The Myriad Resistance (20 page)

Danny told the whole story to Burt as I watched his expression shift from annoyance, to curiosity, then to excitement and finally utter horror.

“Oh, God … to think the poor kid … oh, Jesus,” was all Burt could manage.

“How the hell did it happen?” I asked.

“The flu,” Travis said as if he was a thousand miles away.

“The flu?” we repeated in unison.

“Yes, did you see the date on his headstone?” Travis said. “His date of death was right in the middle of the great flu pandemic between 1918 and 1920. It infected five-hundred-million people worldwide and killed about seventy-five-million of those. This outbreak wiped out about five percent of the world's population.”

“You figured out his cause of death by his headstone?” Burt asked. “How the hell do you know all that anyway?”

We all turned to Travis, a man I had not met until today. He sounded trustworthy.

“I'm a history teacher,” he said. “One of my students won the National History Day competition in D.C. last year. They did an incredible paper on the social and economic effects the pandemic inflicted on the world and the United States.”

“That's all well and good,” Burt said. “It still doesn't explain how you know this boy's cause of death … for all anyone knows he could have been kicked in the head by a horse.”

“It's the casket, isn't it?” I asked.

I read a little about the pandemic after the swine flu scare a few years back. I remembered something about iron caskets.

“Yes, they were expensive so only the wealthier families could afford them,” Travis said. “The caskets were believed to be the next-best thing to prevent spread of the disease from the dead. Cremation was the preferred method.”

“Maybe the Henrys were a wealthy family who lived nearby,” Taylor said. “After you guys left we found an old sign that read ‘Henry Cemetery'. We also found the rotten remains of a house a short distance away.”

“His last name was Henry, wasn't it?” I asked, recalling the engraving on the headstone.

“Yep, Chester Henry,” Travis said. “Born May 9, 1906, departed this life August 16, 1918. He …” Danny suddenly cut him off.

“Does it matter
how
the boy died?” Danny snapped. “The question is how the hell was he trapped in there. We know the soul leaves the body immediately upon death, we have seen it a hundred times over the last several weeks. His soul should be long gone before he was stuck in that Godforsaken metal box and buried.”

“Well …” Travis began. “I think the first thing we must assume is that iron had the same effect on Impals before the storm as it does now. There is only one plausible explanation.”

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as the realization sank in. Several pale faces surrounded me, stricken at the revelation.

“Oh Jesus …” Burt croaked. “The poor kid was buried alive.”

Travis wiped a tear from his eye. “Medical technology was not as advanced back then. It was not uncommon for someone to be pronounced dead when they were still alive, undetectable to the ear of the physician. It …” he shuddered as if he was going to be sick. Travis remained silent for the rest of our meeting.

We tried to focus on our upcoming mission; however, none of us was in a talkative mood. We agreed to reconvene the following evening at Danny's cabin.

I left the meeting feeling numb, unable to process all the emotions swirling about inside me. I felt terrible for little Chester. The poor child had endured so much over the last century; I didn't know how he would ever be all right again. One thing I heard about Impals was that, prior to the storm, the passage of time was different for them. A hundred years might have seemed like a couple of days from Chester's perspective.

Still, I couldn't imagine spending two days in those horrific conditions. I wondered how many other premature burials now lay trapped and screaming for help around the world. I reasoned this away by the justification that it would only be those in iron caskets, which were rare, and they had to be buried while still alive. Given that combination, the odds decreased dramatically. Yet I knew the Law of Averages suggested there has to be a few out there.

I was also excited and a little scared about our upcoming mission, hoping Murphy's Law would decide to take the night off for once. What can go wrong will go wrong seemed to be the story of my life as of late. It was the story of all our lives.

I was also angry. The sudden arrival by Chester strengthened my resolve that we were doing the right thing. My father says Impals are demons here to deceive us. What would a demon be doing in a situation like that? Buried alive seemed more like a torment dealt by evil than one endured by it.

I didn't think I could hate my father any worse than I did the day I found out he was using the Tesla Gates. He succeeded at proving me wrong on almost a daily basis. This anger and hatred always led to an overwhelming feeling of sadness; I had lost my father. I pushed it deep down, in the darkest recesses of my soul. Even there, the sorrow still managed to reach out and pierce my heart. I was struck by the overwhelming desire to be with my family, so I headed for our cabin.

CHAPTER 18

WINDER'S REPORT

“Recovery begins from the darkest moment.”

~John Major

I decided I would not discuss little Chester Henry with my family, not even Barbara. The topic would be too upsetting to everyone and would serve no purpose. As far as they were concerned, Chester was just another Impal refugee in the mine. I didn't keep much from Barbara, but this was something she simply didn't need to know. I would live with the horrible images myself.

Barbara and Abbs sat on our cot playing a game of Gin Rummy. Steff sat on the other side of the room flipping through the pages of some teenage girl magazine. She at least glanced up and gave me a half smile; I felt that was more progress. Barbara and Abbs invited me over to join them in their game; I happily agreed.

After several rounds of getting my tail kicked, we went to the mess hall for dinner. Steff refused to eat her fried Spam and only ate a few crackers with peanut butter. I choked my Spam down. I hoped this would be over soon and we could start living again with some degree of normality. A real shower, air-conditioning and trips to Martian Burgers were luxuries I would never take for granted again. At present, it seemed like an empty hope, yet it was something to hold on to all the same.

When we returned to the cabin, I added another hope to my list, one of privacy. Barbara and I had not been alone in weeks and as we lay there petting each other in the dark, the hope burned like fire. We kissed and caressed in silence. Nevertheless, in a fifteen-by-fifteen-foot room with our daughters a few feet away, it was all we dared. Besides, maneuvering on two cots pushed together was not an easy task.

“When is this happening?” Barbara whispered as I stroked her hair.

“Day after tomorrow,” I said.

“Can you talk about it?” she asked.

“Not now, after,” I promised.

“I want to come with you,” she said, moving her lips inches from my ear.

“You can't … you have to stay here with the girls. They need you to watch over them.”

She sighed, knowing I was right and it was too dangerous to take the girls with us. Besides, space was at a premium and we couldn't afford to take any more than we must, not if we wanted to get all the Impals out in one trip.

“How long will it take?” she asked, her mind full of worry.

“I'm not sure; it's at least a two-hour drive where we are going.”

“You can't tell me where?”

“Not now, later.” I said.

The truth is, I only knew the general area where we were going. That is to say, somewhere near the Atlantic Ocean.

“Do you know what Steff asked me tonight?” she asked in a cheerful voice, which was very refreshing considering she was talking about Steff.

“What?”

“She wanted to know how a payphone works, of all things.”

I gave a small chuckle, and then explained how we saw the man on the payphone the afternoon of our Martian Burgers trip.

“It's been so long since I used one I almost forgot how,” Barbara giggled. “Do you remember—”

“The first time I asked you out?” I interrupted.

She didn't say anything as she leaned over and kissed me on the lips. It was deep and passionate and after a few moments, we knew we had to stop. That was the hardest thing I have done lately, which is saying a lot.

We fell asleep with our arms draped over each other, our bodies as close as the joined cots would allow. Sleep was good and restful. Little did I know, it would be the last peaceful night I would enjoy for a while.

The next day was also one of the best I in a long time. We had now entered the month of October and Mother Nature decided to give us our first preview of fall. The highs would be in the mid-seventies and almost nonexistent humidity. I think everyone in camp lamented the absence of air-conditioning over the last few weeks.

I sat in an old wooden chair by the front door of our cabin soaking in the autumn like air. I admired the bizarre beauty of the lavender sky speckled with yellowish clouds. On a calm and peaceful day like this, it was hard to comprehend that the planet was still engulfed in a cosmic storm. This storm never felt like a storm to me, not in the traditional sense anyway. Actually, the ultraviolet nights, with lavender and yellow days were a nice change of pace to me.

There was nothing traditional about this storm. No matter how beautiful I deemed it to be, it was still a storm. The winds of hatred and prejudice blew harder than any hurricane ever has, and the rain of tyranny was as oppressive as any monsoon. Fear struck without discrimination in the hearts of everyone like lightning. Traditional or not, we had a storm all the same.

The news as of late was slanted towards social and political objectives. Very little, if anything, was mentioned about the storm anymore. I guess why would you mention something if it is old news? In a news cycle, two months is ancient. Besides, if the government didn't want it reported, it was not going to be reported.

I sat absent-minded, staring at a large yellow cloud as it drifted by through the branches overhead. In a strange way, it reminded me of a horse with a tail way too long for its body. Soon cloud gazing became the furthest thing from my mind. I started to wonder again about the composition and origins of the storm. I guess like with everything in life, when we get used to something it loses its mystery. Its distinctiveness becomes routine and blasé. While I had not lost sight of the storm's side effects, the Impals, I was as guilty as the rest of the world of forgetting about the storm itself.

Have scientists discovered the origins, the composition, the long-term benefits or liabilities? Did anyone know the who, what, when, where and how? If and when this storm is going to end? As I pondered this, a pungent odor hit my nose. Five years ago, I might not have even noticed this smell. The smell of cigarette smoke reminded me of a time when my resolve was as tainted as my yellowed teeth and fingers. The irony was it made me want one again.

I searched for the source of the smell and spotted Dr. Winder standing a short distance down the hill. He leaned against a tree with a cigarette between his fingers, staring out over the shimmering surface of the lake. The cool morning breeze wisped the smoke on a direct path to our front door. I got up and made a wide arc around the path of the smoke as I descended the hill to talk to the doctor. It dawned on me that the last time I saw him; he was frozen with shock in the back of the presidential limo.

“Good morning, doctor,” I said as I emerged from behind a pine tree to his left.

He jumped as if he received a shock. For a moment, it seemed as if the poor man would stumble into the lake. As I was about to move to grab him, he regained his balance by grasping a low hanging limb. The cigarette dropped into a pile of pine needles and he quickly kicked the smoldering stack into the water.

“Jesus, major … you scared the hell out of me,” he said, embarrassed.

I almost wouldn't have recognized him if it weren't for his distinctive eyeglasses. He traded in his suit for blue jeans and a T-shirt, which I could only assume came from Danny since the two men are about the same size.

“Sorry, doctor,” I said. “How are you this morning?”

“I guess I'm doing as well as expected. I can't imagine how difficult this would be if I had any family out there now.”

“No one?” I asked.

Winder shook his head.

“Nope, grandparents died when I was young, parents were killed in a plane crash when I was in junior high. I'm divorced and I couldn't give two shits for what my ex-wife is doing. Thank God we didn't have any children.”

“Did …?” I began, but Dr. Winder anticipated my question.

“Did my grandparents or parents hang around? Not that I know of and God, I sure hope they didn't.”

I tried to think of a way to get our conversation back on positive footing. Dr. Winder beat me to it. “How's your family?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said, nodding back towards the cabin. “All sleeping in this morning.”

He smiled and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket. Sliding one out of the pack, he offered it to me. Out of old habit, I almost accepted. For a moment there, I wanted to accept. I recalled the pleasurable experience of enjoying a cigarette on a cool fall morning. Besides, hadn't Barbara lit up a time or two since in camp? I never mentioned it to her because we had way too many other things to worry about than my wife falling back into a nasty habit. So what would it hurt if I lit one up? I very well might have accepted his offer, considering the stress I was feeling. However, my hand was stayed as one of my stressors made an appearance.

We both glanced up at the sound of the cabin door slamming. Steff stood on the front porch stretching and yawning. Her eyes fell on me and my heart lifted as she gave me a little wave. It seemed obligatory. Of course, a few days ago, I wouldn't have even warranted an acknowledgement. Her eyes then narrowed into pure contempt as Dr. Winder fired up another cigarette. She stormed off through the woods in the direction of the women's latrine. My stomach knotted with a feeling of guilt even though I knew I had no reason to feel guilty. I was sure to get an earful when Steff reported me to Barbara and Abbs. So, I figured it would be best to nip it in the bud and tell her what happened as soon as she got up.