We Are Them

by L. K. Samuels

  “I truly understand,” Sarah said. She turned away and pointed to the television screen. “This is the best part.” We both watched the Mexican soldiers swarm like locusts through a blasted hole in the Alamo’s mud-brick wall. It seemed so futile. There were just too many of them. Nobody could survive such an onslaught. Tears came to Sarah’s eyes.

  She turned to me and whispered. “They gave so much for future generations. It’s hard to believe. They refused to give up.”

  I nodded in silence.

  As we continued to watch Davy Crockett blown apart in the exploding powder magazine, I reminisced about my youth. My father had eagerly given me an old beaver-skin hat on my eighth birthday. It was a poor present. The Davy Crockett fever had swept the nation long before, so my father’s gift embarrassed me. I wore it once, then set it aside. I knew he was disappointed, but I had no idea that it meant something more to him than killing bears and living alone on the frontier.

  As the movie credits rolled, I continued to think about the film. A small group of men had fought against overwhelming odds. They gave their lives in a dusty wasteland in the middle of nowhere, so that others could be free. They did not fight for higher pay raises, promotions, or the TV remote. They had banded together to fight an oppressive authority when they could easily have retreated. It put a lump in my throat. I only wished I had their resolve.

  * * * * *

  After turning off the DVD player, I began to search my house for my elusive cat. Natasha had not eaten her food from the previous day, and that was peculiar. Nocturnal and shy, she spent most of her time hiding under furniture, my bed or the bushes in the backyard. But eventually, hunger would drive her out into the open.

  Even Sarah assisted in my quest for Natasha’s whereabouts. This was another first, since she was the proverbial cat avoider. I could not believe that she would risk a minor allergic attack by getting close to Natasha. She got on her knees and reached down behind a big clump of bushes. Her bravery was commendable, but foolish. Why was she willing to risk an allergic outbreak over a cat?

  “Over here!” Sarah shouted from our backyard. She pointed to something in the dense bushes.

  I moved closer and peered down. At first, it resembled something out of Steve McQueen’s 1958 Blob film. The storyline was also a favorite of mine. A growing blob of the red gooey Jell-O had turned a small town into a smorgasbord of swirling human flesh. The blob had dissolved and consumed half of the town’s folks and swelled to the size of a building. Curiously, the monster had supposedly come from a meteorite. Great movie classic, but I had no desire ever to see it again.

  I looked down at the red clump and decided that it was not my cat. The gooey mess was just too large. I stood and stared at Sarah, gasping, “It looks just like what we found at the orchard!” I stepped back and felt assaulted by a maze of unanswerable questions. Something was happening beyond our awareness, and way beyond our ability to understand.

  We eyed each other in surprise, mouths open. I spoke first. “It seems we’re faced with ‘unknown unknowns.’”

  “What?” Sarah groaned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know,.. the things we don’t know we don’t know.”

  “This is getting serious,” Sarah held her hand over her mouth. “We have to do something.”

  I moved closer to the object. I could see some fur, but mostly bones, muscles, and a few internal organs. I kicked it. It was large, but not moving. It had to be larger than 10 or 20 dead creatures, all fused together into one fleshy ball of pulp. What a horrific sight. This could not be a natural phenomenon. “Unnatural” was written all over it.

  Sarah backed away, silent, and wearing the look of horror on her face.

  I took out a shovel, dug a large hole, and attempted to bury the bloody remains. I keep thinking that this thing was not part of my cat. Natasha was a little chicken-shit coward who never showed any signs of bravery. She might hiss and snarl when unhappy, but would usually back away. I figured she was still prowling the neighborhood and would return when hunger struck again.

  When I had finished my grave-burying duty, I just stood and stared at the burial mound. Sarah took me inside, sat me down, and poured some wine. We both sipped a little and talked about other things, the kind of trivial conversation that makes people feel better. She was a real trooper. She knew I was down in the dumps and needed some cheering up, something that only a good wife or an expensive therapist could do.

  “Something bad is going down,” I said. “Whatever happened to those animals could happen to us. We could be breathing it, touching it, or even eating it. It could be anything or anywhere.”

  “How about those Dodgers?” Sarah put a hand on my shoulder. “They pitched a no-hitter the other day. Made some news.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I felt like their opposing ball team. We were also batting a no-hitter.

  Chapter 16

  It was almost time for the meeting to start. I peeked outside from behind my closed blinds and curtains. I scanned the street for unmarked and windowless vans, hovering black helicopters or cloaked strangers loitering around my neighborhood. Seeing nothing suspicious, I locked the doors, turned off several lamps, and prayed that nobody would notice that I was holding a secret meeting.

  My covert activities made me feel emboldened. I was not cowering in fear in a locked closet or hiding under my bed. I was remaining calm and clear. I had decided to dig a deeper trench in the sand; I was going to fight back, stand my ground, and not back down. One day I might be heralded as a visionary who dared to resist or spend eternity as a bullet-riddled body in an unmarked grave. Whatever the cost might be, I only hoped that my adobe would not resemble the Alamo on its final day.

  As the hour neared to meet, I began to feel like the most unlikely leader of a dissenter movement. I had never considered running for any student offices at school or participated in after school sports or outside activities. I rarely had joined any social or service clubs, and freely joked that I would not belong to an organization that would accept me as a member. I was a homebody, a fly on the wall, nobody of importance. Now, I was thrust into a leadership position that took some fatalistic nerve.

  Tommy was first to arrive on his bicycle, since he could not get permits from the DED to drive his vans from one parking space to another. Besides, most of his fleet of junk cars were impounded for parking violations. His last remaining unseized van was sitting inoperable in a vacant, weed-infested lot, the engine in one heap and transmission in another. It had been lounging there for years.

  Tommy rushed inside, breathless, and faced me with a frantic look in his eyes. “There are armed soldiers everywhere. Man, I mean everywhere.”

  “Did they try to stop you?”

  “They never got close enough. I outfoxed them.”

  “Good to hear.”

  “Yea, but the crackass’ tards won’t release my vans. They’re planning to sell them for storage charges. What the shit is happening? Everything is just too trippy.”

  “They’ve got to be desperate to want your vans,” I joked.

  Tommy scowled at me with his shiny, glazed eyes. “It’s the stuff inside they want, man. I mean they’ve got most of my saws, wrenches, air compressors, drills, generators, microscopes, computers, chemicals, books, paintball guns, golf clubs, rock collection…”

  “All right!” I hollered as more people filed into the room. I did not have the heart to tell him it was destined to end up in a landfill.

  By this time, the room exploded with people, mostly newcomers, neighbors, and friends of friends. Our meeting was a hit. The whole living room, kitchen, and hallway were crammed with incensed citizens, upset over the latest law that sentenced violators to five years of hard labor for the first violation. Tommy counted over 50 people.

  “We should hang the lot of them,” Grandma Smothers from next door shrilled. “Who do they think they are?”

  “I’ve got a loose noose and a wobbly chair,” another old w
oman cackled. “I’ll hang them from my ceiling fan and kick over the chair myself. That will show the bastards.”

  The crowd was getting out of control. I had to bring some order before they rushed outside and carried out what they were threatening.

  “There is more to this than bad laws, hefty fines, and long prison terms,” I said, standing on a chair to get their attention. “Something in the air or in the water has caused this control frenzy. There must be a logical reason for their obsessive-compulsive behavior.”

  “They’re all anal-retentive butt-heads,” Grandma Smothers shouted to the delight of the agitated crowd.

  “They were just trying to help,” I raised my voice.

  “Yeah! And we’ll help them to an early grave,” someone yelled from the kitchen.

  “What are you going to do?” A young woman stepped forward and pointed a wagging finger at me. “You’re the one in charge of this cursed DED.”

  “I’m the Assistant Director, to be precise. I’m in charge of operations, but I don’t make policy. I risk more than you do by hosting this meeting. And I only want to end this insanity and return to some kind of normalcy.”

  Before anyone could comment on my statement, half-a-dozen police cars with blaring sirens roared down the street. I held my breath. Everyone turned deadly silent and stared at my front door. The wait seemed to last for hours. Were we the intended targets of their urgency? What if they caught us plotting against THEM? What would they do? The fleet of police vehicles screamed past my house and into the night. There was a collective sigh as the last siren faded.

  “Listen,” I said to break the tension. “We need constructive solutions to our problems. Any ideas?”

  “I think some sort of peaceful civil disobedience is appropriate,” a voice echoed from the back of the room. It was Sarah. I was overjoyed. She had drawn a line in the sand, or at least in our living room.

  “Turn the other cheek in front of City Hall? Huh?” Someone belittled her suggestion. “You know they have armed guards and soldiers now. You’d think we lived in North Korea!”

  I turned to that person, a professional-looking man in his thirties. “You want us to attack City Hall with guns? Is that what you want?” He backed down.

  Before I could entertain a motion to support a protest rally, Rant, Candy, and some of their friends made a grand entrance, all dressed in black “gothic” garb. Rant’s eyes were glazed and misty. “They shot Rudy!”

  “Oh, no!” I groaned as the crowd clamored. “Rudy never harmed anybody.”

  “He ran the checkpoint near State Street.” Rant moved to the center of the room as all eyes turned to her. “Who’s next?”

  “By God, not me,” someone roared.

  “And…” Rant spoke deliberately and slowly, waiting for everyone to calm down, “and now he’s dead.”

  Rant and her cohorts were taking the tragedy personally, believing as if they must strike back before the Gestapo-like police returned for another round of street violence. I could feel the paranoia and fear choking the room. Their friend was dead, and they were demanding revenge.

  “Don’t get excited!” I shouted out a warning. “It could have been an accident.”

  Rant cut me off shamelessly. “Talk is cheap! They shot Rudy like a dog! We cannot allow this travesty to continue.”

  That is when I noticed the bulge in Rant’s pocket. Others had similar bulges. They were hiding guns. It seemed that almost everyone was armed. My mind flashed on an image of a mosquito attacking an elephant. It was suicidal. They thought they could conquer a heavily armed force with their little band of crackpots.

  I made a desperate plea. “You know what Mahatma Gandhi said!”

  “No! I don’t want to know,” Candy spoke up. “You pacifists make me sick. Rudy never harmed anyone. It is time to take matters into…”

  I interrupted her and yelled, “There is no cause for which I am prepared to kill!” The crowd turned silent. “That’s what Gandhi said. He would die for a cause, but never kill for one.” I was not sure if that impressed anybody.

  “That’s utter stupidity,” someone yelled out. “We want revenge!”

  Rant climbed up on a chair, screaming, “The Rubicon has been crossed! We must do something now. The Fascists from City Hall must pay the price for their atrocities. Today it is Rudy. Tomorrow it will be you!”

  Rant had seized control of the center stage and refused to surrender it. I waved my hands to get the crowds attention, but Rant had soared as the new showman in the ring. Everybody was ignoring me. She had turned Rudy into a martyr, but revenge was their only thought.

  “Have you heard what the city bigwigs plan to do now?” Rant yelled.

  The crowd turned silent.

  I made one last attempt to grab their attention. “We have to discuss this rationally,” I pleaded. I was afraid to find out what Rant meant. Every time the city had upped the bar, my head would spin for hours. Still, I was almost certain that they could not raise it higher because few could vault over it now.

  Rant slapped her hand over her concealed handgun. “Anyone caught violating the law is to be summarily shot. No trial, no jury, no due process, no justice.”

  That did it. The fuse was now lit. The whole room exploded into shouts of catcalls, hisses, and profanity. They were livid. The discussion was over. Almost everyone had jumped to their feet and were headed for the door. It was Lexington and Concord all over again. They were out for blood, and I was sure they would find it sooner than later.

  “We must remain calm,” I continued to shout as the room instantly emptied. I stepped in front of Grandma Smothers and blocked her path, hoping to prevent her from leaving. Urban warfare was no place for an old woman. She disagreed. With a swift flex of her foot, she kicked me in the knee, and then pushed me aside.

  “Out of my way, Sonny,” Grandma Smothers howled. “It’s either US or THEM. No sissy talk will help now. This granny is going to get her gun!”

  I stepped back. I wanted no part of this madness. As the room turned silent, only five of us remained. Surprisingly, Rant was one of them.

  “We must do something,” Rant demanded.

  “But it’s suicidal!” I said.

  “I know. I know.” Rant’s face lowered. She slowly turned away and walked out.

  Tommy scratched his head. “Like, what a rush! Wow, far livelier than a Deadhead concert.”

  “Is this what you call veggie-auntie?” Lenny asked. “Everybody goes crazy cowboy!”

  “Shouldn’t we follow them?” Sarah asked as she started to head for the door.

  I grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back. “Are you crazy? There are trigger-itchy soldiers down there with machine guns and bayonets. How can they tell the sensible people from the crazies?”

  “Screw them!” Sarah struggled to break free of my hold.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I shook her.

  “Don’t you see? The enemy is trashing our lives, our families, and our way of life. We must defeat them at all costs.” Sarah broke free of my grip and grabbed a flower vase, threatening to throw it at me.

  Dumbfounded, I watched her dogged eyes and belligerent attitude. She was irrational. “Just slow down, Sarah. We can work this out.”

  “Man… Sarah is torqued!” Tommy mouthed the obvious.

  “So, what are you going to do, Tommy?” Sarah’s wrath had expanded to others. “Eat more wheatgrass and vegetate? They’re shooting and killing us. They’re not taking prisoners. Nobody is being arrested, no trial and no jury! Just instant death!”

  “We’re not sure that is true,” I spoke slowly and softly.

  Sarah lowered the vase. “I just cannot take it. Everything is spinning out of control.”

  I walked up to Sarah and took her weapon away. “You were always the peacemaker. Remember?”

  “Yes, I know,” Sarah said lowering her voice. “I don’t feel well.”

  I helped Sarah sit down and brought her a glass of water.
“Maybe we can find out what is happening.” I switched on the television in an effort to confirm Rant’s statement, although her information was generally accurate. All of the stations were off the air. Next, I tried the radio. I could not get any local stations, only distant ones from far away. In desperation, I considered calling Big Al at home. I hated to disturb him, but I needed to know the latest scoop. Strangely, his number had been disconnected. Suddenly, a sense of isolation engulfed me. It seemed as if we were behind enemy lines and would have to fight our way back to friendly territory. I shrugged off that silly notion. I knew it was due to my steady diet of war films.

  “Maybe it’s time to think about leaving,” I said in a whispery voice.

  “What?” Sarah grabbed my hands. “You mean leave Hemet? I thought you want to stand up to the city bullies.”

  “Well…” I fumbled for the right words. Before I could answer her question, gunfire echoed in the distance.

  “Fireworks, no?” Lenny stole a peek from out the window.

  Tommy had a better line. “Someone must be driving my van. It’s always backfiring.”

  “We cannot leave,” Sarah implored. “This is our home.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I’m not sure. Wouldn’t Davey sandbag his house, get out his musket, and die in a hail of bullets?”

  “You mean like they did at the Alamo?” This is what I got for showing epic war films too many times. Nobody survived that horrific battle. It was a lost cause. I guess they should have left when they had a chance. “We’re not fighting a foreign army. These are our own people.”

  “But they are killing us!” Sarah shrilled.

  “Yeah, but they are Americans.”

  “The British were once our own people,” Tommy broke in to muddy up the waters. “And look what we did. Like we were traitors to the British crown. That was some serious crapola.”

  I turned to Tommy. “Let’s keep this to one war at a time.”

  Lenny tugged on my shoulder. “I cannot go also.” He grinned stupidly. “Union seminar tomorrow. I prepaid. No refund.”

  I stared at Lenny. “There’re people out there spying on us. Remember. If they have half the equipment Tommy said they have, they know all about us. In fact, they will blame us for arranging a subversive meeting. Even worse, if the people from our meeting do something illegal, we will likely be arrested for inciting a riot. If they are willing to kill poor Rudy over a moving violation, what do you think they will do to us?”