Dictator "Adolf" Eric Cartman
Chapter 13: Here
"Hey guys, did you hear the news?" A young woman walked down the stairs and into the main area of the room quickly. Her voice held a mix of urgency and awe, which drew the others' attention as she took off her coat and set it on the back of the chair she walked towards.
"What?" one of the men turned away from his computer, his hands hanging limply from the armrests.
"You know that school where the Cartman Brats are?" she continued as she sat down in the chair and then rolled noisily across the tiled floor. The Cartman Brats was a term that all in the room were familiar with, and a term that they all used readily. They just had to be careful if they left the building.
"Duh," the man said on behalf of everyone in the room.
"Well, the headmistress—"
"Was in an accident," another beat her to the punch. This woman shrugged off her colleague's glare. "It just popped up."
"An accident?" a redheaded man now turned away from his own computer.
"Mhmm," the first woman affirmed.
"Says here," the second said, pointing at her screen, "that it happened on the way to the school this morning." She was reading the small caption that was under the video clip now loading on her screen.
Without saying another word, the redhead turned back to his own computer and minimized what he was working on. In full screen mode, the announcement hadn't popped up for him, but now with the program minimized, he could see it flashing orange on his screen. He clicked it open, the report flying up enlarged before his eyes so that he could see it, even as one of the others set it to come up on the projector so that everyone could watch it.
"I'm Blair Edwards, reporting from the intersection of Main and Right, where Headmistress Marsh's car was in a collision this morning. Police have since cleared away the wreckage, but it is still uncertain as to exactly what happened.
"Witnesses say that Miss Marsh's vehicle simply did not stop for the red light, colliding with the stopped car in front of it before both went into the intersection. Here, we have a clip from the intersection's surveillance camera. We warn that it may be shocking to some viewers."
The shot cut from the brunette man in the suit with the microphone to the intersection. They could see that the light changed to red and the cars had come to a halt while the others waited for their light to turn green. A collective gasp ran through the room as Shelly Marsh's car rammed into the back of the one in front of it and sent both skidding into traffic. As the rest of the accident played out before them, they fell into horrified silence.
"There were three fatalities in this incident, not including Miss Marsh or her driver. Both are currently in hospital in the intensive care unit. Police are not releasing any information about why the car didn't stop; alcohol, vandalism and even intentional attempt to kill Miss Marsh have not been ruled out at this time.
"Blair Edwards—"
"You think it was an assassination attempt?" the first woman asked as the other closed the report.
"Could have been," a man shrugged, glancing over at the redhead to see his reaction.
Kyle Broflovski was still staring at his computer, but now he was bringing up the internet and going to work to find anything he could about what had happened. Already, there were tons of forums up with people talking about it and hoping the she would be all right. This wasn't substantial though, for anyone could say anything on forums. He needed reliable sources, none of which seemed to have any information for him.
The room had fallen into silence, the others watching him and listening to the sound of his fingers typing madly across the keyboard. They could tell he was getting frustrated.
Pushing away from the computer, Kyle ran both hands through his short hair. "Jesus Christ." He hadn't even been able to pull up any hospital documentation, which should have been easy enough. 'They're withholding all information…'
"We'll find out who did it," the man from before continued. "If it was one of us—"
"I don't think one of us would have done that, Steve," Kyle turned to face them now. "Without consulting the rest of us?"
"You never know," the first woman commented almost flippantly. "Someone could have gone rogue and is trying to do it on their own."
"Could even be another group entirely," another man piped up now. "I mean, we can't be the only ones. We've discussed this time and again. If another group did do this I wonder if we should try and get in touch with them."
"I don't know about that," Steve shrugged, "But whatever the case, we have to look into something like this. This is big. How do you think Cartman will react?" He was asking the question generally, but looked pointedly at Kyle. All of them knew well his connection to Cartman; that was something he had disclosed from the very beginning.
Kyle fell into silent thought for a moment. "He'll probably try to use it to his advantage somehow. A way to tighten up 'security'. Make the people even more afraid and things like that."
"Or get them all to rally against whoever it is that is going to be put to blame for this. To get them to stand as 'one nation'," the second woman mused aloud.
"Or that," Kyle nodded in agreement. "It's hard to say just what exactly goes through that man's head, but I know that it's not good. No matter how much he wants us to think it is."
"So what should we do?" the first woman asked as the group fell silent. "It's way too early to do anything drastic. We don't have much fire power."
"Kel's right," the other woman nodded.
Not all of their group was there at the moment, it was too risky to gather all at the same time unless absolutely necessary, but even with the numbers they did have, it wouldn't be enough to take on a nation of Cartman followers.
"We'll just have to keep doing what we've been doing. Gather all the information we can on this," Steve shook his head slightly as if showing that he was at a loss for what else to do.
As Kyle sat in silence, a thought came to him. Without really realizing, his thoughts came pouring out of his mouth.
"I could call Stan…"
"What?" They all turned to him.
"He would know what's happening with his sister," Kyle continued, only having half-heard them.
"Don't be stupid, Kyle!" Kelly—Kel—said immediately. "I know that guy's your best friend or whatever, but it's way too risky!"
"Kyle might be onto something," the third man spoke again.
"What? Are you both insane?" the other woman snapped.
"I'm not saying that he should contact his friend," he said slowly, making sure Kyle was paying attention, which he seemed to be. "I was just thinking that maybe Cartman will use this to try and draw him out. I mean, maybe he's not worried about you being a threat, but if he is then he might try to catch you with this incident. It clearly hits close to home."
Kyle nodded in agreement, falling into thought again. He would have to be really careful how he acted in this situation, knew he would have to be careful all along. Essentially, he'd fallen off the grid. He'd abandoned him home, his job, his friends; he'd cut off contact with everyone, including his parents. There were missing persons reports out there for him, which he'd so far been able to evade. If he tried to make contact with anyone, even Stan, it might be just enough to give him away to Cartman.
Because of course that was who he was really hiding from. When Cartman had set up that re-education process, he knew that he would be a prime target. Kyle knew he couldn't get a passport now, which one needed to travel. He'd barely made it away as it was, retreating to this place and finding these others that shared his stand against Cartman.
'If I try to contact anyone,' he counseled himself, 'I'll not only be risking myself, but all these people, too.' He glanced up at them, as if to make sure that they were really there. They'd gone back to discussing something, but seemed to be keeping a close eye on him. Watching them, he figured they were trying to set up ways to get information on the accident. 'I can't contact anyone.'
The thought made him a little lonely, even considering those around him. They were nice enough people and while they were growing to be friends, he felt a sense of loss towards the friends he already did have. Would he ever see them, or his family, again?
"Hey, Kyle," the third man, his name was Bart, snapped him out of his reverie. He was now standing in front of the redhead. "How's the work coming?"
Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Kyle turned the chair around with a spin and invited the other man to look at the computer screen as he pulled up the program again.
"It's getting there. There are just a few things that I can't figure out. See this part here?" he pointed to the left side of the screen.
"Mhmm," Bart nodded, one hand on the back of the chair as he leaned forward.
"I'm having trouble duplicating it here," he pointed now to the right side of the screen.
On the left side was an enlarged image of what appeared to be a code. On the right was an almost identical code; for the most part it was, but there were a few areas that were off.
"Once I've got those figured out, we should be good," Kyle glanced up at him, seeing the man shake his head. "What?"
"I don't even know how you got that close, man," Bart stood straight now. "I've been in computers for years, but this kind of stuff amazes me."
Kyle only grinned.
"Well, when you crack it, just bring it on over, 'cause we think we got the chip figured out now. We're going to double check it, but it looks identical," Bart told him.
"That's because it is identical," Kelly came over and sat on the edge of the table where Kyle had his computer set up. "I keep telling them that, but they don't believe me."
"I don't think it's a matter of them not believing you," Kyle said, "but a matter of making sure. We don't want to send someone in there if we're not positive that it's all identical."
"Exactly," Bart said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "The last thing we need is for one of our guys to get nabbed at the border."
What they were working on were passports; counterfeit passports that could pass off as the real thing without anyone so much as blinking an eye in question. The only reason they were even able to manage this was because the other woman, Joanne, had a passport. A legit one. She'd gotten it when they first came out, when she still believed in Cartman. She had yet to share with them just what had caused her change of heart, but they were trusting her for now.
With her passport, they were able to examine it to determine just what it was that made every other counterfeit identifiable. They'd gotten their hands on some counterfeits before and examined them closely as well. The barcodes looked good, the print was fine, the paper and binding even seemed identical. It wasn't until they got their hands on a real passport that they were able to dissect it.
It was actually Kelly that had found it. Within the cover she'd found a tiny microchip, something that no one would notice and that could be easily overlooked. That was because it was so paper thin that it couldn't be felt by just touching the cover. There was no bulge that gave it away.
She had found it as she was examining in minute detail and with extreme delicacy; they had opted that the only way they would find out what was different was to literally pull it apart if they had to. Indeed, it had taken doing just that to find it.
This microchip, they wagered, had some sort of information on it that proved it to be legitimate to Cartman. Scanners would detect it and if it passed with the computers, then the passport holder was home-free. If not, well, the consequences were evident.
So what they'd needed to do was figure out just what it was on that chip that passed the scanners. What they'd found was this code and while it looked easy enough, they quickly found that duplicating it wasn't going to be. There seemed to be a certain pattern of code they needed that would make it all fall into place. At least, that was the theory that Kyle had. What it could be, he wasn't sure. He'd come close a few times, sometimes even closer than he currently was, but there was just one missing thing he felt. Something that would make all the code fall into place.
"You'll get it," Kelly said, looking at the screen now herself before throwing a grin his way. "I have faith in you."
"Thanks," he said as he turned his attention back to the screen. He shrunk the images so that he could see pretty much all the code again and went to work on it again.
Kelly stared at him a moment prior to looking at Bart. "Now come on," she jumped off the table. "I'll show you myself. The thing is friggen perfect!"
"Yeah, yeah."
As they walked over to the other side of the room where Steve and Joanne were, Kyle paused a moment, thinking again of the accident. He couldn't help but wonder how the Marshes were taking it. He couldn't help but wonder if Shelly was going to pull through. Since he couldn't find out how severe her injuries were, he didn't know if she was on the brink of death or if everything was going to be fine.
He cringed slightly at the thought that his best friend might be trying to contact him, looking for some sort of advice or just someone to talk to. But he couldn't risk it. Not yet.
'Sorry, Stan.'
xxxxxxx
Stan looked over in the corner where his mother sat in a chair, pretending to read a book. He saw her turn a page once maybe every ten minutes, if that. He didn't blame her though, knowing that she couldn't take her mind off of the same thing that he couldn't take his mind off of. And that was the woman in the bed, hooked up to the beeping machines and appearing to be only asleep. She'd been unconscious since the accident though, so sleep likely wasn't the state that she was in.
Randy paced around the room, staring at the floor tiles as he did, though every once in a while glancing up at his daughter, as if he'd heard some stirring. Even with his bad hearing, he seemed to suddenly be able to detect the quietest noises. Each time his hopeful gaze would fall to disappointment and he would start his pacing again. Sharon didn't even tell him to stop, as she might have normally done. Stan wondered if his mother even noticed this pacing at all.
He was sitting in a chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees and his hands laced in front of his mouth as he hunched over. His focus flitted around the room, but always returned to Shelly as she lay under the covers in that bed. Occasionally, he would reach out and grasp her hand in hopes that it might miraculously awaken her, like in the movies, but so far it had done nothing. No miraculous, slow opening eyes to greet him—ones that would look around curiously and be followed by a voice that would innocently ask what happened.
A silent scoff was issued, knowing that even if she asked he would have no answer to give other than that her driver hadn't stopped at a red light and had nearly killed her. That was three days ago now and still no one seemed to have any answers for him.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye to the doorway, where Cartman had stepped in on the first day of her being in the hospital. He'd offered his condolences and seemed sincere enough in them. He also promised to make sure that the culprit was caught and dealt with. This attack, as he called it, would not go unpunished. To Stan it had come across that Cartman had some idea as to what was going on, but he wasn't about to share it.
This frustrated him and he was also unsettled by the cold air that felt like it entered the room as Cartman came in. At the time he brushed it off as just being grief. He was looking for someone to blame, even the president of the United States of America, despite how convinced he was that Cartman had changed for the better.
Now he couldn't help but wonder if he had though. It didn't really make much sense when he thought of the possibility that Cartman would try to kill off his own head of the schooling board, unless Shelly had done something, which he was certain that his sister had not. She adored that man; would do anything for him. That had become evident. Was this a plan between the two of them then?
Stan sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. This sigh caused both his parents to look over, probably in hopes that it had been their daughter that had made that sound. When she saw that it was Stan that had sighed, Sharon went back to pretending to read her book.
"Why don't you go get something to eat or something, Stan?" Randy tried, his voice weary, but he made an effort to hide it. He walked over to where his son sat and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You've done nothing but sit here."
That was the truth, though the same could be said for his mother. And he could easily say that all his father had done was pace around the room each day. He nodded wordlessly, however, just to appease him and he stood, stretching his limbs. He looked to each of them and was about to offer to bring them back some coffee or something, but saw that his mother's tea still sat untouched on the windowsill beside her and his father only shook his head.
He headed out of the white hospital room into the white hallways, where guards, appointed by Cartman, of course, stood by the doors. They nodded at him after a quick glance and let him pass, probably making a mental note to let him back in when he came back.
This floor was silent. Completely so, besides the beeping machines in Shelly's room and the occasional sound from a room somewhere down the hall. Cartman had taken over the whole floor to ensure Shelly's safety as she recovered. Even her driver was on a different floor, though he was guarded too, having several police officers there, ready for him to become conscious again. He'd woken up once already, but wasn't coherent enough to answer any questions that the authorities wanted to ask.
Stan headed to the elevator, where even more guards were. Again, these glanced at him and nodded before even pressing the button for him to head down. The doors dinged open and Stan stepped inside in silence, watching the backs of the guards' heads as the doors shut and the elevator began to descend after his pushing the button.
In the elevator, he flipped open his phone, checking for any missed calls and messages. He'd already gotten a call from several South Park residents, offering well wishes for Shelly. To his surprise, even Mr. Garrison had given them a call. At first he'd wondered just where all these people got his cell phone number, but then he figured that Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski had probably sent it their way. More like Sheila would have.
Currently all that came up on the small screen was his background picture and the regular stuff. No missed calls and no text messages. A sense of disappointment filled him.
'You know he won't call,' Stan told himself again. 'Whatever he's hiding from, he has to keep hiding.'
As the doors dinged open again, he placed his phone back in the pocket of his jeans and headed for the coffee shop.