The Myriad Resistance

by John D. Mimms

  “We go under the water,” he said.

  “Unless you managed to commandeer a submarine, I don’t know how in the blazes you think we can do that!” Burt said.

  Danny didn’t reply, instead he turned to Lincoln. The former president’s face was a mask of utter confusion.

  “Mr. President,” Danny began. “It is my understanding that Impals are impervious to anything except for iron, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes … to the best of my understanding,” Lincoln said in a suspicious tone.

  “Any issues with water?” Danny asked.

  Either Lincoln’s eyes widened from fear or comprehension. It was hard to tell because he spoke with his same witty humor.

  “I’m not sure since I haven’t taken a bath in over one hundred-fifty years,” he said.

  “Would you mind conducting an experiment with me?” Danny asked.

  “I reckon,” Lincoln said. “As long as it doesn’t take too long, I’m getting kind of hungry.”

  Danny stood up and walked to the door, opening it and revealing the fading sunset between the trees. He motioned for all of us to follow. Danny led us down to the edge of the lake where he stopped and turned to face Lincoln.

  “Mr. Lincoln, this part of the lake doesn’t get any more than twenty feet deep before it hits the drop-off for the quarry about fifty yards out. Would you mind walking in about twenty yards or so, then turn and come back out?”

  Lincoln was uneasy. Nevertheless, he pushed up his sleeves and walked with forced purpose into the water. Not breaking stride, within thirty seconds his head was completely underwater, yet he was still visible. The former president’s luminescent glow was as radiant as an underwater fountain light. We watched as the light stopped about twenty yards out then turned and came back toward us. Its bluish white tint cast an eerie ripple on the surface. A few seconds later, his head emerged followed by his long and lanky frame. Lincoln stepped back onto the shore with a wide grin on his face; he appeared to be completely dry.

  “It kind of tickled,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Do you feel okay?” I asked.

  “No side effects?” Burt added.

  Lincoln mimicked shaking water out of his ears then shrugged.

  “Nope, fit as a fiddle,” he said.

  Derek shook his head.

  “Nope, this will never work,” he said. “We are going to have hundreds of Impals travelling under the water together. You saw what he looked like under there. Can you imagine that many together? They will light up the whole bay area!”

  “Derek is absolutely right,” Danny said. “I already considered that,” he said reaching in his pocket and retrieving a battery. He held it between his thumb and forefinger as if he was displaying a precious metal.

  “Do we have that many batteries, enough to give a couple to all the Impals?” Derek asked.

  “We should,” Danny said. “The problem is all the Impals are going to need two pairs of batteries.”

  “Why two?” Burt asked.

  “Well, there are a couple of reasons,” Danny explained, swatting a mosquito on the back of his neck. “Why don’t we get back inside and I’ll explain further. I’m getting eaten alive out here.”

  “They’re not bothering me,” Lincoln chuckled.

  “No, you’re attracting them … here,” Danny said, holding out the battery to Lincoln. He took it in his hand and immediately dimmed.

  We walked back to the cabin, Burt and I whispering back and forth as Andrews and Derek did the same. There were still a number of questions to be answered. After returning to the table, Danny sprayed a ring of mosquito repellent around the room as if he were performing a cleansing ritual. He then sat down and did his best to address those questions.

  “Well, the reason we need two pairs of batteries for each Impal,” Danny began, “is because the batteries will only last about fifteen or twenty minutes in salt water before they begin to corrode and lose their effectiveness. The Impals will be starting out about three miles from the tunnel as the crow flies, or in this case, as the fish swims.”

  He gave a smirk, realizing his poor attempt at humor and continued.

  “Given the distance, water resistance and a half-dozen other issues, I estimate it will take them at least thirty-minutes to walk there. The batteries will be dead and they’ll be exposed, all one-thousand of them, give or take a few.”

  I felt the need to point out the obvious. “They’ll be exposed when they get there. The patrol boats will be able to see them from miles away.”

  “That’s why they can’t come up at the island,” Danny said. “They’ll have to pass through the tunnel, underneath the water. Someone will be there to meet them as they come through; giving them new batteries, then they walk out of the tunnel and get on the boat.”

  “Can they do that?” Andrews asked in disbelief. “Isn’t some of the tunnel structure made out of iron?”

  Danny shook his head.

  “No, the tunnel structure consists of prefabricated composite structural steel and reinforced concrete tube sections. They are thirty-seven feet in diameter and approximately three-hundred feet long. Each one is sunk into place in a prepared trench and covered with about ten feet of back-fill material, usually gravel and rock. The structural steel portion of the tube sections consists of a thirty-five-foot diameter steel tube supported inside a thirty-seven-foot square box section.”

  “Impressive,” Burt said with raised eyebrows.

  “I’ve been doing my homework,” Danny replied.

  “So … they are supposed to hit this tunnel in pitch-black darkness, one-hundred feet under the ocean?” That’s crazy!” Derek said.

  Danny tapped his finger on the table as if he was about to make an important point. “It’s not as crazy as it might seem. Grandview Natural Preserve just outside of Hampton is a straight shot due south to the Thimble Shoal Tunnel. The tunnel itself is over fifty-five hundred feet long, so it’s not exactly a tiny target.”

  “Yeah, but you said yourself it is covered with rock and gravel. No telling what aquatic plants and silt have settled on it over the years. It’ll probably look like the rest of the seafloor,” Derek argued.

  “True,” Danny agreed. “Each end of the tunnel has channel markers where it rises out of the water to the trestle on the north or the man-made island to the south. These lights are bright enough for ships to spot from miles away at night, so they should be visible under the water as well.”

  “Should be,” Derek said with growing skepticism. “That is one hell of a risk. What if they can’t see it and they keep walking out into the Atlantic?”

  “Well …” Danny said. “That’s where we come in.”

  Here it comes, the thing I have been dreading.

  “The one part I forgot to mention is that aside from the truck Mr. Connelly is going to bring, he is also bringing two flat bottom aluminum boats,” Danny said.

  “With motors?” Andrews asked.

  “No, not with motors,” Danny barked, showing impatience for the first time. “We might as well putter out there with a neon sign blinking the Myriad symbol and another with ‘Save the Impals’.”

  Andrews sank back in his chair with a glaring scowl on his face.

  “Then how are we going to get them out there … paddle? It’ll take longer than thirty minutes, especially with the current out there,” Derek asked.

  Danny sat back in his chair and rubbed his fists with his eyes. He took a deep breath then turned to face Lincoln again.

  “Mr. President, this is where you and one of your counterparts come in,” he said.

  Lincoln didn’t say anything. He raised his eyebrows and waited for Danny to continue.

  “The boats,” Danny explained, “will be full of batteries for when you come out in the tunnel. I will be in one boat and Cecil will be in the other. We will have camouflage covering the top. If we are spotted, we’ll be dismissed as nothing more than floating debris. There will be a littl
e over one-hundred feet of rope tied to the front of the boat.”

  “I suppose you want me and my Impal counterpart to tow you like a horse and buggy?” Lincoln asked.

  Danny nodded, and then summed up the plan. “Yes, then when you get to the tunnel, Cecil and I will tie up to the island then unload the batteries and bring them down into the tunnel. Andrews’s brother’s boats will be moored on the other side of the island, waiting.”

  “This sounds all well and good,” Burt said. “And I’m going to assume you left me out of the plan because if I had to paddle, I would just be going in circles,” he said as he held up his injured arm, which was still in a sling.

  Everyone at the table laughed.

  “What the Hell are we going to do with a thousand Impals appearing in the tunnel when traffic comes through? Someone with a cell phone could sound the alert before we handout the first battery.”

  Danny gave a knowing grin. “I know you all have probably lost track of the days lately. I know I would have if I hadn’t been keeping a calendar. We chose tomorrow for a reason. Tomorrow is Sunday and as of late the Bridge-Tunnel has been closing on Sundays for regular maintenance,” Danny said. “There shouldn’t be anybody on it that time of night since maintenance is done in the daylight hours.”

  It all sounded like a solid plan, nevertheless I must admit to a couple of misgivings. First, I was going to be in a tiny boat on the pitch-black ocean at nighttime. An army of Impals a hundred feet or so beneath the surface would tow my boat. If that didn’t sound worrisome enough, the second issue was, aside from snakes, my biggest fear from the animal kingdom is sharks. I saw Jaws many more times than Snakes on a Plane and I guess the repetitive salt-water horror sunk in over the years.

  “Okay, so what time do we need to get started tomorrow?” I asked, mustering as much confidence in my voice as I could summon.

  “I want everyone here to meet at the mess hall around five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Cecil and Burt, I would like you to accompany me to the mine in the morning right after breakfast. With the assistance of Mr. Lincoln and our own president, we will conduct a briefing with the Impals to let them know what to expect.”

  Lincoln agreed even though unease clouded his face. He knew this was not going to be an easy sell. How could it? The water would not hurt the Impals, at least we didn’t think so. Nobody knew for sure. I didn’t think any Impals have conducted deep-sea dives, although there were rumors of some crew and passengers of the Titanic stumbling ashore in Newfoundland a couple of weeks ago. The pure unnatural creepiness of walking deep under the ocean in complete darkness is enough to make anyone’s skin crawl, flesher or Impal.

  A short time later, we adjourned and I returned to our cabin. The girls were asleep. Barbara waited patiently, reading a paperback romance novel by the glow of her flashlight.

  “Are you all right?” she asked as I kissed her forehead and collapsed on my cot.

  “Yes,” I lied, and then rolled over.

  I was not okay. My stomach was in knots thinking about tomorrow night and all the horrible things that could go wrong, a few of which probably would. I ran the plan over and over in my mind trying to picture all the details in my head. I visited the Bridge-Tunnel a number of times, but never in a tiny boat at night. At least this would be over after tomorrow. That still didn’t mean we could return to a normal life no matter how much Steff wanted to … no matter how much we all wanted to. The worries of uncertainty denied me sleep, even though I desperately craved it. It would be a long time before I experienced restful sleep again.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE MEETING IN THE MINE

  “When you are grateful, fear disappears and abundance appears.”

  ~Anthony Robbins

  We consumed breakfast in a bleary-eyed haze the next morning. I was thankful the cook managed to get his hands on some coffee, even if it was of the instant variety. I drank it down and relished the rush of caffeine coursing through my veins. I was a typical daily coffee drinker. To be honest I missed it the last few weeks.

  As planned, Danny, Burt and I set out for the mine after breakfast. We were all nervous and fidgety and it wasn’t clear whether it was due to the momentous task in front of us or from the caffeine. We entered through the double tarp of the mine entrance to find all the Impals gathered in a semicircle near the front of the mine. Lincoln, the president and Chief Powhatan stood front and center. The three men stepped forward and shook our hands then surrendered control of the meeting. Danny stepped forward and scanned the crowd of Impals in front of us.

  Since I was not speaking, it gave me a chance to observe our refugees a little closer. The first thing that struck me was just how many there were. Every time I visited the mine, the Impals were scattered about. Now they assembled into a tight group resembling a small glowing army. The official head count was one hundred-ten. The small space made it seem like three times as many. The group was as eclectic as I perceived on my first visit. As they all stood together, I could fully take-in the diversity.

  At least twelve Native Americans made up the group, not counting Powhatan. Twenty-four African Americans occupied the group, eleven men, seven women and six children. They spanned from early Colonial to modern day. While they wore the clothing of their time, none of them bore any sign of slavery. Why would they?

  The rest of the Impals all appeared to be Caucasian, seventy-eight in all, again with a mixture of men, women and children. I wasn’t sure how many of them were American. I knew there was at least one French person, according to Burt. I met a man from England on my last trip to the mine. They made the choice to remain when they died, but it made me wonder if they were given a choice on where to remain. I heard a few accounts of Impals showing up hundreds of miles from where they died. Perhaps there was something about the ocean keeping them from their native country. That idea sent a nervous twinge through my stomach when I considered our plan tonight. I pushed it aside and scanned the crowd to gauge the reaction. My heart sank when I saw apprehension clouding their faces.

  Mrs. Fiddler and her daughter stood near the front and I could see pure terror registering on both of their faces. My heart went out to them. It didn’t surprise me, not one bit. I can’t imagine I would react any different if in their shoes. Being under the ocean at night, not knowing what horror lurked in the darkness mere feet away. That scenario was enough to horrify the bravest. They would be dark because they would all carry batteries and I didn’t think Impals could see in the dark, not since the lanterns seemed to burn constantly in the mine. I was scared enough and I was going to be in a boat, not in the briny depths of Chesapeake Bay.

  Could anything really hurt the Impals? I didn’t think so, not unless a shark with iron teeth showed up. If there is one thing I have learned in my life is harm can come from other things besides physical injury. Growing up with my father taught me that lesson well. They cherished the same hopes, fears, love and emotional needs as any flesher. Anyone who has a dash of sanity and a little bit of heart can tell in an instant.

  When I thought about the thousands of Impals who had been put through the Shredder’s ravenous maws, the thirty minutes these Impals would be forced to endure tonight didn’t seem that bad. Of course, I wouldn’t dream of sharing that belief with them. Not if I didn’t want to be clouted over the head with a bucket.

  When Danny finished speaking, the chamber filled with restless murmuring and harsh whispers.

  “Why can’t some of us ride in a boat?” a man in eighteenth-century clothing, complete with a triangle hat and knickers, shouted. He must have been the French gentleman Burt mentioned. As with Chief Powhatan, I could tell he was speaking a foreign language, yet I could understand him as if he were speaking English.

  Danny sighed and glanced sideways at us. He had gone over this. I guess it bore repeating since several other Impals indicated they wanted to know too.

  “Because,” Danny began, “there are patrol boats surveying the shore at regular intervals.
Frankly, we’ll be lucky if we can get the two small boats out there without being seen.”

  “What if we want to take our chances in a boat … shouldn’t it be our choice?” a woman with a ‘saucer wave’ hairdo from the 1930s asked. She wore a red crepe suit, making her seem both professional and glamorous. “I’m afraid of the water … always have been!”

  “Me too,” a small voice whimpered.

  I turned to see it came from Mrs. Fiddler’s daughter. She now buried her face on her mother’s chest.

  “It won’t hurt you, I promise,” Lincoln said with a warm smile. “I went for a dip in the lake last night myself … it actually kind of tickles,” he said as he patted the girl on the head and gave the frightened 1930s woman a comforting wink.

  “I-I am not sure, I think I drowned,” a large Native American man said. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “You didn’t drown!” another Native American man said. “You ate yourself to death!”

  There was a smattering of uneasy laughter from the crowd and I laughed along with them.

  “That’s why they call you Hungry Bear,” another Native American added. Again, the room filled with uneasy laughter.

  “How long will it take again?” a slender African American man wearing a modern pinstripe suit asked.

  “No more than thirty minutes,” Danny said.

  The man stared with uncertainty at his feet. He then turned to an African American woman standing next to him. Her expression was as terrified as the Fiddler’s.

  “It’s okay, baby. You can shut your eyes tight and I’ll lead you,” the man said, patting the woman on the hand.

  A strange thought flashed through my mind. “Do Impals have eyelids to shut?”

  I supposed they did, maybe not exactly like mine. Impals slept with their eyes closed.

  “I ain’t scared!” Chester spoke up.

  He was in the back and, due to his short stature; I did not noticed him earlier. He was not the same crazed and wild-eyed person as the day of his rescue. He seemed remarkably brave and lucid.