The Tesla Gate (26 page)

Mollie was standing in the middle of the room leaning on her cane; she had a surprisingly peaceful look on her face, considering the circumstances. The general stepped in front of me and addressed Mollie.

“You know what I miss, Mollie?”

She gave him a wry smile.

“I miss all the time I spent in this room having brandy and cigars with Shainard. He was a good friend,” he said.

Mollie nodded her head.

“Well, I didn't come here to reminisce. I take it the net is pretty full?”

Mollie nodded her head sheepishly. “Are you sure I'm doing the right thing?”

“Absolutely,” General Garrison said. “You are a good American and a patriot just like Shainard, who had the good sense to move on when his time was up, I might add. You're doing a great service.”

As sweet as he sounded on the surface, it sounded to me like the devil trying to tempt someone. The horrifying truth was that this demonic deal had been sealed probably long before I arrived. Mollie smiled and glanced at me, then hobbled over to the bookcase. She reached her hand up on the shelf that was now void of books. A moment later there was a loud click and the secret door began to swing open.

CHAPTER 28

The Other Side

“Carve a tunnel of hope through
the dark mountain of disappointment.”

—Martin Luther King, Jr.

I don't think there has ever been a time in my life when I was filled with such a cacophony of emotions as I was at the moment. Fear, anger, shock, betrayal, rage, hatred, and terror had hollowed me out, leaving only room for pure instinct to fill the void. I couldn't think, I couldn't feel; all I could do was act. Before the secret door had completely opened, I launched myself across the room and through the opening before any of the astonished soldiers could react.

I skidded across the stone floor like a baseball player doing a belly slide and then rapidly began bouncing downwards when I reached the steps.

“Run! Tunnel! Army! Run!” I repeated over and over as the air was hammered out of me with each tumble into the blackness.

I could hear the voice of General Ott Garrison behind me yelling orders of pursuit and curses, while in front of me I recognized the clear and decisive voice of Abraham Lincoln as he shouted instructions to his Impal counterparts.

“To the tunnel, quickly! Come now! Make haste!” his authoritative and tinny-sounding voice echoed through the cavern. This was followed by a mixture of gasps and shrieks from the subterranean refugees and then a stampeding of soft Impal footsteps.

I finally hit the cavern floor after what seemed like an eternity of falling. I quickly got to my feet, oblivious to the pains of my fall, and headed in the direction of Lincoln's voice. I had barely taken two steps when a blinding light flooded the cavern, bringing everything into full relief and causing me a moment of disorientation as I stumbled over a short stalagmite. Apparently, the Coleman lanterns ringing the walls were completely unnecessary, all a part of the ambience or very probably the ruse of a safe and secluded hiding place. The place was now lit up like the Superdome.

I looked over my shoulder to see dozens of boots descending the stairs, accompanied by the clinking and dragging of dozens of iron chains. My newly-found sixth sense drove me to my feet once again. My emotions had shut down for the moment, and fight or flight instinct had taken over. I did have enough sense to know that fighting would be foolish, so my sole thought was finding Seth and getting as far down the tunnel as we could. I looked about wildly and saw several Impals disappear into the tunnel entrance about 30 yards from me, Lincoln stood to the side, waving them through.

“Seth is here with me!” Lincoln bellowed over the shouts and iron clanks echoing deafeningly through the cavern.

I started to run in their direction when I felt something cold latch onto my leg. I whirled about to see the little boy I had met last night, Patrick, with the green Lego
Star Wars
t-shirt; he clung to my leg like a vise. His goofy kid smile had been replaced with a look of livid terror.

“Help me!”
he pleaded.

Without another thought I scooped him up and headed for Lincoln, ignoring the fact that his right arm and leg were half in my torso.

“Come on!” I yelled as I reached Lincoln and scooped Seth up with my free arm.

I hesitated a moment before entering the tunnel, just a brief hesitation for a look behind me. I wish that I hadn't. There were a significant number of Impals, at least a dozen, who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were caught on the far side of the cavern when the soldiers entered and had been cut off from the tunnel. Some had tried to go up the stairs leading to Mollie's yard, but soldiers were pouring down those stairs as well. Most of these poor Impals had been knocked to the ground with the heavy iron chains and were in the process of being collared or cuffed. There was no discrimination: man, woman, and child were all handled with the same brutality. They were all dirty abominations in the eyes of General Garrison. He seemed to have been successful instilling that belief in his men.

My feelings were still numb, but this sight would be one more barb of pain to add to my emotional suffering when my anesthesia of fear and adrenaline wore off. Fortunately, I didn't have a lot of time to absorb what I was seeing as Lincoln grabbed my arm and pulled me rudely into the pitch black tunnel.

We ran and stumbled through the darkness for what seemed like several minutes, Lincoln guiding me by the arm all the way. I wasn't sure if Impals had a special ability to see in complete darkness or if Lincoln was just familiar with his surroundings. The floor was surprisingly smooth. I had expected to be tripping over rocks and debris, but it was more easily navigated than the cavern had been, and without light. But as we started to catch up with some of the other Impals, I saw that there was a light.

It was very faint, just enough to see a few feet in front of me, but it was unlike any light I had ever seen. There was a faint silvery shimmer to it, kind of like the Impals. That was when I realized that it was the Impals, not just one or two, but when several of them were in close proximity in the dark it became very noticeable. It was more like one of Seth's glow-in-the-dark toys than a true light, but it did give me brief opportunities to take note of my surroundings as we hurried through the darkness.

I could see intermittent wood beams lining the ceiling like an old west mine shaft. Some were sagging so precariously with the weight of earth above them that I thought it a miracle they hadn't collapsed.

“Daddy, where are we?” Seth asked softly as he clung to me harder. Patrick did the same thing on my other side, seemingly in reaction to Seth's tightened grip. Patrick didn't say anything, but his little arms and legs sank deeper into my torso to the point that I thought they must be touching Seth's somewhere around my pancreas. The sensation had taken some getting used to when dealing with Seth, but now it was doubled; I had to block the weird cold and warmth inside of me and focus on getting through the tunnel. The soldiers were coming and it was only a matter of time before they caught up to us at the other end—if we even made it to the other end.

I was starting to get a stitch in my side when Lincoln stopped.

“Keep going!” He said, “I'll hold them off!”

“How?” I asked incredulously. “They are carrying iron, you'll be captured!”

“Not today!” Lincoln said as he retrieved an ancient mining pick from the shadows. “Now, run!” he yelled as he took a swing at the wooden beam overhead.

Lincoln had the reputation of being a woodsman and a rail-splitter, so when I realized what he intended to do, I had no doubt that he could and would accomplish it in short order. A beam of light appeared in the distance as the soldiers pursued. When the pick made contact with the wooden beam, there was a loud crack followed by creaks and groans of wood about to give way under extreme pressure. In spite of their noisy and hurried approach, the sound of a potential cave-in got the attention of the soldiers. The light stopped moving and the whispered conversations of the soldiers were just audible in the distance.

“Go!” Lincoln muttered in a harsh whisper as he waved me away. “Go, I'll be right behind you!”

A few choice expletives echoed down the tunnel from a couple of soldiers followed by derogatory remarks about Impals. They started to cautiously move in our direction again.

“Go, Daddy!” Seth urged.

“They're coming, Daddy!” Patrick squealed.

The kids were terrified, and Patrick had no family that I knew of, so the comment didn't sound out of place to me. He needed comfort and if I could provide it, I would. I turned and ran down the tunnel, clutching the kids tighter, just as Lincoln landed another blow on the beam. This time the ancient support gave way, releasing a thunderous crash of dirt and rock into the passage, blocking the tunnel permanently. But just a second or two before the crash I heard a noise that sent icy fingers probing my spine and stomach: I heard Jackson's barks. He was nearby, but not near enough.

I accelerated as I held my breath. A cloud of dust followed, encompassing me like a swarm of angry bees. I knew that I would suffocate if I could not out distance it soon. Just when I thought my lungs would explode, I gasped in a large lungful of air. The dust had thinned but not enough; I inhaled a good portion of earth, causing me to drop Seth and Patrick as I fell to my knees, coughing violently, expelling soil from my lungs, and fighting for clean air with each sputtering gasp. I was on the verge of blacking out when I felt two icy but strong hands grab me from behind and pull me forward.

I was pulled over wet and rocky dirt for what seemed like hours; it was difficult to tell because I kept lapsing in and out of consciousness. My oxygen-starved lungs burned like hot coals in my chest. The next thing I knew, I was being pulled up a steep embankment. My arms and shoulders felt like they were submerged in ice. I managed to open my eyes enough to see four Impal men, one of which was Lincoln, dragging me forward through the damp and the darkness. When I didn't see Seth, I snapped to as if I had been slapped from a deep sleep. I tried to speak but all I could manage was a long sputtering cough, copious amounts of dirt spewed from my mouth, letting me know that I was in bad shape and my throat still hurt, but … I was alive.

“Easy, lad,” I heard an unfamiliar Impal voice whisper. “Easy, we're almost done.”

I coughed and hacked until the world spun into a big black void and I passed out. I came around later blinking up into a bright ray of sunlight. I had the strange feeling like the whole thing had been one big nightmare. I sat up a little and felt a mix of cold and warmth shoot through each arm. I squinted my eyes as dirt and dust tumbled from my lashes and eyebrows. I gave my head one big dirt-clearing shake and looked down to see Seth laying on one arm and Patrick on the other. They were both sleeping soundly.

“Are you okay, Thomas?” a familiar yet unfamiliar voice asked nearby. I suddenly remembered it as the Impal's voice I had heard in the tunnel before I passed out. I turned my head in that direction and emitted a shuddering cough, causing dirt to tumble from my hair and shoot from my mouth and nose like tiny mud balls. I pulled my arm gently through Seth and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I winced as my throat throbbed with pain. Breathing in a wheelbarrow full of dirt and coughing profusely was the worst thing I could have done to my injury. I needed a doctor, but I knew that was not possible, not now. Not unless I wanted Seth taken away and for me to go to jail for treason.

“Do you need a doctor?” the male Impal voice asked ironically.

I shook my head and hocked an enormous dirt loogie into my palm. Ignoring all couth and manners, I wiped it on the front of my shirt. What the hell, I was already filthy. I was determined that I would let nothing separate Seth and me, not even my own poor health. As my old football coach would say about an injury:
shake it off, rub some dirt in it, and you'll be fine. How ironic.

“No,” I wheezed. I sputtered, holding back another coughing fit as I asked, “How many got away?”

The Impal stepped forward and knelt by my side. He wore clothing that reminded me of someone that might have been around to take a cruise on the Titanic. A thick handle bar moustache made his round face look like it might take flight at any moment. He was completely free of any dirt or dishevelment whatsoever.
He was an Impal, he had probably squenched it away,
I thought but did not say.

“About half of us got away,” he said. “But … only about a quarter of the children did.” I saw a silvery tear streak down his cheek, snake through his moustache, and then tumble to the ground where it disappeared without a trace.

“Where's Lincoln?” I asked, and then coughed up another wad of dirt. I pulled my other arm gently through Patrick and sat up all the way.

“He's here … let me get you a drink of water,” the man said as he stood up and disappeared into the shadows behind me.

I suddenly remembered Jackson's barks in the tunnel.

“Is there an Impal dog here?” I asked.

The man slowly walked back from the shadows with a forlorn look on his face. I knew the answer to all my questions just by looking at him, but he answered anyway.

“You mean Jackson. Cute little fellow,” he stopped and rubbed his head as two silver tears dripped onto his moustache. “He didn't make it through the cave-in, what with that iron collar and all … he couldn't.”

A sudden wave of nausea washed over me like a pungent wave. The soldiers had Jackson, or worse yet, he was buried under the cave-in with no way out, anchored for eternity by that stupid iron collar. I shuttered and coughed. I wasn't sure if I had just vomited or expelled another glob of mud. Either way, I was much better off than poor Jackson. What the hell was I going to tell Seth?

I turned my shirt tail inside out and rubbed my eyes as the stranger retreated into the shadows to get my water. It seemed that the inside of my clothing was the only clean spot on me. When my eyes were relatively sludge-free, I looked up into the light above and blinked. It was coming through a small rectangular window about six feet off the floor.

As I looked about at my surroundings, I could see two more identical windows about ten feet on either side of this one. All presented similar radiant beams of sunlight. I was in a cellar or basement, a very old one judging by the dirt floor and the musty, aged smell of an ancient house or building. Impals lined the brick walls around the perimeter, some standing, some sitting, and some lying down. Most looked terrified, while many wept inconsolably. Who could blame them? The atrocity we had just endured made me feel like crying. Was this America? I felt a strong rush of shame surge through me and that only reinforced my sadness. My strong patriotism for the country I have loved dearly my whole life was being called into question.

“How could this happen in America?” I unconsciously said aloud.

“It's happening all over the world, I'm afraid.” The man with the handle bar moustache said behind me.