“So what does Europe have to do with our situation?” Taylor asked.
Danny finished the last swig of his water bottle before he answered. “I have been in contact with an old buddy of mine, Admiral Jack Dyson of the British fleet, since this whole thing began. I’ve kept my ear to the ground in Europe, so to speak. I talked to him a few days ago and he was horrified by what I told him our government was doing.” The colonel paused and took a deep breath before continuing.
“He told me that whatever Impals I could get out of the country; they would be welcomed at the island of Guernsey in the channel. It is the only place where any space is available.”
“How many do we have here?” I asked. I calculated a rough estimate in my head based on what I saw last night.
“Roughly about one hundred-twenty,” Danny said.
“Good God, the government has been putting that many through the Shredder every fifteen minutes … and we only have one hundred-twenty?” I asked in disbelief.
“It’s the best we can do in a short time, Mr. Garrison. We don’t have the resources the government does when it comes to rounding them up. Besides, every Impal here is here by choice.”
“So how are we getting them out of the country?” Taylor asked.
Danny turned his agitated gaze into a wide smile as he turned to face the rest of the table. “Boats,” he said.
Before anyone could ask him to elaborate, he did. Sam Andrews’s brother owned a sightseeing tours company, which operated small cruise ships around the Chesapeake Bay area. He owned two ships in his fleet that he believed could make a transatlantic voyage.
“They should be more than big enough to hold all the Impals coming for the journey,” he said.
“All of them … coming?” Charlotte chimed in. “There’s more than the ones we shelter here?”
“There are three other camps I am working with … one in Pennsylvania, one in New Jersey, and another in North Carolina. We are going to meet on the determined night and facilitate one big extraction,” Danny said.
“How many in those camps?” Derek asked.
“I’m not sure. We should be evacuating close to four hundred, give or take a few,” Danny said. “Don’t forget, we have another shipment coming in today … all the way from Washington!”
Everyone began to talk at once before Danny put a decisive end to it.
“Okay everyone, pack out you trash and let’s get ready for the next shipment!” he proclaimed. He then turned and winked. “It’s cleaning day for you, Cecil,” he said pointing to a bucket, mop, and an assortment of cleaning supplies in the corner.
When I considered our dirty little shack, I was thankful to receive an order to perform clean up duty.
“Don’t worry, they clean up good,” Burt whispered, poking me in the ribs. “Ours was a regular crap hole when we first moved in last week.”
I started to make a sarcastic comment when I heard a commotion outside. Several people darted about the mess hall and I could hear the sound of approaching vehicles. My heart leapt into my throat until I saw Burt’s amusement.
“Relax chief,” he said, reading the panic on my face. “It’s just our new Impal pals.”
We walked outside to find a group of people talking excitedly and watching the road with anticipation.
“Are you serious? It’s really him?” one elderly woman asked a chubby young man with sunglasses and a large scar on his cheek.
He shrugged and said, “I don’t know, I guess we’re about to find out.”
As if on cue, two large SUVs came into sight around a bend in the woods. A minute later, they skidded to a stop beside us. Everybody stepped back as if one of the vehicles might be radioactive and then stared in excitement. The front doors opened and a man and a woman got out of the front seat of each. They were either Impals carrying batteries or fleshers like us. They opened the back doors, including the cargo area and a number of Impals poured out of each vehicle. They all radiated with a ‘batteries not included’ shimmering glow. They always seemed much more surreal in the daylight.
The people began whispering again. I couldn’t figure out what the commotion was about, until I looked a little closer. A group of Impals headed towards me. There was one man much taller than the rest. I felt a jolt of excitement as I recognized our new refugee. Thomas Pendleton told me about his encounter with him before his capture. I never dreamed I would be coming face to face with none other than Abraham Lincoln.
CHAPTER 8
MAN DOWN
“Beware of false knowledge; it is more dangerous than ignorance.”
~George Bernard Shaw
The tall, lanky former President tried to blend in with everyone else, but it was impossible. His stature was too recognizable both in the historic and physical sense. He loped past without a word. I stood frozen in place, dumbstruck. I had met two famous names from history in less than twenty-four hours. I must admit, Lincoln is the ultimate. He may not be my favorite president, yet I was an admirer all the same.
The drivers of the SUVs along with Taylor, Derek and Charlotte accompanied the new arrivals. They led them into the woods along the path leading to the concealed mineshaft. I turned to see Burt and Barbara watching me with amusement. Abbs grin didn’t last too long, however.
“Bye, Dad!” she said and ran after the group.
I started to protest, and then reconsidered. She was eighteen and I imagined she was as safe here as she would be anywhere.
“That’s incredible!” Barbara said. “Do you think there will be a chance to meet him?”
I looked to Burt. Barbara and I were the rookies to the camp. I didn’t know what Danny’s policy was about interacting with the Impals. Besides, Burt introduced me to the Impal quarters last night.
“Probably, later … you and I have something big to do today.” He said, poking me in the chest in a playful manner. I think it was for Barbara’s benefit because I could see the seriousness in his eyes.
“What?” Barbara asked with suspicion in her eyes.
“Nothing to worry about,” Burt assured her. “Just a little roundup we need to prepare for.”
I knew what he meant. He wanted me to come with him to collect another group of Impals.
“Not without me,” Barbara said. “I am part of this group too.”
I knew the main reason she wanted to go was not to be one of the guys. It was because she still hadn’t given up hope of finding her mother.
“You certainly are,” Burt said. “That’s why we need you here to help watch over the camp.”
Barbara started to argue until he brought up his next point.
“Besides, every flesher we take is one less Impal we can bring back.”
Barbara could be emotional with the best of them when the time came. She was also a very rational and logical person. Burt’s logic was flawless and she couldn’t argue.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Can’t say just yet for security reasons. I’ll let you know when we are en route.” He patted Barbara on her on the arm and said, “He’ll be fine, I promise.”
The words barely exited his mouth when a deafening crack rang out, echoing like rolling thunder around the valley. It was as if time ran in slow motion. I saw Burt spinning away like a top with shock in his eyes. I felt something warm and wet spray across my face. I turned to Barbara and saw crimson sprayed across the side of her face. I knew it was blood. Instinct took over and I dove forward, tackling Barbara to the ground. Another bullet whistled past my ear as the shot rolled around the valley like thunder.
I was unarmed and my only thought was to protect Barbara. Spreading my body across hers, I heard another gunshot as a bullet kicked up a plume of Earth mere inches from us. Dirt rained down on my head as I heard the voice of a strange man.
“You damned Pythonians! I saw you takin’ your demons in there! I’m going to make sure you join them!” called a deep voice, distorted with rage. The breathing sounded like a maratho
n runner. The second voice belonged to a woman. It carried the same viral hatred and labored breathing.
“I’m gonna blow your damn head off, demon lover!” she screamed.
I braced myself and prepared for the shot. I covered as much of Barbara as I could, hoping that they, whomever they were, would be satisfied after they shot me. I heard her panting beneath me, my chest vibrating with every shuddering sob of her body.
“I love you,” I whispered and closed my eyes to prepare.
I flinched as two shots rang out. Convinced that my life was over, a crazy idea ran through my mind. Would I have to live in the mineshaft now?
I waited … for what I was not sure.
Would my spirit, my Impal part, rise out of my body or would I need to make a conscious effort to stand up? A second later, two more shots rang out. These were immediately followed by two hard thuds a short distance away. I opened my eyes and turned my head in the direction of the gunshots. My stomach lurched as I saw the face of a red-haired, middle-aged woman lying a few feet away from us. Her milky lifeless eyes seemed to stare straight through me. There was little doubt that she was dead.
“Coast clear, it’s over!” the familiar voice of Danny called. “Man down!” he yelled.
I rolled off Barbara and was about to tell him I was fine when I saw Burt lying face down a few feet away. I glanced down at Barbara as she rolled over, my heart seized when I saw the blood splashed across her face.
“Sweetheart?” I said, reaching out and touching her blood covered cheek.
She sat up and then rubbed her fingers over the blood. “It’s not mine,” she said.
Simultaneously, we turned back to Burt and then crawled to our wounded friend. As we reached his side, Danny appeared. He carried two Beretta M9 pistols, one in each hand. Small tendrils of smoke coiled from each barrel. The colonel was our savior.
“Thank God he has two guns,” I thought to myself. If he hadn’t, he may not have gotten off another shot before one of them did.
“Taylor, Andrews … restrain those two assholes!” he yelled at Taylor Ferris and Sam Andrews, as they sprinted out of the woods in response to the gunfire.
The man and woman who tried to murder us now stood dumbstruck. Their shimmering faces stared in shock at their lifeless bodies. Their ethereal forms were a surreal contrast to the lake behind them in the distance.
The man resembled like a middle age hunter. His eternal wardrobe consisted of a hunting jacket and jeans. The woman bore an uncanny likeness to Jessica Rabbit, Roger’s sultry girlfriend. She wore jeans and a striped tank top. Their corporeal bodies bore the clothing of two rednecks who had not bathed since the cosmic storm started.
Taylor and Andrews each produced two large iron chains from behind the mess hall. Andrews was the largest and fastest and the most temperamental. He unloaded on the man with a swing reminiscent of Barry Bonds. The hapless Impal flew backwards and landed flat on his back. The man’s shocked expression turned to one of horror as Andrews menaced the chain above him. Taylor clocked the woman a second later producing similar results. If the Impals tried to get up, they would be beaten back to the ground by the two iron wielding behemoths.
Turning my attention to Burt, I thankfully saw his chest rise and fall as he lay on his stomach; he was breathing. Copious amounts of blood soaked his shirt on his right shoulder. Danny reached down and touched his left shoulder. I moved around to his right, the direction his head was facing. With great care, I touched him on top of the head.
“Burt … are you hit?” I wheezed. It seemed my lungs were as much in shock as the rest of me.
His eyes remained closed as a faint smile creased Burt’s face. “Whoever punched me is about to get my boot in their ass,” he mumbled.
Blood continued to pour from the wound on his back so I pulled off my T-shirt and put pressure on it as Danny helped me roll him over. The wound on the front of Burt’s shoulder was bleeding worse. Danny removed his shirt and applied pressure while I continued to apply pressure to his back. He winced with pain at our touch, then gritted his teeth and endured it.
Danny gave Burt’s body a quick once over as he held the makeshift bandage in place. He patted him on his good shoulder. “Well, the bullet went all the way through … which is a good thing,” he said and then turned to a strange man watching nearby.
“Scooter, run and get the doc. Tell him to bring his bag and come quick,” Danny ordered. The man continued to stare, dumbfounded.
“Now!” Danny barked, like a drill sergeant.
The man snapped out of his shock-induced trance then turned and sprinted through the woods on the other side of the mess hall. He passed the cook who was running towards us carrying towels and several bottles of water.
We washed the wound and kept pressure on it until the doctor arrived a few minutes later. The doctor was a man I saw leaving the mess hall earlier, his name was Dr. Frank Acosta.
After examining Burt for several moments, he pulled back the towel covering his back and examined the wound. Shaking his head, he said, “Move him to a mess hall table. We need to get him off this nasty ground.”
I grabbed Burt under the shoulders and Danny took his legs. With one strong heave, we lifted him in the air and carried him to the mess hall. Burt screamed in pain the whole way until we set him on one of the old wooden tabletops.
“Get me some gunpowder and a match!”
Danny stared with a vacant expression at his twin pistols for a moment. He shoved one back in his chest holster and then popped the cartridge out of the other. He flicked two bullets out with his thumb and knelt down beside the doctor. He began to twist the casing back and forth at the point it met the bullet. After several moments of intense effort, the bullet and casing separated as a few drops of gunpowder leaked out. Danny handed the casing to the doctor and then stuck out his hand to Barbara. “Lighter!” he demanded.
Barbara seemed uncharacteristically sheepish as she turned three shades of red. She stared at her feet and didn’t move.
“Come on, come on,” he said with impatience. “I saw you smoking down by the lake last night before we left to get your husband.”
I understood the reason for her embarrassment. Barbara quit smoking three years ago. I was proud of her for showing the will and fortitude to stop the disgusting habit. It seemed she had fallen back into it again. At any other time, I would be upset and voice my disapproval of the habit. Now was not the time. She glanced at me, and then slid her hand in her pocket. She produced the cheap, pink Bic, and handed it to Danny.
They gently rolled Burt over and the doctor tore the shirt away from his wound. He picked up an oak twig nearby and asked Burt to bite down on it.
“I am going to cauterize the wound … on the count of three,” Dr. Acosta said.
Burt clamped down on the stick.
“One …” he poured the gunpowder on the wound.
“Two …” he held the lighter at the ready.
“Three!” he clicked the lighter and held it to the powder. There was a bright flash followed by a muffled scream from Burt. The doctor withdrew his hand in one swift motion, shaking it as if trying to douse a fire. He had singed his fingertips.
Burt grunted and panted as the doctor cleaned the cauterized area with one of the water bottles. After a minute or two of cleaning and observing the back of Burt’s shoulder, the doctor seemed satisfied.
“Lay him down on this towel,” he said, as the cook spread out a fresh towel underneath my wounded friend.
As soon as Burt was settled in place, he examined the wound on the front of his shoulder. After a few moments, he said, “Burt, I would like to cauterize this wound as well. Even though the bleeding has almost stopped, I think cauterization would help sterilize the area.”
Burt spat the stick out of his mouth. “What about disinfectants?” he pleaded.
“Don’t have any,” the doctor said. “Even if I did, the only thing preferable would be hydrogen peroxide or iodine … alcohol
would burn worse and longer than cauterization.”
Burt laid his head back and closed his eyes. His face was ashen from the blood loss and pain. He took a deep breath and uttered a single word. “Stick.”
The good news was Burt would survive. He would be out of action for a while, but the doctor said the bullet passed through cleanly. As long as infection did not set in, he should make a full recovery.
When we carried him back to his cabin, I thought Sally was going to have a heart attack. After we assured her that Burt would be okay, she calmed down. Sally started fussing over him, rubbing his feet and legs then dabbing his forehead with a cool damp cloth. Satisfaction bloomed on Burt’s face. Seeing he was in good hands, we left and returned to the mess hall.
The motivation of our two shooters was more disturbing than Burt’s injury. We sat and listened to the radio with heavy hearts and growing fear. I think my heart was heavier than everyone else’s because my father was on the radio.
“Yes, we think so,” General Garrison told the unnamed host. “As hard as it is to believe, my worst fears are confirmed.”
“What fears are those?” the host asked.
“I always said these Impals are abominations and now we have definitive proof.”
“What sort of proof?” the host asked.
“There has been a unanimous declaration from the religious community. Not just Christian leaders, but Jewish and Islamic are in agreement on this. The Impals are in fact demons.”
“Demons?” the host asked with respectful incredulity.
“Yes sir,” the general said with arrogant conviction. “Several verses of scripture backup this conclusion.”
“Can you cite one?” the host asked.
“Several,” he said. “We can start with Matthew 12, verses 43 to 45.”
He cleared his throat and spoke.
“When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none.
The Myriad Resistance Page 7
