Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

“You want me to walk through those trees in the middle of the night?”

“If you want to cross the border, that’s what you have to do. It shouldn’t take more than two hours. Just keep walking west.” Then he looked up at the sky. “You see that group of stars? Just keep walking toward it and you’ll be fine.”

“What am I supposed to do with my car?”

“Leave it. If you try to sell it, you’ll attract the police. If you get turned back the car will still be here. Now, my other five hundred.”

It might not be the bargain Hayfield wanted, but he gave him the cash and got out. Milo did the same. “Would you call a cab for me?” Milo asked.

It was about 1:30 a.m. before Horace started out. He didn’t like it; in fact, he was downright scared. He was especially afraid when he looked up for those stars and saw only the tops of the trees. There was no pathway and he was constantly tripping over loose branches, roots, and banging into limbs he didn’t see. He couldn’t be sure he didn’t get turned around. He remembered something about how one could tell direction in a forest by the sides of the tree that moss was growing on, but he couldn’t see the moss, and couldn’t remember what direction it grew on anyway.

It was now 3:30 a.m. and all he could see were more trees. He sat down and leaned against a pine tree, envisioning the forest going on forever. He imagined somebody finding his rotted body, still leaning against this tree, generations from now.

Did I sleep ? He looked at his watch. It was going on four o’clock. Got to keep moving . He got up, hoped he was going in the right direction, and started walking. After about twenty more minutes he came to a clearing, but there was a wire fence in his way. He started climbing the fence but then there was a shout. He stopped for a moment, wondering if it was his imagination or not. Then, he heard a distinct voice to his left. He heard footsteps. Somebody was running toward him. He started climbing again. Somehow, he imagined that freedom existed on the other side of that fence. The shouts grew louder. He was tired. Maybe that’s what caused his foot to slip on the fence. He tried again but he felt arms wrapping around his legs. He was pulled down suddenly and violently. The sharp edges of the top of the fence ripped into his left breast, making a gash as he was pulled into the clutches of a burly man.

With a Scottish brogue the man said, “Where do you think yer goin’ laddie? No one’s permitted on the other side of the fence.” He held his left arm in a locked position and began leading him to a second man, who grabbed hold of Horace’s other arm. They were held in locked position until they got to a golf cart. Horace was handcuffed to the cart and they drove down a pathway for several hundred feet. Then the path widened and they came to a cul-de-sac where more men and a police cruiser were standing by.

Horace was transferred to the cruiser and taken to jail, where he was then interrogated. Once more, Horace demanded a lawyer, but one could not get there before later that morning.

That afternoon, an attorney by the name of Nathan Phillips entered his cell. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hayfield.”

Phillips sat on the cot next to Hayfield, and Phillips told him he was in trouble. “The D.A. learned about your misadventure in California. Overnight you were identified as the same man who tried to enter the CSA illegally. They want to try you for espionage. It’s bogus, but the judges demonstrated in the past that they are going to hear such cases.”

“Jesus Christ, whatever happened to freedom in this country?”

“Folks say they still have it, but the law is the law. I have a duty to uphold it, even the parts I disagree with, such as this situation, and what you’re being charged with.”

I’m screwed ! thought Horace.

“I think I have a way out of this, however. I need a little more time to make a strong case. I need you to be patient for a few days. Whatever you do, don’t talk to the police. Even if they tell you that you can go straight home if you answer their questions, don’t believe them. Just wait a few days until I come for you. Even if they try and bait you into believing I won’t be coming back, don’t believe them.”

“They’d do that?”

“They can and have.”

For the next four days Horace Hayfield was confined to a holding cell at the precinct. He believed in Phillips—that he would come back—but each day felt like a lifetime. He was allowed out after two days to shower, but then taken back into his cell. He got two meals a day. They weren’t very satisfying, and he was hungry all the time. Finally, a guard came to his cell and let him out.

Horace was escorted to the duty officer, where Phillips was standing. He was smiling. “You’re a free man, Mr. Hayfield. We just have to have you sign a couple things.”

The duty officer gave him a bag with his personal things. “Sign here,” he said.

Then Phillips gave him another document that said he must not attempt to climb that fence again. He signed it.

Phillips led Hayfield outside. As they walked down the steps to a waiting cab, Phillips said, “We need to get you out of the country. Don’t say anything yet.”

In Phillips’s office, Horace sat down. “That spiel the other day about how most people have no problem with freedom was for the sake of open ears. People will listen to what any lawyer has to say. What I told you was bullshit. There is no freedom to say what you think in this country. People have disappeared after mouthing off about government.”

“What do you know about my situation?” Horace said. “You know somethin’. You know more than you’re tellin’ me.”

“You’re right, I do. I know about your summer camp for bad children. I know you used the brain probe to change their behavior. This was a secret government program. A man named Grifton invented it. He was given financial support by another man named Schmidt. The government let paramilitary groups in on it in exchange for their protection. When Dr. Schmidt and Dr. Grifton sold the machine to you everyone was pissed, but didn’t know what to do. They were willing to let things go until your patients began reliving their treatment. Then the shit started.

“They wanted Schmidt and Grifton to fix the problem, but Grifton suffered an accident that harmed his mind. He was the brains behind it. As more people started remembering, demands were put on the Congress to investigate. The Justice Department got involved—well, everything began unraveling.”

“They want me, right?”

“I think you know that. That’s why you’re so desperate to get across the border.”

“I got people suin’ me, and I figured sooner or later those government thugs would be after me as well,” Horace said.

“They were initially after Schmidt and Grifton. There’s an organization called NOGOV that is the de facto government in this country. The nominal government does what NOGOV wants. With everything concerning the Brain Probe Program coming undone NOGOV gave the order to cover up the whole program; deny its existence. Anyone who had first-hand knowledge of it was meant to disappear. Schmidt and Grifton knew this and tried to run. They were killed by mercenaries. More of them are on the run.”

“Including me.”

“Yes. There’s going to be a bounty on your head as soon as they find out you’re missing. They don’t know yet, which is why you were let out of jail. But they will soon be after you.”