The Eye of Madness (28 page)

At first he didn't comprehend. There were the woods and a huge downed pine tree. He couldn't see anything else until he took two steps to the side and looked from Musial's angle. A feeling of hope washed over him.

The tornado was devastating. It destroyed their cabin and generator, yet in the process it also cut a jagged path through the woods. It was not a short patch, it was a long swath stretching for miles. The path was not clear, the remains of various sized trees littered it, but it was a path and it led all the way down to the main road. Cecil could see the gray asphalt and yellow lines of the road.

“My God,” Cecil rasped. “We can leave, we can get out of here today.”

“I don't think so,” Musial said studying the path and then glancing at the SUV. “There's no way you can drive this down there. Walk yes, drive no.”

“By the time we could get everyone together and carry Burt and Barbara down there, it would be about dark,” Cecil observed.

“Exactly,” Musial said. “There is no choice other than to wait until morning and try then.”

“Are you crazy?” Cecil asked. “With no generator and no house, there won't be anyone left in the morning except for you.”

“Why, major,” Musial grinned. “You have everything you need.”

Musial picked up a piece of wood that used to be part of the front porch. He pointed it at Cecil. “You have wood,” he said and then pointed at the nearest gas can scattered in the yard. They had been tossed, but they were sealed and still filled to capacity. “You have gas,” he said and tossed the board toward the cabin. “And I am sure we can find a match or a lighter,” he paused again and said, “I'm sure you must have been a Boy Scout at one time, major. I am confident you can rub two sticks together.”

The horror and the genius of the plan hit Cecil. It scared the hell out of him and it also gave him new hope. It just might work.

“How many bonfires do you think we'll need?” Cecil asked.

“Several,” Musial said. “Let's get to it.”

CHAPTER 30

THE TIP

“I pledge allegiance to the flag …”

~American Pledge of Allegiance

The rain finally stopped pelting the window of the empty conference room where President Garrison sat. The storm spawned several tornadoes and his staff urged him to seek shelter in the bunker. He refused. God had brought him this far, God had shielded him from the dark. Did they really think something as trivial as a tornado could harm him? He sat and watched as the clouds began to dissipate. A few rays of sun shone through, penetrating the semi-darkness of the room. The shadows hissed in protest.

He took a moment from his deep meditation to offer a single taunt. “Take that you bastards,” he said.

Garrison had been thinking about the three reasons they came to the base. This was the biggest base, with the highest number of refugees, and he wasn't sure if he could trust all the officers. Once he whipped them in line, or out of the way, he was sure the enlisted men would follow. The question was, how could he do it without appearing to act without discrimination? More important, how could he do it without getting his hands dirty?

Garrison considered individual interviews. Of course, it might seem sinister if the officer never returned from the conference. Perhaps something benign … a social gathering? He could talk to them one on one in a less threatening environment. Yes, that might work. What would the occasion be? There didn't seem to be anything to celebrate at the moment. He glanced around the room and noticed a calendar hanging on the far wall. A wry smile creased his face as he compared his watch to the date on the calendar. Today was Halloween, the grinning jack-o-lantern by the date confirmed this.

He hated Halloween since he was a child. Halloween was Satan's holiday, or so his father said. It was a belief passed down for several generations, a belief fostered by their family church. Cecil had grown up deprived when it came to Halloween fun. There was no candy allowed at the Garrison household let alone, a jack-o-lantern.

Garrison shook his head in disgust. This was the opportunity presented to him and if it served God, he would do it. There would be an impromptu Halloween party tonight for the officers, but it would be strict dress formal … no masks. Garrison wanted to see their true countenance to determine who to invite to the
after
party. He walked to the window and peered out across the parade grounds at the large hanger in the distance housing the Tesla Gate. A vacant smile crossed his face when he heard a knock at the door.

He turned to see his staff enter, except for Sebastian. He had demanded to inspect the cyber security at the base. With a great deal of reluctance, they admitted him to the mainframe building. Of course, his true intentions were not for security, he could care less. His true intent was to search for any dissent on the base. He was good at what he did, and if there was anything there, he would find it.

“What's the plan, sir?” Avery asked as he took a seat near Garrison.

He turned and regarded the group now scattered around the conference table, with Robby at one end and Joan at the other. He stepped forward and sat in the middle so they were an equal distance from him. Avery pulled his chair up beside Garrison and took a seat.

“As much as it pains me to say it, we're going to have a Halloween party,” Garrison said with a grimace.

Robby had run out of cigars and he was now chewing on the tip of an ink pen. He began to tap it on the tabletop.

“A Halloween party? A costume party?” he asked.

“Now that would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?” Garrison said.

“You want to have a social gathering so you can get a read on who is with you and who is not,” Avery said.

Garrison nodded.

“How will you know?” Joan asked.

“Oh, I'll know,” Garrison said. “The Lord will guide me.”

“So what are you going to do with the dissenters?” she asked.

“That's where you come in,” Garrison grinned.

Joan scowled as comprehension dawned on her. “If you think I'm going to have sex with half the base, you're damn crazy! I may be good at my job, but I have my standards!”

Garrison let out a mirthful belly laugh, causing Avery and Robby to join him. They were not sure what they were laughing at.

“I'm not asking you to screw them to death!” Garrison guffawed. “Just make them think you are.”

“You want me to make all them think it at one time?” Joan asked, knitting her brow.

“You stupid bitch,” Robby said. “The president will let you know and you take them off one at a time.”

Joan's stare at Robby suggested she wanted to rip his head off and use his skull as a gravy boat.

“I told you … I'm not screwing everybody! You all can go to hell!” she hissed.

“You really are stupid!” Robby laughed. “You lure them away and then you kill them. Take them in a room and turn the lights off … the dark does the work for you, badda-bing, badda-bang!”

If Robby Johns had known they would be his last words, he might have thought of something more profound to say.

Before anyone could react, Joan was on her feet. In one fluid motion she grabbed a nearby flag stand with a brass flora lee on top. She hurled it like an enraged javelin thrower at Robby. The top twelve inches of the staff penetrated his throat with a sickening crunch. A second later, there was a whooshing noise like someone letting the air out of a water logged balloon. Gurgling persisted for a few moments as air wheezed in and out of the wound from Robby's dying lungs. His eyes stared at Joan before clouding over with the vacant stare of death. The American flag draped his chest and the table top in a gruesome patriotic bib.

“Damn …” Avery muttered.

Garrison stared for several moments with mixed surprise and satisfaction. He shook his head and addressed Joan. “Well, are you going to clean this mess up?” he said, half tongue in cheek and half serious.

“How the hell are you going to explain this?” Avery demanded. “This kind of takes our subtle approach and tosses it out the damned window!”

“He was worthless anyway,” Garrison muttered and got to his feet. He felt vulnerable remaining in a seated position with this raging woman nearby. Avery joined him by the window.

Joan huffed with rage, taking deep and rapid breaths. Her face twisted into a malicious scowl. Perhaps she was showing her true face, the face of her dark soul.

“Ms. Titsworth, I am glad you are on our side,” Garrison said, beaming.

She made a move in their direction causing Avery to jump, but Garrison remained cool. She brushed the hair out of her eyes with one swipe of her hand and exhaled. “That'll teach him to piss me off,” she said, her contorted features morphing back into a beautiful woman.

Garrison walked over and inspected the body. “He was definitely dead weight, but Avery is right … how the hell are we gonna explain this?”

“What do you care?” Joan retorted. “You're the damn president aren't you?”

“It's not that simple!” Avery said, doing his best to suppress a shout. “If one of the president's advisors was killed in a staff meeting, well I think we could lose a lot of credibility.”

“Why don't you just introduce the lot of them to the dark and be done with it?” Joan snapped.

“Because we can't kill everybody, we need some of them to run this base and this country!” Garrison said.

“Make the arrangements for the party,” Garrison said to Avery and then turned back to Joan.

“And you … you go get cleaned up and make yourself presentable for tonight,” he said waving his finger.

The rage had not left her, not by a long shot. She turned and stormed out the door, slamming it hard behind her.

“Is she going to be a problem?” Garrison asked.

Avery shook his head. “No, she's loyal but … damn,” he said grimacing at the bloody mess, which was Robby Johns.

“Yeah … damn,” Garrison agreed. He said a silent prayer seeking forgiveness for his profanity.

Garrison and Avery managed to drag Robby's body into a small storage closet. They had a difficult time getting the door closed with the flagstaff protruding from his throat. The flora lee was hooked too far into his spine to pull it out. Avery unhooked the flag from the pole and used it to mop up the blood now starting to dry on the table and the carpet. Fifteen minutes later the room seemed normal to the casual observer.

“Why didn't we just tell them he wandered into the dark and he did it to himself?” Avery asked.

“Because they know. They know we can pass through the dark. They saw us all come in together when it was pitch dark. Remember the damned storm?” Garrison said. He wanted to finish it with ‘idiot' or ‘dumb ass' but he refrained. He had to get control of his troops back and insulting his second in command wouldn't help.

Avery left to go about party arrangements while Garrison went back to the window. He smiled at the large hangar silhouetted in front of the woods. He intended to perform some experiments tonight.

Steff felt as if her heart would pound out of her chest. Carmella had changed. In her eyes, she was no longer the caring and loving soul she came to trust. She wasn't any better than her grandfather.

“Get away from me!” Steff howled as she darted across the room and took refuge behind a large plant.

Carmella followed and stopped a few feet away. She held out her hands, palms up, in supplication. “Sweetheart, will you please listen to me a moment,” she pleaded.

Steff wouldn't look at her, She sat behind the pot with her knees pulled close to her chest, rocking back and forth as if she was going to be sick. Carmella knew she may not want to listen, but she could still hear her. She was going to say what she needed to.

“Honey, believe me when I say that hurting anybody is the last thing I want,” she said. Carmella took special care not to mention anything about killing.

Steff continued to stare at the floor.

“I want to make sure nobody gets hurt, but sweetheart … I know you understand your grandfather has done some bad things. He has to be stopped.”

Steff's first impulse was the childish reaction of
‘don't you talk about my grandpa.'
Nevertheless, she didn't have enough faith in her grandfather's benevolence. Instead, she glanced at Carmella and then continued her brooding. She knew he did some terrible things, some horrific things. Perhaps she could dismiss it out of hand as vicious lies told by his enemies, but she couldn't. She had seen it first-hand.

He gunned down several people in cold blood outside the White House. She tried to forget it, tried to tell herself it was only a bad dream. Deep down, she knew it wasn't. But kill him … blow him up? She didn't think she could have any part of it no matter what he had done. Locking him away in prison didn't seem very appealing either, but she could live with it. At least he would be alive. Maybe he could be rehabilitated?

“You said you were going to blow him up,” Steff sobbed.

“No baby, I didn't say that. A man with a very big mouth said it. I think we need to arrest him and have a peaceful transition of power, the way it should be.”

“Who?” Steff asked.

“I don't know, we'll have to work it out. Most of the people in the legal line of succession are dead.”

“Did my grandpa do it?” Steff asked, her body trembling.

Carmella felt sick. She knew the answer to the question, yet she remained tactful for Steff's sake. “I don't know honey, I just don't know.”

Steff frowned and turned away, feeling ashamed. She could read the answer on Carmella's face.

They remained in silence for a couple of minutes until Steff jumped to her feet. Without a word to Carmella, she ran out of the room, down the hallway, and up the stairs.