The Myriad Resistance (16 page)

“I'm sorry, honey,” I said. “We can't risk using my cards. It's too dangerous.”

Danny, who paused to listen to our conversation, reached into his pocket and retrieved a wad of folded bills. He peeled a single bill out of the wad and held it out.

“Here's twenty bucks,” he said, “Take your daughter to lunch.”

“I-I can't,” I stammered.

“Why not?” Danny asked.

“Well it wouldn't be fair,” I said, pointing to the mess hall. The sounds of conversation and the smell of some type of fried meat wafted through the door.

“I won't tell if you won't,” Danny said as he pitched me the keys to one of the SUV's then turned and went inside.

I was left standing dumbfounded with twenty dollars and car keys in hand and an expectant twelve year old staring at me.

“Let's go!” she said and began to lope towards the SUV's parked across the road from the mess hall.

Like a man in a dazed stupor, I began to follow her.

It only took ten minutes to reach the small hamlet with a Martian Burgers resting at the crossroads of two state highways. Steff was silent the whole way there, staring out the window. I knew she was just ignoring me. I remembered when she was little, which was only a few years ago, we couldn't go anywhere without her talking my ear off. A tear slid down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away. Where had my little girl gone? I believed she was still there underneath all the preteen hormones and attitude. Underneath her anger at me, I believed she was still there. I needed to figure a way to coax her back out.

“Do you remember when we went to Disney World?” I asked as we descended the mountain into the small town.

She shrugged and kept her gaze fixed out the window. Our trip to Disney World was our best family trip ever, according to Steff, and I don't think I have ever seen her happier. When we got off the ride ‘It's a Small World', she turned and wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed as hard as she could.

“Thank you, Daddy for bringing us here! I love you!” she beamed.

I will always cherish that memory.

“Well … maybe we can go back again when this is all over,” I said.

This time it did not even warrant a shrug; she continued to stare out the window. After what seemed like an eternity she spoke, her back still too me, addressing my reflection in the glass.

“Can Grandpa come?” she asked.

I felt like something slimy slithered down my throat. I knew why she asked the question, she has always been a grandpa's girl. The absurdity of it caught me off guard. Even if this storm ended today and things went back to normal, my father and I would no longer have a relationship. In good conscience, I couldn't let Steff have one with him either.

“Maybe,” I lied.

I knew things would never go back to normal. How could they? Countless relationships were destroyed. Multitudes of bridges were burned. Not to mention mankind's beliefs had been turned on their head. No,
normal
would have a new definition when this storm was over,
if
it ever was.

We got to Martian Burgers without another word between us. As we pulled into the parking lot, it occurred to me that I did not told Barbara and Abbs where we were going. I'm sure Danny would tell them.

“Where were your mother and Abbs? Did they know we were leaving?”

She seemed a little more talkative once she smelled the aroma of grilling hamburgers drifting from the restaurant.

“In the ‘messy' hall having a fine meal of fried Spam, I'm sure,” she said with condescension dripping from her voice.

I felt my frustration with her rear its ugly head inside me. I managed to tamp it down before it escaped into a regrettable outburst. Barbara and Abbs should be with us as well and I felt very peeved that I brought little miss attitude instead. She didn't deserve any special treatment. I had to keep in mind that she was just a kid. She didn't understand everything.

We went inside, ordered, and then took a seat by the large front window. Painted on the glass was a green, comical alien with a long red lolling tongue. I kept having the strange sensation as if he was trying to lick me. I slid the coin change across the table to Steff, which was our custom whenever we ate out. It started out as candy money, until her monetary earmarks evolved as she got older. We have been doing it since she was three years old. I guess old habits are hard to break. She snatched the coins, like a cat snagging a mouse, and slid them into her pocket. There was almost a dollar there. I didn't think Danny would mind. Besides, I wasn't going to ask for them back, not when I was trying to get on Steff's good side.

It wasn't long before I found myself lost in a world of ecstasy. After I took the first bite of my Flying Saucer Burger, I realized this burger truly was Out of this World. As I relished my meal, a strange idea occurred to me.

The irony of the situation began to sink in as I studied our fellow diners, everything appeared, well … normal. Aside from the lavender sky and yellowish clouds outside, one would never know that anything else was going on in the world.

People talked and carried on like always. Traffic flowed by as normal. The trash man emptied a dumpster across the street. A group of bicyclists cruised by wearing their spandex bike pants and matching color coordinated helmets. Across the highway, a man mowed his lawn. A noisy bunch of peewee football players came in to celebrate a victory. A police car waited behind a large hedge next door with a speed trap. Life went on as usual.

How could this be? Did these people not realize what was happening in the world? The title of an Edgar Allan Poe poem floated into my mind,
A Dream Within a Dream.
Though it was not completely fitting, it was more like these people were living a dream within a nightmare.

I felt my appetite slipping away. I put down my burger, took a sip of my ‘Take Me to Your Liter' sized soft drink then pushed back from the table. I wanted to get up, to slap them awake, and to tell them to care. I knew it would be fruitless. People rarely pay attention to things they don't believe affect them. I couldn't convince them otherwise. My father has a lot bigger pulpit than I do, and he was being broadcast loud and clear over the restaurants radio speakers.

“The president is under the weather right now,” he told the female interviewer. “We expect him to be up and around very soon.”

“Not unless you accept Impals,” I mumbled.

“He has asked me to give the American people and the world the assurance that everything is under control. He will be present at the United Nations conference in a few weeks to discuss the growing concerns over the Impal issue,” my father said, venom dripping from his voice when he mentioned the word ‘Impal'.

“Why isn't the vice president making this announcement?” the interviewer asked.

“He has more pressing matters to attend to with our current situation and the president on the sidelines. He asked me to fill in.” Garrison said as smooth as a snake's tongue.

“There have been rumors, General Garrison, that the Impals here in our own country are not being rounded up for population issues. It has been said they are being exterminated instead. What do you say to those claims General?” the interviewer asked.

“Ridiculous!” he spat. “Why would we even consider something like that?”

“Well …” the interviewer began. “For one thing, you were very vocal a few days ago about the evil origins of Impals. Wouldn't that be reason enough?”

With the smooth finesse of a snake stalking it prey, he countered in the most innocent voice. He sounded so convincing that I damn near believed him. “Yes my dear, I did say it and I still believe it. Let me make one thing perfectly clear. This is the United States of America, the greatest and most humane country on the entire planet. We do not treat anyone in a cruel or unfair manner. Never have, never will.”

A group of blue-collar workers in the back erupted into misplaced patriotic applause for my father's statement. I don't think anyone else in the restaurant even noticed. One person did notice. I turned to see Steff listening with rapt attention, a huge smile on her face.

“Grandpa sounds good on the radio, doesn't he?” she said proudly.

I didn't say anything. I felt horrified, like my child discovered a piece of pornography that they proudly proclaimed as fine art. I knew I couldn't say anything against my father to her and if I did, it would make things worse between us. Instead, I continued to listen to the verbal sewage coming over the airwaves.

“You mentioned a couple of days ago that there was a unanimous declaration from the religious community, not only from Christian leaders, but Jewish and Islamic leaders as well. They are agreeing these things, these Impals, are in fact demons. Assuming they are correct, why wouldn't you exterminate them?” the host asked.

“1 Timothy 4:1,” my father said in a cold tone. “Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils.”

Before the interviewer could respond, he continued.

“And let's not forget Matthew 7:1,” he said. “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”

“Okay, so what do those verses have to do with getting rid of demons?” the interviewer asked.

General Garrison cleared his throat and spoke in a very condescending tone.

“That should be obvious, my dear. We should not judge these Impals. If we do, we will be lowering ourselves to their level, giving heed to these seducing spirits. God is the only one who can judge their fate.”

“So you are rounding them up for God?” the interviewer asked, returning a little of the condescension.

“Yes,” my father said without emotion, “and to protect the rights of our citizens.”

I swallowed hard. I appreciated the journalistic integrity of the interviewer. She was the first one I heard really challenge him. I hoped this wouldn't be her last broadcast. I also hoped this wouldn't be her last day before meeting a bullet and then the Tesla Gate.

The downright filthy hypocrisy and deceit made me feel a sudden wave of nausea. I excused myself to the restroom where I purged the first decent meal in days. After splashing cold water on my face, I returned to the table.

My heart stopped when I saw a police officer sitting at the table with Steff.

CHAPTER 15

CASUAL DETOUR

“Propaganda does not deceive people; it merely helps them to deceive themselves.”

~Eric Hoffer

“Are you Mr. Garrison?” the chubby, middle age officer asked as I approached the table.

I stopped in my tracks and swallowed hard. I glanced at Steff and saw she was sitting there staring out the window. I guessed there wasn't any point lying since Steff had probably already told him the truth.

“Yes … can I help you officer?” I asked, trying to remain as calm and collected as possible.

The police officer narrowed his eyes, and then reached in his pocket. He retrieved a small steno pad and an ink pen. He looked me up and down for a moment then looked back at Steff. She was still staring out the window.

“What happened?” he asked, pointing to his own nose.

It took a minute for the meaning of his question to sink in. Then it dawned on me that he was referring to my swollen and broken nose. A lie flew into my head so fast it surprised me. It then spilled out of my mouth without hesitation.

“Softball,” I said, touching the fingertips of both my hands together to demonstrate the dimensions of a softball. How could I have been so stupid to come out in public like this?

He grunted. “I used to play, wasn't too bad back in the day.”

Judging by the officer's physique, I couldn't imagine him participating in any sports besides donut ring toss.

“What can I do for you, officer?” I asked in as helpful a tone as I could muster.

“I was going through the restaurant talking to folks and then I came across your daughter. Do you know what she told me?”

I thought my heart would take flight out of my chest it was hammering so hard. I glanced out the window. My first impulse was to grab Steff and run. That idea vanished when I looked outside. Another police officer stood in the parking lot talking to an elderly couple. There was no way we could make it out of the parking lot and even if we could what would we do, lead a police chase back to the camp? We were screwed. All I could do was answer the officer's question.

“What?” I asked, watching Steff, hoping to glean some iota of what she told the police. She was unreadable.

“She told me,” he said, glancing back at Steff, “that you would be more than happy to make a donation to the Fraternal Order of Police association.”

“I what?” I said in a defensive tone, as if he just accused me of harboring Impals. I was sure I hadn't understood.

“Well, she said you would be willing to make a donation to the Fraternal Order of Police. It's a good cause, we're just asking folks to donate whatever they can afford.”

I stared at him for several moments before the truth sank in. Fumbling in my pocket, I pulled out the nine dollars in change left over from our lunch and handed it to him. He took it with an appreciative smile and counted the bills. When he finished, he produced a bank bag resting in his lap and inserted the cash. He set it down in front of him and picked up the pad and pen again.

“Would you like a receipt, Mr. Garrison?” he asked; ready to scribble on the pad.

“No, no … that's fine,” I said as my senses started to come back to me. “I wish I could do more. That's all the cash and I don't have my checkbook with me.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said shaking my hand, “it is very much appreciated.” The officer paused for a moment. “You folks aren't from around here, are you?” he said.