone lay on the table. “Lieutenant! Jack’s been kidnapped.” I disconnected and thumbed the number for the MIB, repeating the information. I looked out the front door at the peaceful street scene. Not a sign of violence or intrusion. There were no marks of forcible entry on the door. Having made the necessary notifications, I ran to the basement and grabbed my laptop, making a connection with Ed at the office.
Dateline Orlando: Unidentified commandos raided the home where Jack Adams has rested in seclusion since he was attacked two months ago. A party of six or more black-clad persons entered the house, bound the residents, and left with Adams bound and blindfolded.
Suspects include FBI, Homeland Security, US Military, the Special Office of Reproduction, Duplication, Insemination, and Defense (SORDID), the NIP, the NRP, protesters of all varieties, and several foreign governments, possibly all working together. No representative of any organization has yet commented on the event.
“Why weren’t you bound and gagged?” Colonel Smythe demanded when he had all residents of the Smith House in the living room. Secret Service and FBI agents were using dusting powder on every surface, knob, and fixture in the house. It would be a mess to clean up.
“Jack and I played gin until nearly one this morning and had a few drinks. Quite a few. When I got to bed, I just passed out. I was too far gone to hear or do anything.”
“And Dr. Smith?” Mr. Smith MIB demanded.
“I was kind of… on top of her.”
“And you claim you heard nothing?” Ms. Smith MIB asked.
“While we’re asking personal questions,” I broke in, “where were you and your 24-hour surveillance? You assured us that we were constantly watched and no one could get near.”
“We pulled the surveillance at Christmas when it became obvious that everyone knew where you were. I can’t believe it took until the first of February for this to happen,” Ms. Smith growled.
“You shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” Lieutenant Smith chimed in. “If this had been a military operation, we could have kept Adams safe.”
“I have an idea,” Elizabeth said. “Why don’t we all paint signs and stand outside to protest? We’d be just as near to getting Jack back.”
A panel van pulled up in front of the house and four men approached the house. I vaguely recognized the leader.
“Ramsey Smith, Matilda Baines, Sheila Meilleur,” snapped the man in the lead. “You’re fired.” Now I remembered. It was Foster Sporu, the SORDID Chief of Staff. Great. I didn’t want to be on his staff anyway. Mattie, of course, was heartbroken. It didn’t look like Sheila cared one way or another.
“Now where are the government computers and files in your possession?” Mattie wept openly as she led the men to our basement office.
“I’m sick!” Elizabeth groaned. She ran to the bathroom and began throwing up. I frowned at the inquisitors and followed to hold her hair back and comfort my wife. It was probably all this upset. I felt a bit queasy myself and had a moment of pity for Jack being bagged and made to ride some distance in the back of a vehicle.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
