Vestige (11 page)

Finally, the village president walked out of the building and onto the stage. He put his hands up to silence the applause even though there was none. A group of people—several men, two women, and a teenage girl with pink hair—trailed behind him.

The village president stepped up to the microphone and began to speak. “I would like to thank all of you for coming out today. We appreciate your cooperation and hope to have all of our residents tagged and accounted for within the next several days, so we can return to the business of living.”

“What about the missing?” yelled a random voice.

The village president ignored the question and continued, “I’m sure all of you have heard the president’s speech by now. If not, you can still catch it on any TV network or radio station. It will run continuously for the next 48 hours. In his speech, the president explained our current situation and what he expects all of
us
to do to help facilitate our recovery. Our government believes that the Tagging Mandate will be the answer to our troubles, and the Village of LaGrange agrees.

“Today, we are lucky to have the architect of the Tagging Mandate in attendance. He will further explain this process, and hopefully, put your minds at ease. Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome the Secretary of Homeland Security, Mr. Daniel Grimshaw, and his lovely wife, Lilith.”

The village president began to clap and backed away from the microphone to make room for Mr. and Mrs. Grimshaw. The audience remained silent.

As the secretary of homeland security stepped forward, Thomas had a strange sense of deja vu. Was Mr. Grimshaw the man from his dream? Thomas had to laugh to himself. He didn’t realize that he even knew who the secretary of homeland security was. He must have read an article about this guy or saw him on TV and filed it away without knowing it.

The microphone squealed as Grimshaw began to speak. “You are probably wondering why the secretary of homeland security would come to a little town like LaGrange. Why not Chicago or Springfield? Well, my wife has the pleasure of calling LaGrange her hometown. She was born and raised here and still has family and friends here. I’ve been listening to stories about LaGrange since the day we first met. So I thought that this would be the perfect town to kick-off the tagging process.

“As you just heard, I am the architect of the Tagging Mandate. As the secretary of homeland security, I must predict future national-security issues and find possible remedies for those issues before the need arises. The Tagging Mandate has been in my files for several years, and although it is unfortunate to be in a situation requiring such a mandate, I am pleased that we are prepared.

“My lovely wife, Lilith, is the first American to receive her tag. Hold your hand up, Lil.”

A petite woman with short red hair pulled her sleeve back and held her right hand up above her head. Rotating her hand from left to right, she proudly displayed her tag. Although Thomas found the woman attractive, she looked much older than her husband looked.

Mr. Grimshaw continued, “As you can see, it is nothing more than a two-inch barcode. We will take your Social Security Number, your driver’s license number, fingerprints, and any other data you can provide and generate a unique number for each individual. That number will be encrypted into a barcode and applied to your right hand.

“I can assure you that this system will make all our lives easier. You will only have one number and no cards to carry around with you. All future employment, salary, and medical information will be attached to this number. Once this system is operational, you won’t even have to file your taxes. It will all be automatic.

“For the time being, the tag will tell us who is here. And with that information, we can figure out what we need to do to provide for you, so we can get this country back on its feet.

“Tagging is a relatively painless process. You will turn any identification over to the clerk, who will generate your number. That number will be applied with a laser. Lilith said that she felt a slight sting upon application, similar to that of a vaccination.

“The barcode will be scanned whenever you receive your rations.” Grimshaw turned toward the village president. “I understand that a family has volunteered to be the first LaGrange residents tagged.”

The village president took the microphone. “Mr. Secretary, I would like to introduce you to the Brennan family. This is Nora, Joe, and their daughter, Jess. The Brennan’s data has already been uploaded, and their numbers have been generated.”

Grimshaw took Jess by the hand and led her to a machine which looked a little like an ATM. He slid a small door up and placed Jess’s right hand into the opening. Finally, he instructed her to place her left thumb on the screen. The machine hummed. Jess winced. After about ten seconds, the machine beeped.

“And, my dear, you are tagged,” instructed Grimshaw.

Jess pulled her hand out and looked at it. Grimshaw grabbed her wrist and held her hand up for the crowd to see. Jess’s parents stepped up to the machine.

“Don’t allow the tag!” the homeless man shouted as he charged the stage. “It’s the mark of the beast. Resist the mark.”

Thomas’s heart began to race. Maybe it was a bad idea to stand so close to the stage. What if that homeless man had a bomb strapped to his body, and he wanted to blow up the tagging machine or kill the secretary of homeland security? If this guy did have a bomb, Thomas was a goner. He frantically started to push his way back through the crowd and away from the stage.

The people who noticed the homeless man snickered and whispered to one another.

“No...no.... You don’t understand. This is the end. If you are tagged, you have no hope of redemption. You’ll be his.” The homeless man pointed at Grimshaw.

Mr. Grimshaw laughed. “I think we have our next volunteer.”

Two soldiers jumped down from the stage and headed towards the man. But before they reached him, the homeless man grabbed Thomas. Thomas could feel the man’s hands trembling as he clutched Thomas’s arm.

“Please...don’t get the tag. It is the mark of the beast.” The homeless man paused. He seemed to recognize the priest. “I know who you are. You’re my replacement. Bob told me about you. You need to find him. I can’t do it now. My time has passed.”

“Find who?” asked Thomas.

“The Guardian. He’s the only one who can stop the beast.” The homeless man pointed at Grimshaw once again.

Thomas had a sinking feeling. In his dream, Father Vincent mentioned the Guardian too. What was all this about? The homeless man, Mr. Grimshaw, the Guardian.... His sensibilities clouded. He couldn’t think straight. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who’s the Guardian?”

“He’s the one with the golden light. Ask Bob. Bob knows where to find him,” whispered the homeless man.

“Who’s Bob?” asked Thomas.

“The dog.”

One of the soldiers struck the homeless man, forcing him to let go of Thomas. Each soldier took hold of one of his arms and forced their prisoner away from the stage.

“Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henseforth,” the homeless man yelled as the two soldiers dragged him out of sight. “Find him before the beast does!”

For the first time that morning, Grimshaw looked directly at Thomas. Thomas felt Grimshaw’s stare penetrate his being; his heart and mind exposed. This
was
the man from his nightmare. He could feel him. In his mind’s eye, he remembered looking into the windows and seeing the twisted bodies, writhing in agony. Thomas turned away from Grimshaw and began to push his way through the crowd.

“Those who have identification and are ready to receive your tag, please form a line within the guard rails,” instructed the village president. “We have several machines up and running inside the village hall. Those of you, who would like more information, please line up at the stage by the demonstration area. Secretary Grimshaw, Mrs. Grimshaw, and the Brennan family will be happy to answer your questions.”

Once clear of the crowd, Thomas looked back and saw the people shuffling up to receive their tags. The sight reminded him of Holy Communion—the congregation lining up to participate in a ritual that they believed would save them.

Thomas headed to the rectory. He walked as fast as he could without looking back again.

Chapter Twelve

Micah and Clarke finished breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, and began to take inventory of their supplies. They quickly realized that they only had enough food for a day or two, so they went next door and raided the Fahey’s kitchen. Clarke assured Micah that if they didn’t take the extra food from her neighbor’s house someone else would.

The Fahey’s pantry was well stocked. They found at least fifteen cans of soup and tuna, a big bag of rice, and ten boxes of Mac and Cheese. They had enough food to last a week, maybe two. At that point, they would have to go to Micah’s and restock.

Micah didn’t want to think about going back to his house. So far, he had been able to resist the urge to mourn his family. But once Clarke saw the blood-spattered wall, she would want an explanation. He would have to acknowledge his missing family especially his dad. If only Clarke would let him go alone. But after the promise he made last night, he knew that wasn’t happening. Maybe by the time they ran out of food, she would be okay with it.

Once the two teens had finished planning and organizing, they took a break.

“So…what now?” asked Clarke.

“What games systems do you have?” asked Micah.

“I only have a PlayStation.”

“Two or Three.”

“One,” said Clarke.

“That’s better than nothing, I guess. What games do you have?” asked Micah.

“Frogger, Tomb Raider—”

“No way…. Tomb Raider was one of my favorite games. Do you have all of them?”

“Just the first three,” said Clarke.

“Where is it? Let’s hook it up.”

“It’s hooked up to the big TV in the living room.”

“You have another TV? Why have we been watching this little one?” asked Micah.

“The big one is old too. It doesn’t work without the digital converter, and we only have one. Mary liked to watch TV in the kitchen, so…”

“Does it work with the PlayStation?”

“It used to, but I haven’t touched it in the last couple years, so I’m not sure,” said Clarke.

“I hope it works. This is so cool. I haven’t played Tomb Raiders since I was a kid. I used to have a crush on Lara Croft.”

“I used to pretend I was Lara Croft.” Clarke flashed Micah a flirtatious smile. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is.” She led Micah into the living room. Once there, she opened the doors of a huge cabinet, revealing the TV, game console, and shelves of games and movies.

“It’s funny; I was so excited when we first got this TV. Now, it’s so clunky and old fashioned,” she said.

“Who cares what it looks like as long as it works.”

Clarke turned the TV and PlayStation on. “Yay, it works. You can play first. I’ll watch.” She handed him the controller.

“Are you sure? I can watch.” Micah didn’t care if he played or not. He was just happy to be with Clarke. It was ironic that everything had to go wrong with the world for him to have met her. Would he have talked to her in any other circumstance? For that matter, would she have talked to him? The last couple of days had been weird, but meeting Clarke was the one bright spot.

“No, you go ahead. I wanna watch. I have to check out your skills,” Clarke said.

“My skills…what about your skills?” Micah teased. He dropped the controller and grabbed Clarke from behind. Her hair smelled like strawberries.

“Trust me, Micah. I’ve got skills, and if you don’t let me go, you’re going to see them first hand.”

Micah laughed but didn’t heed her warning.

Without further hesitation, Clarke flipped Micah over her hip and onto the floor. She jumped on top of his chest and pinned his arms. “You obviously didn’t notice my Taekwondo trophies. I’m a junior black belt, or at least, I was when I quit.”

“I saw them. You know, if I wanted to, I could flip you off,” said Micah.

“What’s stoppin’ you?” Clarke taunted.

At that moment, the hum of the electronics faded out, leaving them in complete silence.

“Oh no, the power’s out,” said Clarke.

“Rolling black-out?” suggested Micah.

“At least it’s daytime. I hate it when the power goes out at night. It’s too dang quiet. It scares me a little.”

They both stood.

“Yeah, but we don’t know how long the outage will last,” he said. “It may be out all night. We should get the flashlights ready just in case. Where are they?”

“Um…” Clarke scrunched up her nose.

“Do you have any candles?”

“I think so.” Clarke walked out of the living room and into the hallway. She opened the closet door under the stairs, knelt down, and began to open shoeboxes. “I can’t see, but I think there are some candles in here.”

Micah watched her rummage through the darkness.

“Aha, found some.” She returned with a handful of nubs. Some didn’t even have wicks. “Do you think these will last the night?”

Micah hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Is that it?”

“Hang on…. Maybe there’s a flashlight in the kitchen,” she said.

Micah followed Clarke and watched her go through several drawers until she found a small penlight. She pointed it at Micah and hit the button, but nothing happened.

“I think the batteries are dead,” said Micah.

“Shoot.” Clarke turned back towards the drawer. “Batteries…where are the batteries? If I can only remember where they are,” she muttered.

“We can use the batteries from a remote. You do have a remote.”

“Not to that TV. But there’s one for the other TV.” Clarke hurried back to the living room. When she returned, she had one in hand. She slid the back off. “Oops…I guess the batteries are kind of old.”

Micah walked closer. The batteries were swollen and covered with a crusty, brown residue. “We’ll have to make do with the candles. I guess we’ll be going to my house sooner than we planned—”