The Annihilation of Foreverland

the cart and they started in the direction of the Mansion.
    Danny went to the front door but it was locked. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if he got inside. He just figured it was time to talk with someone in charge.
    He had gone to Reed’s room earlier that day. He began to open the door—
    “Son!” Mr. Smith shouted. “Don’t go in there.”
    Danny backed away. Mr. Smith walk-limped as fast as he could. He was carrying a lunch bag.
    “I just wanted to say hello,” Danny said.
    “He’s in no shape to talk with anyone.” Mr. Smith huffed.
    “Yeah, I wonder why.”
    “Don’t take that tone, my boy. Have some respect when you talk—”
    “What did you do to him this time? Did you poke sticks in his ears or rip his fingernails off? Did you break him in half? What was it this time, Mr. Smith?”
    Zin pulled him back. “Danny Boy, come on. Let’s come back another time.”
    “No, he needs to answer me!”
    “Now, relax a second, son.” Mr. Smith stopped Danny with a hand on his chest. “None of the treatments are permanently damaging. He’ll recover just fine, he’s just a little uncomfortable. It’s for his own good. All of this is for his own good.”
    “Treatments? You’re torturing him, admit it!”
    “I’m going to call Mr. Jones.”
    “I don’t care if you call God.”
    Danny pushed open the door.
    The room was dark. Reed was curled up on the bed. He tried to roll over but convulsions shook him like he’d been struck by lightning.
    Mr. Smith reached inside his pocket and then Danny went down. Everything went black.
    He woke up on his bed with Mr. Jones.
    It took several moments to realize Mr. Smith hit his tracker. Mr. Smith. That wasn’t his real name.
    When Mr. Jones finally left, Danny snuck out. And now that he saw where the Director was going, he could find plenty of trouble.
    All the bastards will be together.

48
    Mr. Clark dropped the Director off at the front steps of the Mansion and took the golf cart through the slowly opening garage door, closing just as slowly behind him. The Director stroked the flat side of machete, contemplating the front doors and brass knobs. He despised going inside their fortress. It smelled old. Smelled like dying.
    The Mansion was built upon the remnants of the resort’s hotel. He had no input of how the original Investors would build it, only that it needed to keep the boys out. He envisioned a fence, but the Investors and their mountains of cash built a damn fortress that dissected the southern tip in gaudy, institutionalized fashion. There was enough square footage to hide a small village.
    He stopped at the top step and knocked with the backside of the blade. He stepped inside the foyer, patting the machete in his open palm for all the old codgers to see. He thought it might be over the top, but it wasn’t. They were on the veranda waiting for him. He saw them through the glass wall. Beyond their gray and balding heads, he could see the ocean.
    All forty of them were in attendance.
    They had pulled chairs onto the expansive veranda that jutted out from the back of the building. A few of them had canes leaning against their knees; others had oxygen tanks parked next to them. It looked like the Board of Directors for the AARP.
    A podium was set in the center. In front of that, facing the committee of Investors, was a lone chair. Ceiling fans blew down on the Director as he stepped out to greet them, still handling the machete.
    “You may shield your weapon, Director.” Mr. Black, a fat Arabian with a checkered headdress, stepped to the podium. “Threats are not necessary.”
    “What, this? It’s for brush cutting. You thought I was going to chop you up?”
    These old bastards, so used to their former lives as CEOs and business titans with their formal rules and procedures, had to have a freaking podium just to talk. Now the Director regretted not changing back into his flip-flops.
    “Please.” Mr. Black aimed his best glare at him; a glare that worked well with employees.
    The Director sheathed the blade with a flurry of sword-fighting moves. “I’m not sitting, gentlemen. This will be a short meeting. You’ve all signed contracts agreeing to the terms of the island and I have final authority of how to proceed. The fact I’m even here is a modern day miracle, so make it quick.”
    “I speak for everyone in attendance,” Mr. Black said. “And we have had enough.”
    The Director rolled his eyes.
    “We have sacrificed