The Myriad Resistance (3 page)

I knew he was right; they
were
going to kill me. My aching and throbbing body was a testament to the fact. I decided not to give voice to my question of why they hadn't restrained the men and locked them in a cell. The world was not a cut-and-dried, black-and-white place anymore … not that it had ever been. I am sure he made the best decision possible under the circumstances.

“Where
are
we going?” I whispered again.

He glanced at the Impals before responding. “Let's just say that there are several in the military who feel the same way as we do. We are going to join up with a group not far from here,” he said in a serious tone.

“We're rebelling against the government?” I said, probably a little too loud because I heard my echo coming from the other end of the hall.

“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “Nothing as foolish as starting a war. However, we will fight and kill if necessary to reach our objective.”

“What is the objective?” I asked. It had been three weeks since Burt and I last talked. My trip to Arizona to visit my grandfather in an Impal relocation camp took most of my time as of late. Not to mention my inexplicable obsession with the plight of Thomas and Seth Pendleton.

“To save Impals,” he said in a tone suggesting it should be as obvious as the swollen nose on my face.

“How are we doing that exactly?” I asked. I honestly had no idea. I knew there to be several supporters in the military who are afraid to speak out.

“You'll see,” he said with a wink.

“What about my family?” I asked.

“Way ahead of you Cecil, way ahead of you,” he said patting my shoulder. I winced from the pain. I wasn't sure there was a safe place to touch on my body at the moment.

A couple of minutes later, Sam had the bodies of both men tucked away, so to speak. He mopped up the blood with spare bed sheets and hot water from the nearby restroom. I was both impressed and disturbed by his efficiency. It almost seemed as if he were a pro at this. He finally took the chain back from me and they pulled both Impals out of the cell and closed the cell door. The two-chained souls offered no resistance; the shock seemed to have them paralyzed. I still marveled at the ability of Impals to pass through almost anything, except iron. Iron was their Achilles heel.

“So what do we do with them?” Sam asked.

“You take Major Garrison to the truck and hide him in the back while I take these two to the tarmac,” Burt said.

I stopped in place, almost tripping over my own feet. Ice shot through my veins making me feel as cold as any Impal. For a moment, I thought I must have misunderstood Burt. Take them to the tarmac? It wasn't because I recently smashed my nose on its hard surface. What troubled me is the thing waiting on the other side of it.

“You're going to put them in the Tesla Gate … into the Shredder?” I asked, horrified.

This got an immediate reaction from the two Impals. Their faces snapped towards me in unison, terror frozen on their frigid features. They didn't utter a sound. Their mouths moved without forming words like a beached fish gasping for breath.

“Well what the hell else are we going to do with them?” Burt asked impatiently as he began dragging his Impal towards the door. “We can't take them with us!”

“Why not?” I asked, keeping a calm and even tone.

Burt stopped and turned to me. He was as speechless as his captives.

“You said you were saving Impals, well these two are Impals without a doubt. Isn't it kind of hypocritical to put them in the Shredder?” I said.

“They tried to kill you!” Sam blurted.

Burt shot him a scathing glance, causing Andrews to amend his statement.

“They tried to kill you, sir,” Sam said.

“So are we any different? Can we summarily pass judgment on them as those in our government have? Are we going to help some Impals and then decide to condemn others?”

“But … they are a liability,” Burt said. “They'll turn us in the first chance they get.”

It was obvious he did not put a lot of effort into his plan. Dealing with collateral damage was an afterthought.

“Why would they? If they turned us in, we would go to jail and they would go to the Shredder.”

Burt frowned with embarrassment when he considered my logic. They wouldn't do anything to turn us in because the consequences would be far worse for them. The sergeant Impal emphasized this point.

“That's right, we won't say nothin',” he said with pitiful desperation. “We'll do whatever you want!”

“You're damn right you will!” Burt responded, giving the chain a hard yank.

I was glad the Sergeant spoke up, thus allowing Burt to save face.

“Can all three of us fit in the truck?” I asked.

“I think so. I don't know how the hell we're going to explain them when we get searched at the checkpoint,” Burt said.

“Leave it to me,” I said as I limped across the hall and opened a supply cabinet. I found two flashlights and I unscrewed the end on each and slid the D batteries into the palm of my hand.

A little trick I learned in my conversations with Thomas Pendleton. He told me how he had gotten his son, Seth, and other Impals out in public without being noticed.

Not bothering to screw the caps back on, I tossed the flashlights back into the cabinet and slammed the door. I walked back to the sergeant and private then held out one hand to each of them.

“Here,” I said.

They both sheepishly stretched out their right hand, palm up. I deposited two batteries in each man's hand and watched the silvery Impal shimmer vanish. Even though they were not, the two men appeared as flesh and blood as the rest of us.

“I'll be damned,” said Burt.

“Incredible,” Sam said. “So, they're solid now?” He asked, poking the private in the arm. He jerked it back as if he reached into a nest of angry snakes.

“That is freaky!” he exclaimed.

“They are not solid, they just appear that way,” I said.

“I hope it will be enough,” Burt said. “Just pray the guards don't start literally poking around.”

Burt turned to the Impals.

“Okay, tough guys, if I take these chains off are you going to behave yourself?” he asked.

Both of them agreed. I have never seen such sincerity in my life. As the chains dropped to the ground, I noticed the two Impals still clutched the batteries in their hand.

“Put them in your pocket,” I suggested. “It will be more comfortable and less conspicuous.”

They agreed and shoved the batteries in their pants pocket. In death, the two men still wore their military fatigues. Most Impals wore clothing and it was usually a favorite or comfortable garment or outfit from their life. I guess these two were the most comfortable and happy in the military. Considering the thrashing I received, I suspected they were in it for the wrong reasons.

“What are your names, soldiers?” I asked.

“Staff Sergeant Tim Beeson, sir!” he said, showing me considerably more respect than he did a short time earlier.

“Private First Class, Jack Readnour, sir!” the Private said with the same submissive enthusiasm.

“Well Tim and Jack … even though you beat me pretty good and tried to kill me, I'm going to try and get the two of you out of here. I wouldn't know how to apply a court-martial to these circumstances so we are going to let it slide for now, understand?”

“Yes,” they responded in unison.

“The slightest slip-up from either of you and we will leave you back here on this base's front porch, all trussed up in iron chains and gift wrapped for the Shredder … agreed?”

“Yes, sir,” they said with much more enthusiasm.

“All right, let's go,” I said to everyone.

Sam collected the chains and coiled them up under my old cot, then closed and locked both cell doors.

Before we left, Burt grabbed a black Sharpie off the desk down the hall. He proceeded to draw something on the concrete wall directly across from my cell.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my impatience growing.

He didn't answer until he finished. He then stepped back with a satisfied expression on his face. At first, it seemed Burt had drawn a large thick letter ‘S' on the wall, until I moved a little closer. Burt continued the ‘S' with two parallel dotted lines, connecting each tip of the ‘S' making it appear like the number ‘8'. While the ‘S' part was colored in, the connecting area was devoid of color except for the narrow dotted lines.

“What is that … an eight or an ‘S'?” I asked.

“Neither,” Burt said with a grin. He then turned and walked towards the door.

I glanced at the symbol one last time then turned to follow him.

“What the Hell is it then?” I said.

“A screw you to the government!” he called as he and Andrews reached the door.

Burt and Sam slipped out the door first and made sure the coast was clear. When they gave the signal, I followed with the Impals close behind me.

It was sunset. The orange glow over the distant tree line gave a surreal quality to the evening. The night began to descend with its eerie ultraviolet radiance … another by-product of the cosmic storm.

I was both surprised and relived to see no one else was around. The jail was in the far corner of the base and there was never anyone in it. I was probably the first person to do time in over a year. Now outside, I could hear the cries of the Impals now unfettered by my prison wall. I turned and watched as they marched to the Tesla Gate. My guts twisted with anger and remorse. They were not in pain; they were beyond physical pain. Sheer horror struck them at the sight of the Shredder. Who wouldn't be terrified? I couldn't imagine the concept of dying forever.

Burt drove the personnel carrier and Sam climbed in the passenger seat. I slipped under the large canvas cover on the back with the Impals and closed the flap. I sat delicately by the tailgate because I was still in a great amount of pain and opened the flap enough for me to peer out. A moment later, the truck roared and a black cloud of exhaust drifted past the canopy opening making my eyes water again. With a lurch and grinding of gears, we pulled onto the road leading to the west gate.

CHAPTER 3

DOWN AND OUT

“What fugitive from his country can also escape from himself?”

~Horace

It was not long before I caught my first glimpse of other Impals. In many ways, these were the most disturbing of the Impals, and perhaps, the most fortunate. The people who committed suicide remain here. They are like every other Impal except for one important detail. Their spirit immediately falls into a state of deep sleep. They slumber for an indefinite period and, to my knowledge, none have woken up yet.

These Impals had been placed on their backs in an open field next to the tarmac. They lay in perfect symmetrical rows; head-to-toe and side-to-side. Their silvery luminescent glow against the backdrop of the ultraviolet night sky was a beautiful sight. Unfortunately, the heinous circumstances made it impossible to appreciate anything about it.

Were
they the lucky ones? Their unconscious placement into the Shredder did seem preferable. The alternative is to be part of the cattle herd. I couldn't imagine the horror of watching others go first as you wait your turn. The most inconceivable notion of all is the prospect of permanent death. This cold finality comes as their soul dissolves in the crackling blue electric arcs of the Tesla Gate.

Or, were they the damned? Staring across the perfect silvery rows, I estimated there must be at least one-thousand Impal ‘sleepers.' Each one slumbers with their own unique story and reasons. Now they all suffer the consequences.

Had they sought the easy way out when life got tough or maybe they were manic-depressive? Alternatively, was it a conscious decision, a decision made with the goal of being together with their loved ones, the loved ones now here as Impals? Whatever the reason, I felt sorry for them, I truly did. I felt sorry for
all
the Impals.

I realize Thomas Pendleton faced the same dilemma when it came to his Impal son, Seth. I knew deep down that getting both of them off the base was a long shot; nevertheless it was something I must try. Thomas was smart enough to know that the only thing he could do for Seth was to be with him. Committing suicide would do no good because he would now be one of the sleepers in the field. He made a valiant attempt to destroy the Tesla Gate and was fatally shot in the process. It wasn't suicide any more than it is when a soldier storms the field of battle. Thomas made a tremendous sacrifice for his son; I hope I could be as bold for my family if the time came.

Beyond the field of sleeping Impals rests the large hanger where the Tesla Gate resides. The doors are open enough for about three or four people to fit through standing shoulder to shoulder. They don't dare open it any wider for fear of stirring up the Impals lined up outside. One would think the shrieks of terror coming from within would worry them. I guess either they don't hear them or are too trusting of their captors. I think most believe that, outside of the iron restraints, they are invulnerable. This belief holds until they get inside and then, well … seeing is believing.

The line had dwindled considerably since earlier today. Perhaps a couple of hundred Impals were yet to be herded inside, a couple of hundred too many. The cries dwindled with the line, yet each one sends a piercing stab through my soul as we drive past. Man, woman, child … the full spectrum of ethereal voices resonates with eternal sorrow from inside. The government makes no distinctions and neither does the Shredder.

The blue, flickering light of the Tesla Gate emanates through the crack in the door. It reminds me of a television's light viewed from outside a window with sheer drapes. An ironic comparison considering the fact television signals and internet have not been possible since the storm began. As I watched the door, I can't help imagining I was witnessing the entrance to Hell with blue flames instead of smoldering red ones. All of my emotions oozed into the pit of my stomach as I considered the horror inside the massive building. I wanted to get out, to run, to rescue the Impals; we could fit a lot in the truck, especially the children.