All of the Above

by Timothy Scott Bennett

  Linda shivered and hugged herself.

  “At the same time, some of the Strangers have continued to support the original design of the planet, working with individual humans, encouraging the evolution of consciousness wherever they could. Places like the Earth are rare in the universe, Mrs. President. The mass extinction now underway represents a significant setback in that evolution. The extinction of people, human and otherwise, would be an even greater setback, as there are relatively few other places in the whole of creation now evolving consciousness at that level. With the collapse of the planetary ecosystem now underway, it’s like they’re working to get as many of us into the lifeboats as they can.”

  Linda held up a hand to stop him. She closed her eyes and took a long in-breath. Her nose and brow wrinkled, as though she were tasting something bitter. She exhaled heavily and opened her eyes, shaking her head almost imperceptibly from side to side. “But they can’t push us into the lifeboats. Can they? We have to jump.”

  “That’s exactly right, Mrs. President. This is initiation. The Strangers can only help us if we help ourselves. We’ve had our extended adolescence, our late nights of debauchery and rebellion and acting out. Now it’s time to make a choice: to step into our adulthood, or to remain juveniles. Who do we want to be as we face into our collective situation? And here’s the kicker: adulthood, and long-term survival, requires, not rebellion, but dialogue, collaboration, even compliance. Surrender to the larger communities. And surrender is pretty much a curse word for most Americans.”

  “These colors don’t run,” said Linda with a weak smile.

  “Nope. But they will fade out, and rather quickly, I think, unless we come to grips with the laws of physics, chemistry, and biology as they operate in the physical bands. Unless we surrender to the limitations of a finite planet. And unless we learn that complete control is neither possible nor desirable, that co-creation, or being in a conversation with life, as the poet David Whyte speaks of it, is the way of the Universe. The whole of reality is made of consciousness, and life is always and nothing more than a spiritual journey back to connection and conversation with the Sacred Universe. For all of our vaunted science and technology, we’re pretty much just monkeys with Kalashnikovs. We’ve failed to notice that innovation and growth do not constitute evolution, that our ability to build skyscrapers or design new weapon systems has nothing to do with emotional, psychological or spiritual maturity. Our tools simply extend our reach. In the case of the dominant world-wide culture, we’re now self-absorbed, hormonal teenagers with really long arms. And then we get angry when the Strangers treat us as such.”

  Linda rubbed her eyes, trying to wring out the exhaustion. “So where do you and I come in? I mean, what? Do I get on TV and try to explain all of this and ask people to, you know … Jesus! I can’t even think of what I’d ask them. Fuck. I’m still just a farmer’s wife!”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it,” said Obie harshly.

  “Yeah, well, fuck you, Obie. And fuck these Inuit. I didn’t ask to be the savior of humanity.”

  “Not consciously, perhaps. But apparently you signed up to help. A great many people have gone to great lengths to put you in a position to do that.”

  “Meaning the election?” asked Linda, starting to cool off.

  “Much more than that,” answered Obie.

  “Tell me.”

  Obie looked away, as if the truth was too painful to face head on. “This piece will hurt,” he said.

  “It’s a little late to worry about that, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Obie turned back and looked Linda in the eyes. “You don’t yet know the full extent to which the Strangers have been in your life,” he said.

  “Apparently not, Obiwan. Suppose you tell me.”

  Obie shrugged. “They’ve been with you from the very beginning. Even in your mother’s womb, I think. Watching. Teaching. Protecting. Guiding. As you matured they introduced you to Earl, bonding you in such a way that you would be sure to partner with each other when you met years later. And to put you on the path to the presidency, they ran Earl’s boat into that bridge abutment.”

  “Goddamn it, Obie, stop!” Linda leapt to her feet and stormed across the room to the kitchen, filling her glass with water and drinking it down before slamming it on the counter. She turned to Obie and snarled. “You can’t tell me this, Obie! You cannot tell me this!”

  “I said it would hurt.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck you and your hurt, mister. I’ve had enough.” Linda stood fuming, her shoulders high and tight, her eyes black with anger.

  Obie rose and walked to the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter opposite Linda. “You have to know this,” he said quietly.

  “Why? Why do I have to fucking know this!”

  “Because it’s what’s so.”

  She knew that should just piss her off even more but something about the look in Obie’s eyes had the opposite effect. Once more the fight drained out of her in an instant and she doubled over in tears, sobbing once again for the loss of her husband so many years ago. Obie slid around the counter and put his hand on her shoulder, walking her back to the futon. He handed her a tissue and she blew her nose.

  “It seems pretty fucked up, I know,” he said. He sat quietly beside her for a while, then continued in a gentle voice. “For myself, I’ve learned to withhold judgment. I don’t see everything they see. I’m choosing to just trust.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me if it takes me a while to get there.”

  “I will.” Obie handed Linda another tissue. “Shall I continue?”

  “Can it get any worse?” asked Linda.

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to judge for yourself. I know the Strangers put your first opponent, Sims, into rehab. They were probably involved in your pregnancies and miscarriages, from that mysterious baby in your senior year to your failed attempts while married to Earl. It’s the sort of thing they do. They would want you properly bonded, but they wouldn’t want you encumbered with children. I don’t think they had anything to do with Governor Billings’ death. That was just a lucky fluke. But I’m pretty sure the Strangers fucked with your Presidential election results. None of the human power-elite wanted you in the White House, and those bastards have been throwing elections for years. So the Strangers must’ve hacked in and overturned the elite’s best efforts to steal your election. The Strangers burned your farmhouse, I’m pretty sure. Killed your dog. Got you in the White House, had you briefed, helped you to escape, and picked up your car and dropped it down in Vermont to make sure you were there in time to meet Cole. They were probably involved in the plane crash that resulted in Ruth’s death, and watched over Cole until it was time to get him to that street corner so he could pull out in front of you. They abducted the both of you from his living room and bonded you together. Made you fall in love.”

  Obie’s words stabbed a hole in Linda’s heart and she recoiled, bringing both hands to her breast to try and staunch the horrible sensations of powerlessness and manipulation. “No!” she blurted, closing her eyes, trying to deny the implications before they could sink in. But it was already too late. Her time together with Cole flushed across her entire being like one of those packets Obie described: the fantasies and feelings of attraction, coming unexpected and unbidden in the midst of danger and need; the easy bonding and mutual comfort between them; the inexplicable yet welcome sensations of love and longing that washed through her heart; the utter rightness she felt with their hands intertwined, her face in his neck, her lips touching his. It had begun that first night, after the terrible orange eyes and the bugs in the room. More had been touched than her wounded thigh. More had been manipulated than her broken bones. Linda sighed. Maybe Rice had been right to laugh.

  She opened her eyes to see Obie nodding. “Jesus,” she said, shaking her head. “I feel like a fucking puppet.”

  “Not a puppet, Mrs. President. An agent. Working under deep cover for a boss you
didn’t even know you had.”

  “A boss that burns down houses and kills dogs. A boss that killed my husband. A boss that plays with my heart like a child’s toy.”

  “Yep. A boss that does all that.”

  Linda massaged her brow. “You told me all of this so I could choose, didn’t you? I have to understand to freely choose.”

  “Yep.”

  “They’ve been engineering this for decades, you say. Some long complicated plan to put me in the White House just as the whole shootin’ match burns to the fucking ground. That right?”

  “That’s about it, yeah.”

  “A back-up plan because their old friend Rice wasn’t working out.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And I’m supposed to do something about all of this?”

  “You signed up to help, Linda. You now have an opportunity few others have.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “You’ll have help.”

  “They’ve flown the coop, Obie! The facilities are empty!”

  “They’ve merely cleared the dance floor, Linda. It’s your move. There is help available, as surely as there are those who will try to stop you. If you’re working for the evolution of consciousness, the help will come to you. It has to. Ultimately, the whole of the Cosmos wants for humans to grow into their potential and evolve toward the Absolute. Lead that dance and see who follows.”

  Linda groaned with abandon. “This should have all happened in 2012, Obie. Like it was supposed to. In 2012, I was just a governor.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess the Strangers aren’t using the Mayan calendar,” answered Obie. He finished his water and placed the glass on the floor.

  When the door burst open Linda jumped to her feet, got tangled in the covers and fell forward, landing hard on her hands and wrists. With a grunt and a moan she rolled onto her side in time to see Obie leap over her. He stopped at the open door and started to laugh. A blast of cold air swept over Linda and she pushed herself to her knees.

  “Took you long enough, bro,” said Obie, backing up.

  Linda gasped when Cole stepped in from the cold. A tiny gray hand with three long, clawed fingers reached in and pulled the door closed behind him.

  “My God!” whispered Linda.

  Cole stood just inside the door, stark naked, silent, his eyes blank, his jaw slack. He looked ten years younger, his hair full on his head, his paunch replaced by a flat stomach and well-defined abs, his arms and legs smooth and well muscled.

  Obie turned to Linda and smiled. “You okay?” he asked.

  “I think so,” she answered. Obie came over and helped her to her feet. Her wrists were sore but felt undamaged. She had no sense that she’d re-injured anything. She stared at Cole. “How?” she asked. She took a step forward. “Cole?”

  Cole did not respond.

  “I don’t think he’s in there, Linda,” said Obie behind her. “But we got the body.”

  Linda glanced back. “How?” she asked.

  “I told you you’d have to question some assumptions,” he said, smiling.

  Linda stepped up to Cole, reached out, took his hand. It was warm and pulsing with life. She’d held that hand before. And yet she hadn’t. Because Obie was right: Cole was not there. She turned to Obie. “Did you know?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Obie shook his head. “I guess I held it as a possibility. Would you have had me give you false hope?”

  Linda turned to stare closely into Cole’s face. Cole! He was … beautiful. And he was alive! But where was he? The Cole that lived in this body? Where had he gone? Linda realized that her face was warm with tears of joy. She let them stream freely, glad to feel something other than fear or anger or pain or despair. She lifted a hand to caress his cheek. “Can we find him, Obie?” she asked.

  Obie shrugged. “We’ll give it a shot.”

  14.8

  Ben Thomas held his gut as tightly as he could, trying to keep as much blood inside of him as he was able. He was so tired. The stars overhead mocked him with their vapid twittering, as if everything was fine as far as they were concerned. But everything was not fine. Two shots to the stomach were not fucking fine at all.

  Nearby lay the bodies of the two security guards he’d hired. At least he knew where they were. Emily and Iain had been taken to who knows where? He’d heard Iain mouth off and looked up in time to see those bastards push the kids into … what? A little round metal ship of some sort. A UFO, if you could believe it.

  Jesus H. Fucking Christ! They’d come out of nowhere. Tossed some sort of gas canister through the front window. Jeff had bolted out the front door and they took him down in seconds. Rick headed out back and wasted one of the motherfuckers, before walking straight into their line of fire as he rounded the front corner. Whoever the fuck they were, the intruders had been dressed in black from head to toe: face masks, dark goggles, flak jackets, strange laser rifles that seared everything they touched with fierce, green beams of lightning. They looked like a swat team sent back from the future.

  The gas canister had filled the house with noxious fumes. Ben had held his breath and grabbed his pistol. He was starting for the door when something crashed through the front bedroom window and the fire started. Emily screamed and Iain rushed to look. The smoke had gotten so bad so quickly that the three were forced to make for the front door, coughing and gasping, to avoid passing out. Ben had stormed out onto his front porch with his pistol raised. They’d picked him off like a fat turkey: two bolts of green fire burned into his gut. It took them less than a minute to grab the kids and shove them into that flying saucer sitting at the edge of the yard. It lifted into the sky in a flash so bright that Ben had to turn away for fear of being blinded.

  Then it was just Ben and the darkness, the burning house behind him and the pain in his guts and the warm trickle of blood and the light breeze rustling the autumn leaves. Gut wounds were not good. Ben knew that much. Fuck. And those poor kids, they must be terrified. At least he’d had the sense to check Grace into the hospital the day before, after she’d fallen into that coma. He’d done that much, goddamn it. She was safe.

  Something crashed behind him and Ben rolled over to see his roof cave in. His head felt strange, as if he were drunk. The smoke was filling the sky now, obscuring the stars, teaching those twinkling little motherfuckers a lesson for mocking him. The breeze rose. Ben shivered. The fire flared. Blood continued to seep.

  Off in the darkness Ben could hear a crunching in the grass. Someone was approaching through the field. Those bastards must have returned to finish him off. Ben looked lazily for his pistol, thinking it had fallen right next to him. He’d get in one good shot before they did. But his gun was nowhere to be found. His head was swimming and the fire loomed over him. And then an angel appeared.

  “Hello?” the angel said.

  “Hi, angel,” said Ben. It was hard to keep his eyes open but he forced himself. How often do you get to see an angel?

  “Are you wounded?” asked the angel. “I heard shots fired.” She put a hand on him, then drew it back. It was covered with blood.

  “Have you come to take me to heaven?” asked Ben.

  “I’m going to get you to a hospital, sir,” said the angel.

  “Tell the kids there’s pizza in the freezer,” said Ben.

  “Are the kids here?” asked the angel. She looked around the yard. Her eyes were afraid. Why should an angel be afraid?

  “What’s your name?” asked Ben. He closed his eyes. He just couldn’t hold them open any more. He was so tired.

  He smiled when the angel said her name. He’d never heard of an angel named Mary.

  Chapter Fifteen

  15.1

  “You’re a fuckhead,” said Emily, jutting out her chin. She picked up a french fry and dropped it to the floor with a flourish.

  Rice started to answer but caught himself. He wanted so badly to slap the little bitch across the face, tell her how he’d wasted
her father with a bullet to the heart. But that would only make things worse. So he would wait. For now, better to give these little shits something to hope for, like being reunited with dear old Dad. Much easier to control them. Rice picked up his cheeseburger and took a bite, not even tasting it as he swallowed. “Nice to hear the Vermont school system is teaching its students manners and respect,” he said evenly.

  Emily smiled slightly, noting her victory in establishing the rules of the game. She’d seen her Grandpa gunned down right before her eyes. This man was somehow responsible. And he would pay for that. She glanced over at Iain, who was hungrily devouring his meal. The clock on the cafeteria wall said eleven-fifteen: the middle of the night. Given that she hadn’t eaten since her afternoon snack, she could see the sense of it. She picked up another fry and held it up in front of her as if considering where to throw it, then popped it into her mouth. It wasn’t bad for a cafeteria fry, and the hot grease and salt gave her a tiny dose of energy. She needed that. She was exhausted. Bedtime had come and gone a long time ago.

  They were in the Capitol. She knew that much because she’d caught a glimpse of the Washington monument as they were hustled out of the spaceship they’d been abducted in and rushed into an elevator on the roof of a nearby building. And she was pretty sure they were deep underground. She could feel it in the elevator ride, the speed and duration of it, and the oppressive atmosphere. She hadn’t seen a window anywhere. There were none in the cafeteria; it was all just white cement block with the occasional picture on the wall. Their prison was carved out of rock. Escape would not be a matter of crawling out a window.

  Iain finished his burger and looked up at Rice. “You promise that they’re taking good care of my Grandpa?” he asked.

  “He’s receiving the best possible care,” answered Rice smoothly. “As I said, we had no intention of hurting anybody. Had your grandfather and his goons not come out shooting, he would not have been hurt.”