The Myriad Resistance (19 page)

Peering over the fence, I could see a number of objects. On first glance, I thought they were large rocks. After further scrutiny, I saw names and dates etched on their weathered surfaces. They were gravestones. As the rectangular boundary of iron fencing took form, I could see at least twelve gravestones in this small overgrown area no larger than an economy sized house.

“Shhhh … listen!” Taylor whispered.

We all froze like statues, not daring to breathe as we listened. At first, there was nothing other than the sound of the breeze blowing through the trees, the distant sound of an airplane and the faint rumble of traffic on the highway a good distance away. Then, as we were about to start breathing again … we heard it.

A faint muffled noise could be heard coming from somewhere inside the overgrown cemetery. It was indiscernible as a voice at first, more like a dull rumbling in the ground. As we listened, our eyes widened in unison. I could barely make out a faint pleading for help. It sounded as if it was coming from a hazy dream. My heart sank when I recognized it as the diminished cry of a terrified child.

“Jesus!” Danny said as he vaulted over the fence, and then cursed as he found himself entangled in a web of briars. He used his shovel to hack himself loose then began to crawl on his hands and knees, listening for the source of the small voice.

Taylor and Travis climbed over a deadfall of branches as they went to the other side of the small plot. I was about to climb in behind Danny when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. With one leg draped over the small fence, I slowly turned my head toward the movement. I knew what it was even before my eyes confirmed it. A very large snake was making its way through the undergrowth of the cemetery, slithering on a direct path to me.

Every hair on my body stood up like hackles, my breathing became slow and shallow. My heart beat against my ribs like a caged bird when I saw the distinctive markings on the serpent. The triangular head and the distinguishing feature on the end of its tail left no doubt. It was a timber rattlesnake.

My voice came out in a hoarse rasp.

“Danny, don't move!”

He wasn't in any immediate danger. He was several feet away and the snake was moving towards me. Nevertheless, it seemed the right thing to say at the moment.

Danny turned and saw the movement in the brush. Before he could get up, I brought my shovel down hard behind the snake's head, severing it from the rest of its slimy body. My skin crawled as I watched its jaws snapping and its body twisting like a demonic worm. I brought my leg down and looked around, searching for more unwanted visitors.

Danny stood up quickly and turned to Taylor and Travis. They stood paralyzed with bewildered expressions.

“Everyone, get your shovels out and let's clear this place!” he ordered. “I don't need anybody getting bitten, especially now that the doctor has gone home.”

Twenty minutes later, the graveyard was clear. It could still use a good once-over by a weed eater, but at least we were certain it was free of any more snakes.

Taylor sat down in front of a small tombstone to rest when a moment later he jumped to his feet. “It's here, they're right here!” he said, pointing at the ground in front of the headstone. “I can feel the vibration!”

Chester Henry, born May 9, 1906, departed this life August 16, 1918.

As we stared at the small forgotten gravestone, reality shook us with a vengeance when we heard a voice calling from beneath.

“Help me! Please help me!”

Like a call to arms, we all started to dig at a separate corner of where a grave should be. It was slow going, hacking through a number of roots. After a lot of combined effort, we uncovered a coffin sized metallic box. This casket wasn't made of just any metal, it was made of iron.

Danny and I dropped down in the hole and began to work feverishly with the blades of our shovels to pry the lid open. Lucky for us, the casket was in the ground for a century. The iron hinges were eaten through by rust, making them easy to crack. A few moments later, we popped the crumbling lid up and then fell back in horror at what we saw.

CHAPTER 17

CHESTER HENRY

“Buried alive here inside a nightmare, living a life where you're gone. There is no light here, It will be light-years until my mind's clear.”

~Jhene Aiko

I don't know what we expected to find. In my mind, it was not this. Perhaps a person lost in a collapsed hillside cave. Maybe even something as farfetched as some kind of hidden electronic device. What I saw horrified and shocked me. Considering the circumstances in the world, I guess I should have expected anything.

An Impal lay in the corroded iron box. His panic and terror ridden face was from a nightmare. The worst was his appearance. His ghastly manifestation froze my soul. He was a young boy and, assuming this was indeed his gravestone, he was only twelve years old when he died. The boy wore typical clothing of his time, brown trousers, blue shirt and a nice pair of Nettleton shoes. As normal as his appearance seemed, what lay beneath the surface of his luminescent ‘skin' was beyond frightening. The poor child's skeleton was visible. It made him appear like a demonic apparition with four arms. Two bony hands rested over his breastbone and two luminescent hands lay frozen at his sides. His skull grinned from beneath his luminescent face. I reached down to help him out, but he recoiled from my extended arm as if it was a loaded gun.

Danny spoke in a soothing, fatherly tone, “It's all right son. You're safe now. Let us help you.”

The boy's eyes darted to each of us. He behaved like a wild animal trying to determine who posed the greatest threat.

After several moments of long silence, the poor boy finally spoke.

“Help me,” he muttered in a pitiful whimper. His cry was even more disturbing now that hundreds of pounds of dirt and an iron lid did not muffle it.

“We will, son,” Danny said, sitting down on the edge of the grave. “We'll all help you.”

Danny glanced up at the rest of us as if soliciting backup for his statement. We all obliged and took a less threatening posture by sitting at the edge of the grave.

“Can you sit up?” Danny asked in a soft voice.

The boy frowned. His face contorted as he considered if sitting was a possibility. After several moments, he managed enough determination to attempt it. As he slowly rose, the skeletal features dissipated until they were all gone, except from the waist down. The waist up remains were now visible, resting behind him, unmoved in the hundred years since laid to rest.

I stuck out my hand since I was sitting right in front of him. He reached out and took it with a little hesitation. I tried hard to seem reassuring even as I felt the frigid cold of his touch. As I started to pull him forward, his hand slipped through mine and he fell back into the casket. The boy gave me an untrusting frown as if I just played some cruel prank on him.

“It's okay, son. Focus on grasping my hand. It'll be all right. I'll do the rest,” Danny said stretching his arm out to the boy.

The boy glanced at me, then turned to Danny, who seemed to have developed a real rapport with the kid. He stretched out his hand and grasped Danny's arm. After a few moments of focusing on his grip, he began to pull himself up. He took a seat by Danny with his back turned to the open grave.

The boy's eyes darted about with a wild vacancy. He seemed to be trying to take in as much of the scenery as possible. For a moment there, I was sure he was going to get up and run away. Soon, his demeanor began to calm.

“Is that me?” he asked, giving a quick glance back over his shoulder at the grave.

“This is you,” Danny said taking his hand and patting him on top of the head. “This is what matters.”

“Why …” he began, and then broke into sobs as silvery tears rained off his cheeks.

Danny leaned down and whispered gently to the boy “Is your name Chester?”

Chester nodded as he continued to cry.

“Well Chester, why don't you come home with us and you can have a nice meal and meet some other kids your age. Aren't you hungry?”

Chester continued to weep as he looked up at Danny with bewilderment expression. “Yes,” he said. He
was
hungry and he didn't understand why. Nobody else understood it either. The Impal's desire for food was an accepted way of life.

We all got to our feet without a sound. Chester followed by grasping Danny's hand. He continued to stare at his feet while venting a century of frustrations and terror through his ethereal tears.

“Chester, will you wait right here for a minute? I need to step right over there and I will be right back,” Danny said.

Chester didn't want to let go until Danny whispered a few comforting words to him. He released his grip with a great deal of reluctance. As the boy stood with his back turned to us and sobbing into the palms of his hands, Danny huddled with us on the far side of the grave.

“Jesus, what …” Taylor began before Danny held up his hand for silence. There would be time for questions later.

“Taylor and Travis, I need you to rebury this poor kid once we get him out of here. Cecil, you come with me … I need your help to assimilate this child into the group. God only knows what this has done to him.”

Danny then gave a quick jerk of his head to indicate it was time to move out. I followed him back to Chester. As I passed by the open grave, I couldn't help taking a final peek inside. The iron casket was lined with some sort of red fabric, which was all gone now except for a few tattered shreds. There was nothing left of Chester outside of his skeleton and a couple of tufts of blonde hair on his head. His clothing was completely gone except for a few indiscernible pieces of fabric hanging from his rib cage. If he was buried in shoes, they were gone as well. Many times back in the day, they buried people without shoes because it was considered a terrible waste.

I immediately regretted my morbid curiosity as I turned my head away with a shudder. I knew the morbid image was going to be burned into my memory for the rest of my life. What made it worse was Chester existed there for almost a century. I could not imagine it. The poor kid was going to require a lot of attention.

We soon made it back to camp, thankful the return trip was downhill. We decided to approach from around the far side of the lake. It was a more direct route to the mine and avoided the mess hall along with most of the cabins. We didn't need any questions or distractions until we got our new resident accustomed to his surroundings.

Upon reaching the entrance to the mine, Danny motioned for me to go on inside. I pulled back the first tarp to slip inside and Danny sniffed the air. “Mmmmm, smells like it is dinner time!” he proclaimed as he patted Chester on the head. “Cecil, why don't you go on in and tell President Lincoln to prepare another seat at the table!”

Chester was dumbfounded. “President Lincoln?” he squeaked.

“Yep, and a whole lot of other folks I think you will like,” Danny said as he squatted down to be eye level with Chester.

Chester didn't look happy yet, although he seemed like he might be willing to entertain the idea of being happy.

I disappeared into the tent and soon found Lincoln and a few other Impals. I explained the situation and they all agreed to help. In less than five minutes, the word spread to every Impal in the mine. They began to rearrange the interior furnishings. Several tables and crates were lined up to form a very long table. The cots were lined up alongside like bench seats.

A group of nineteenth-century women broke out the food and placed it on the table. Unfortunately, the Impals' menu was not any better than ours. All they had was potted meat, crackers and a few loaves of bread. Lincoln prepared a seat of honor for Chester at the head of the table and everyone else took their seat on the cots. Seeing a group of Native Americans and Colonial people seated in such close proximity made me think of Thanksgiving. When I was satisfied that everything was complete, I went back out and brought Danny and Chester inside.

Chester's face lit up with wide-eyed astonishment when Lincoln walked over and introduced himself.

“Good evening, Chester,” he said. “Would you care to accompany me to dinner?”

The boy's mouth dropped open. It was as if a hundred years of torment and misery suddenly melted away. He almost floated to the table then took a seat with pride beside the former president.

He looked about with gleeful excitement as Mrs. Fiddler sat down on the other side of him. She gave me a knowing wink. I knew little Chester would be safe. Danny and I slipped back out through the tarp. I started to speak, but Danny cut me off. “Hold your questions for the meeting,” he said as we started out through the woods.

It was late afternoon and the canopy of trees made it seem as if it was almost dusk. I did think it was a bit odd for Danny to call a meeting right now. I guess our earlier one was interrupted. In addition, we now have something else to talk about, something both wondrous and disturbing. I was sure Chester was going to be our primary topic though.

Our dinner would not be served for another hour, so Danny said he would grab a private table in the mess hall if I would go and get Burt.

“Derek and Andrews should be patrolling near the road right now. I think Taylor and Travis will be back here any minute. Would you run over to Burt's cabin and get him?”

I set off through the woods and returned with Burt five minutes later. I found Taylor and Travis sitting at a small table in the corner furthest from the stove. The cook was already there frying up something that smelled like garlic and Spam. The instant we sat down, Burt exploded with questions.

“Okay, Cecil wouldn't tell me anything on the way over here … so where the hell did you guys go? What's this crap about somebody buried alive?”