I didn’t want to lie to her and I didn’t want to tell her the truth of my opinion. The truth was, her son and husband had probably already entered the Tesla Gate, just like Thomas and Seth. I said nothing and stared at the floor.
“Is that what happened to Thomas and Seth?” she asked.
I didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, I told her the truth.
She turned and walked away through the crowd of Impals, leaving me with a curious little girl. She stared up at me with growing suspicion. “What’s wrong with my mother?” she snapped.
“Nothing sweetheart, she is okay. Give her a minute,” I said with as much assurance as I could muster. It wasn’t enough.
I don’t think she believed me because she got up with a scowl and ran after her mother. Turning, I saw Burt standing a few feet away smiling and shaking his head.
“We are doing the right thing helping these folks,” he said. “You can’t get emotionally involved on a personal level. Every single one of them has got a sad story to tell and it will eat you up if you stop to listen to all of them.” He pulled me closer and whispered. “We are their rescuers, not their shrinks.”
Burt was right. Nevertheless, it was hard not to listen and care, not for anybody with half a heart. It made it even more difficult when an Impal was as compelling as the one I was about to encounter. I felt a cold tap on my shoulder and turned to see a tall, imposing Native American man watching at me expectantly. His raven hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing his wise and aged face. He was bare chested and wore a garment around his waist resembling a buckskin kilt. An unusual beaded necklace hung around his neck.
“Have you seen my daughter?” he asked.
I was overcome by a sudden feeling of déjà vu. Strangely, it was much more bizarre than experiencing something I have already seen. The man spoke with a commanding tone in spite of his Impal timbre. He also spoke in his native tongue. The crazy thing was, I could understand him. I never heard this language before, yet I could understand it as clearly as if he were speaking English. When I recovered from the shock, I answered.
“No, I don’t think so. What’s her name?”
“Matoaka,” he answered, his eyes sad and distant.
I shook my head.
“No. I’ll let you know if I do. What is your name?”
“Wahunsunacawh,” he said with deep appreciation.
I was not going to try to pronounce it, at least not on front of him. I felt it might be insulting if I screwed it up. Instead, I patted him on his cold and shimmering arm.
“I’ll let you know, I promise,” I said.
He bowed his head with deep appreciation then turned and walked back to a group of Native American Impals nearby. They all seemed to regard him with a great deal of reverence. I turned to see Burt smiling at me and winked.
“Did you have a good talk?” he asked.
“I guess, why … who was that?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” Burt chided.
“Should I?” I asked, a little annoyed.
Burt shrugged.
“I met him a couple of days ago, took me a while to figure it out myself.”
“He was wandering around the Mattaponi Reservation near King William County since the storm started,” Burt said. “The government does a much better job of keeping their hands off of reservations than anything else. The people there knew it was only a matter of time before that trust was broken. The living residents of the reservation helped sneak him and a few other Indian Impals here.”
“Okay …” I said. “It still doesn’t tell me anything.”
Burt motioned for me to follow and we headed back towards the entrance of the mine. I suddenly realized how tired I felt. In any case, my fatigue didn’t dampen my curiosity to know the man’s identity.
“It’s weird how you can understand him even though you shouldn’t be able to, isn’t it?” Burt said.
“It sure is.”
“I think it’s the same with all Impals, they kind of have some sort of universal translator I guess. There’s a French guy in here.” He said motioning back over his shoulder as we walked. “I talked to him the other day and completely understood everything he said, even though I knew he was speaking French.” Burt chuckled to himself. “I made a D in French when I was in high school.”
“Okay … so who was he?” I asked as we approached the tarp.
Burt stopped and turned as he pulled up the corner of the tarp. He motioned me through and I stepped inside. As the corner of the tarp fell, total darkness descended on us.
“You ever heard of Chief Powhatan?” Burt asked in the dark as he flicked his flashlight on.
I scanned my brain for recall on my basic American history, a moment later it clicked.
“Jamestown?” I said.
“Yep,” Burt replied.
“Well, that would make his daughter …” I said, trailing off in amazement.
Burt finished my sentence for me.
“Pocahontas.”
CHAPTER 7
THE EUROPEAN INITIATIVE
“Do not let spacious plans for a new world divert your energies from saving what is left of the old.”
~Winston Churchill
“He called her Matoaka … and he said his name was Wahunsunacawh,” I said, probably bungling the pronunciations.
“Right,” Burt said as we stepped under the outer tarp and back into the dark, humid air of the woods. “Those were their real names, not what the English called them.”
I wore a stupid expression in the ambient glow of the flashlight; history was not my forte in school.
“He was chief of the Powhatan people, hence the name Chief Powhatan,” Burt explained.
I laughed.
“Isn’t it like calling the president … President America?”
Burt shrugged as we continued our slow march through the woods. “There’s a lot of things I would like to call that cowardly idiot,” he muttered. “He’s the whole reason we are out here.”
“Him and my father,” I added.
Even though it was dark, I could see the expression on Burt’s face, as if he had just stuck his foot in his mouth.
“I didn’t … you know,” he stammered.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I think he ceased to be my father a long time ago. I put it behind me. He always believes he is doing the right thing, no matter how bizarre or hurtful. After many painful years I finally realized that his right and wrong and my right and wrong come from different places and arrive on different buses. He is a misguided asshole.”
I shared this with sincerity in my heart; I meant it more than anything I have ever said. The problem was, there was one point I did not share with Burt, the one thing that made my job all the more difficult. Like him or not he was still my father and just as bad, he was my daughters’ grandfather. It hurt like Hell.
We couldn’t help sharing a laugh about him being a misguided asshole. The most humorous things in life often contain the most truth. The truth in the world now was darker than it had been in a long time and one of the best weapons against dark truths is laughter. Didn’t Mark Twain once say that against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand? While history was not my strongest subject, English was. I couldn’t help wondering if my favorite author, the scribbler from Hannibal, Missouri, might be around. If he was, I hoped he found a safe location like this one.
After getting back to the cabin, I found Barbara and the girls sound asleep. I lay down on my cot, careful not to disturb them, and stared into the darkness. It was so black I might as well have closed my eyes. The dark was my whole world for the moment, which was also an appropriate metaphor for the world’s present state. Earth might be experiencing a miraculous event. Many would even say it was wondrous and joyous. However, humanity had once again shut its eyes out of fear. The ignorance of man turned a miracle into something despicable, something dark, and something terrible.
“My father’s ignorance,” I w
hispered.
I am not certain when I fell asleep. I awakened to see Abby leaning over me.
“Come on Dad,” she said. “You’re gonna miss breakfast.”
The sun was streaming in through the window above her head, the lavender tint from the cosmic storm made her appear as if she wore a purple halo. Sitting up slowly from my cot, I surveyed my surroundings in the daylight. The cabin did not seem quite as foreboding in the light, it just looked filthier. Every speck of dirt, dust and rodent excrement was on brilliant display in the radiant lavender morning light. It was evident that a thorough cleaning was in order. This task would come later after breakfast and a walk-through of the camp. I had just swung my legs over the side of the cot when Abby pressed a cold towel to my nose.
“Your nose is swollen and it bled last night, dad,” she said.
I winced in pain causing her to recoil. I forgot about my broken nose. My abrupt dismount from the bed not only reminded me of my nose, it also reminded me of the beating I endured last night.
“I’m sorry, honey; I didn’t mean to scare you. I fell yesterday and it is still pretty tender.”
She examined my nose with a frown. I could see tears start to well up in her eyes. I was thankful she could not see the cuts and bruises currently concealed by my clothing.
“Oh Daddy,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s okay, Abbs,” I said as I stood up and gave her a hug. She seemed as if she had grown in the past few days, her forehead was now even with my chin. She is about an inch taller than Barbara now.
I felt a lump in my throat as I lamented the loss of my little girl; she was now, for all intents and purposes, a young woman. I still didn’t have any problem addressing her by the nickname she carried since she was old enough to walk. We were heading towards the door when I noticed something hanging around Abbs’s neck glinting in the sunlight. I screwed up my weary eyes and it was as if a light bulb switched on in my head. Hanging around her neck was a familiar pendant. It was a golden ‘S’ about two inches high. The two ends of the ‘S’ were connected with a small piece of clear plastic tubing, roughly making the ‘S’ into an ‘8’.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing at the charm.
She grasped it in her hand at first then held it out for me to see.
“It’s the infinity symbol dad,” she said as if she couldn’t believe I didn’t recognize it. “It’s the symbol people started using to represent the resistance … to represent what we are doing.”
“Why?” I asked.
She stopped and stared at me with disbelief for several long moments. She then removed the chain from her neck. I guess I have been out of the loop. It seems everyone is familiar with this symbol except for me.
“All of our lives are eternal,” she said, watching me for agreement.
I nodded.
Abbs held out the pendant in her left hand, then traced the golden ‘S’ with her right index finger.
“This part of eternity is our physical existence,” she said. With her index finger, she traced the area with the clear plastic tubing. “This represents our spiritual existence,” she said then traced the entire symbol with her finger. “Our physical and spiritual existence makes up our eternal life or infinity.”
“So the solid part is us,” I said, tapping my cheek with the palm of my hand. “And the Impals are the clear plastic tubing?”
“Well … yeah, I guess,” Abbs said. “We are no different than the Impals, just at a different point on the symbol.”
“That’s cool, honey. Did you come up with it?” I asked.
“No, dad!” she said with an impatient huff. “Everybody’s using it! It is called the Myriad.”
“Why not infinity?” I asked.
Abbs shrugged. “Not sure. I think it’s because it represents more than a single infinity, it’s kinda like a multitude of infinites … you know, a multitude of people.”
My head already ached this morning from yesterday’s activities. The prospect of entering a deep philosophical discussion wasn’t going to help matters. I understood the gist of what the symbol represented and Myriad sounded like as good a name as any. “Come on, Abbs … let’s go get some breakfast, I’m starving.” I said, smiling and wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She slipped the chain over her head as I held her long black hair up for her. I knew my nose wouldn’t allow me to taste breakfast very well, yet it didn’t change the fact that I was famished.
“Where are your mom and sister?” I asked, noticing their absence as we stepped out the door.
“Mom is at the mess hall already; she didn’t want to wake you up this morning and Steff …” she trailed off then smirked. “She refused to eat any of the ‘slop’ we were serving and disappeared into the woods.”
“Is she all right?” I asked.
Abbs shrugged.
“Yeah, she’ll go off and pout for a while then come home when she is hungry.”
Steff was always the whiney, persnickety child growing up. Her twelfth birthday seemed to put those characteristics into overdrive. I loved her more than anything, but damn she could be difficult. I didn’t blame the girls for being upset about their new living conditions. I was not crazy about them myself. At least Abby seemed to be handling it in stride.
By comparison, the outside of our cabin was pure paradise. Gently sloping forested mountains surrounded us on all sides. A large clear lake shimmered through the woods about a quarter of a mile from the cabin. The surface reflected the trees, giving the strange impression of Impal trees. I have heard Impals described as if they were a shimmering lake in the morning sun. For the first time, I could see the correlation. The lavender sky coupled with yellowish clouds completed the surreal setting.
The woods surrounding the cabin provided a thick canopy. A small percentage of sunlight could penetrate the dense vegetation. In fact, the only opening I could see was where the sun was shining through the front window of our cabin. Several cabins peppered the woods around the lake. Most were similar to ours, some larger and some smaller. All of them shared the ancient appearance of years of exposure and neglect.
We made our way down a winding trail through the woods and down a steep slope. When we reached the bottom, we emerged in a clearing centered by a large rectangle shaped building. It was every bit as old as the cabins. I could hear the sound of voices inside, like several people having a muted conversation. Barely audible over the voices was the electronic buzz of a radio broadcast. As we got closer, a strange scent caught my swollen nose like something was cooking. I wasn’t sure if it smelled good or not.
The building once served as the old mess hall for the miners. The inside was filled with several rows of long tables framed on each side by long wooden benches. There were about a dozen people huddled on both sides of the table opposite the door. Barbara, Burt, Danny Bradley, Charlotte McVey, Derek Vandeputte and Taylor Farris occupied the table closest to me. They were mixed with six people I did not know, four men and two women. Burt waved and motioned toward a table at the back of the room. There was a small propane camping stove set up beside a stack of paper plates and a row of bottled water. A solitary man stood behind the table.
“Get you some breakfast and come on over!” Burt called.
Abbs patted me on the back, strolled over, and set down next to Barbara. I walked over to the man at the stove to see what was cooking. It turned out my nose would not have made a lot of difference. The only things on the menu were fried Spam or Vienna sausage, grilled toast (plain) or dry cereal.
“We can’t store anything perishable,” the cook said with an apologetic frown. “There’s no power out here and the nearest ice machine is at the country store a few miles away.”
“That’s fine,” I said as my stomach growled, “I’ve always been partial to Vienna sausages and Froot Loops,” I said, pointing to the colorful box with the toucan.
“Vienny weenies and Fruity fowl!” he proclaimed as if calling out an orde
r in a restaurant. He dumped a can of Vienna sausages on an iron skillet and they began to sizzle. It wasn’t exactly bacon or sausage, but I was so hungry I didn’t care.
The cook reached down under the table and produced a large bowl covered with a white cloth. He set it on the table then leaned forward and whispered as if he held a deep secret.
“I picked these this morning. Want a scoop or two on your cereal?”
He lifted the cloth and revealed a bowl brimming with blackberries. I enjoyed wild blackberries as a kid and I jumped at his generous offer.
I sat down by Barbara and Abbs while I finished my breakfast. I listened with great interest to the conversation. It seemed things were going to be moving a little faster than I anticipated.
“Europe is a little more humane than us,” Derek said. “They are sending Impals to the island of Cephalonia and Lemnos off the Greek coast. The British and French are sending theirs to the fourteen Channel Islands, half of which are uninhabited.”
“What are they doing about the ones that are inhabited?” Burt asked.
“I hear the European Union is offering anyone who has to relocate a very generous settlement. Most will probably be living better than they were,” Danny said.
“What about the rest of the world?” Barbara asked.
“Not really sure,” Danny said. “We haven’t had a whole lot of contact lately from Asia or Africa. All we can hope for is that they handle the situation by keeping the best interest of all involved in mind.”
“We are the only ones who have anything like the Tesla Gate?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes, I believe so,” Danny replied.
I decided to jump in because I asked a question burning at me since I first heard of the infernal contraption.
“Where did the Tesla Gate come from?” I asked.
Danny stared at me for several moments with a stoic frown. He then he jerked his head to suggest later was a more appropriate time to address it. I saw by the disappointed faces around the table that the question was on everyone’s mind. It seemed strange to me that these things, these Shredders, could have come into existence and implemented so fast.
The Myriad Resistance Page 6
