Fire Sweeping: The California Ballot Killings Book II

by H M Wilhelmborn

  Edwina Zanzivahl claimed that she was the rightful heiress to the Hawaiian throne if it were ever revived. She dressed like royalty, and what she wore was always the subject of gossip in the online tabloids.

  The source of the Zanzivahl family’s wealth was unknown, and the Herald always referred to it as “old money.” Marcus Zanzivahl, the diminutive family patriarch, was known to loathe press coverage of the family, and he was continually suing news outlets he believed had “calumniated us out of envy and jealousy.”

  The family only gave interviews to Linda Maywrot at the Herald, and they never gave TV interviews ever.

  I wondered what the Zanzivahls looked like in person.

  I looked around as I tried to imagine what one of the world’s wealthiest families looked like.

  Oh, my goodness!

  Where had they come from!

  I hadn’t even seen them enter!

  Zee One, Bulba, and Zee Three were the Zanzivahl sisters!

  My jaw dropped, and I turned to stare at them as they received a standing ovation from the congregation and the “divine chosen couple.”

  What were they doing at the Church of the Moral Elixir? Weren’t they rich enough to banish any worry about this or the next life? They were seated in the zoophilia zone. What on earth made them zoophiles?

  I covered my mouth with my hands, and I giggled on my own.

  Of course. CleopatiCat.

  They had spent more time worrying about their pets than they had about tithing, which then prompted the massive donations to the Church of the Moral Elixir, which was opposed to the CWP, just like Mothers for Mercy.

  How small the world was, and how desperate we all were for answers!

  “We have be-gun,” Mandible told us, “pra-yer groups and consul-tations devoted to dr-iving away the s-nake in the governor’s mansion in Sac-ramento! We will c-age him, like the beast that he is! We will dominate him! We will banish him from this state because it is wr-ong, it is e-vil, to treat God’s children from places like Colo-rado as if they were ver-min to be fed upon by s-nakes! Out with you, vi-per! Out with you, s-erpent! Out with you s-nake! We shall tr-ample you underfoot! We shall m-ilk you and dr-ink your venom! We shall c-age you and dr-ive you away! We do not fear you! And if you dare bother us too much, we shall gut you and eat you up, and we shall use your sk-in to shod our feet! ‘Vipers and Voyages’!”

  After ‘Vipers and Voyages’ (that thrilling and highly animated song) was sung, Mandible looked at the audience. He closed his eyes and fell to the floor of the stage, where ushers and Stefana ran over to him and propped him up, close to the tanks of serpents.

  I thought that he had died of exhaustion.

  He jumped back up and pointed in my direction.

  “Vi-sions!” he boomed at the microphone. “I have had vi-sions, family members!”

  The congregation hissed and applauded.

  “We have a new family mem-ber! Janet! Stand up, Janet!”

  I looked around to see if there was another Janet; I was the only one.

  Stefana left the stage and walked down to me. “Don’t be scared,” she said. “The Author’s spirit is with Mandible. He can see your soul.”

  I was terrified, and my heart was beating so fast I could have passed out.

  I found myself mumbling Mauru’s name, wishing he were with me.

  “It’s OK,” Stefana said as I stood at the front of the congregation.

  “What is your s-in?” Mandible asked me. “Tell me your s-in, and I will tell you your zone.”

  “Tell him!” the congregation said in unison.

  “Tell me why you are here, and I will tell you where you are going!”

  “Tell him!”

  “Even the s-erpents want to hear you admit it, Jan-et!”

  “Tell him!”

  “Their venom will c-urdle if you do not tell me!”

  “Tell me!”

  “Vipers and Voyages.”

  As the congregation belted out the song again, and the band belted out the tune with them, I found myself crying. Whether it was the music, the serpents, or something else, I also felt liberated, ready to unburden myself of my sins.

  Just as I was about to confess, my voice failed me. I opened my mouth, and nothing came out.

  “Ah,” Mandible said. “She will have us wait!”

  Mandible drank another vial of olive oil, and he glowered at me. “Tell us, Janet!”

  “Tell him!”

  I said nothing.

  “The Author of all things commands you, Janet, to reveal yourself to us! What is your true nature?” Stefana asked me. “Or the Author will unmask you through Mandible!”

  I tried to smile politely. I wiped my eyes.

  “Tell him!” The congregation said.

  I continued smiling.

  “She is from zone twelve,” Mandible declared. “In my vision, the Author of all things showed me that, as the fire sw-eeps ac-ross the land and the s-erpent in Sacra-mento tr-ies to make his final stand, we must welcome our fallen sister to zone twelve! Janet is filled with trea-chery and tr-eason! Vipers and Voyages!”

  10

  Oh, Happy the Horse

  In early 2039, one of the boys at Jon’s school regularly forced Jon to give him his snacks, which Jon kept from us for several weeks, until he told Nate, who told us.

  Mauru, usually even-tempered, told me that he’d “knock that boy’s dad to the ground. I will knock his teeth out, Jan. Kids don’t just do this stuff without a role model at home. I will beat the crap out of him!”

  Equally furious, I informed Jon’s principal that my dad was a lawyer, that I worked for Larry Wagon, and that I knew some influential people, so that boy better not touch my son again.

  “I’m sure we don’t need to make this any bigger than it is,” the principal said.

  “We do, and we can,” I said. “This school better tell that boy’s parents that he better not touch my son again. I’m tired of people pushing us around.”

  The boy’s parents were informed of their son’s conduct, and they made him write an apology to Jon in which he explained that his family couldn’t always afford food, which they understood wasn’t an excuse, and he was sorry.

  “But it’s not true,” I told the principal during our second appointment to deal with the issue. “The school provides lunch for all students. We donate to a fund that allows the school to provide free lunch for the kids whose families can’t afford for them to be here. This boy is a bully, and he’s targeted my sweet and sensitive son.”

  “Kids don’t just become bullies,” Mauru said. “There are always examples in the home. I’m a teacher. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Surely, you’re not suggesting that we do something about the parents,” the principal said.

  “We’re just saying,” Mauru warned the principal, “that this boy better stop bullying our son. Jon also came home with a bruised elbow, and he told us that the bully had pushed him, and my son fell. He was on his own for a while. I will bea—.”

  “If you won’t ensure that this stops,” I told the principal. “We will. We don’t pay all this money for our child to be terrified.”

  Jon started having nightmares.

  “Daddy!” Jon cried.

  We ran to the room Jon shared with Nate, where Jon was seated in his bed, wiping his eyes and crying.

  “I dreamed, I dreamed,” Jon sobbed, “that I died, and I was by myself.”

  “Jesus!” Mauru muttered as he hugged him. “You’re OK, buddy. You’re OK. Dad’s here.”

  “But I died, Dad. I died, like on TV, and there was no one there. I was crying, and no one came.”

  It was too much for me to handle, so I walked out of the room and sat on the bed in our room, and I held my head in my hands. I could feel my eyes sting and my throat burn, and I didn’t know what to say to my son.

  I eventually stood up, wiped my eyes, and went to sit beside Jon and Mauru. Nate woke up and asked what wa
s going on.

  “Nothing, buddy,” Mauru said. “Jon’s just had a bad dream. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s only a dream.”

  Nate got out of bed and hugged his brother, which heartened me.

  “Mom,” Nate asked, “why are you crying now?”

  “It’s what moms do when their kids give each other hugs,” I said.

  Nate went back to bed and was asleep in a few minutes.

  A few days later, Nate, who was going to attend the same school as Jon that fall, asked if he could join us when we were dropping Jon off at school. We didn’t think to ask why. As soon as we dropped Jon off, Nate jumped out of the car with Jon and asked, “Who’s the loser who took your snacks, Jon?”

  Nate wasn’t yet six.

  Jon pointed at the boy, and Nate ran up to him, pushed him to the ground, and said, “You’re the biggest loser in America, dumbass! You take Jon’s stuff again, and I’ll punch you in the face!”

  Though we had to make Nate apologize to the boy (and we gave him a timeout), our son made me so proud. When the principal summoned us (and threatened to suspend Jon because of Nate), we apologized again, but I couldn’t help but tell the principal that the boy now knew that Jon had a family that loved and was willing to protect him.

  Jon subsequently wanted us to make sandwiches for the boy who’d bullied him.

  “No, darling,” I said. “We don’t reward bullies in this house.”

  “Jon-uh, that guy’s a dumbass,” Nate said.

  I sat beside Jon, and I told him, “Not everyone who comes from a home where there’s no food steals other boys’ food and pushes them to the ground. Dad and I contribute to a fund that allows your school to provide lunch for all students. So, this boy is just a bully who picked on you. He’s not your friend, Jon. Friends don’t bully each other.”

  “But he has no food at home, Mom,” Jon said.

  “Because he’s a loser!” Nate said. “I hate him!”

  Mauru put his hand on Nate to calm him down. He said he was proud of Jon for being compassionate, and he was proud of Nate for defending his brother. But he didn’t want Nate threatening people anymore, and he didn’t want Jon thinking everyone was his friend.

  I fed the twins.

  “I love you, Mom,” Nate said.

  “I love you, Dad,” Jon said. “I want to be like you when I grow up.”

  Would my son grow out of this phase in his life in which he was so generous, even to those who didn’t wish him well? If anything happened to Mauru and me, would Jon be able to set aside his belief that everyone was potentially his friend?

  I thought of my visit to the Church of the Moral Elixir. By concealing the truth about Mike and me, was I, like the bully, harming my son?

  Was I treacherous and treasonous?

  I knew that I was a loving and devoted wife, a loving and protective mother, and a loyal and loving daughter. I was also a good and caring person; this I knew.

  Jon had another nightmare.

  He said that, in his dream, he was knocking on a wooden door in a dark room, blindfolded, and he was asking if we heard him.

  Mauru read Jon his favorite story, George Eugene’s The Dapple-Gray Horse Runs Free.

  By the time Mauru got to page twenty, John was asleep in his father’s arms.

  “I love you, Jon,” Mauru said as he laid Jon’s head on his pillow and tucked him in.

  Mauru then tucked Nate in, told him he loved him, too, went to check on the twins, did the same there, and he sat in the lounge and cried.

  He didn’t often cry. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him cry. I did all the cry—and then some.

  I held my husband.

  It was often he who comforted me.

  “What should we do, Jan?” he asked. “You’re having nightmares. Now my son has them. This, this thing, this disease is already here.” He paused, and he abruptly announced what we should do next. “I, I want all the kids tested. Tomorrow. My kids are not going to school tomorrow. I’m calling in sick. I’m taking them all to the doctor. Full blood work. Full everything. Nothing’s taking my kids or my family from me.”

  It was almost impossible to get doctor’s appointments at short notice.

  I thought of lying, of saying the kids had the beet-red eyes and everything else that was symptomatic of the hatred. Lies would have gotten us immediate appointments, but they would also have gotten the kids taken from us and placed in the quarantine unit at Golden State Children’s Hospital or elsewhere until they were cleared. There’d be mandatory appointments with field epidemiologists, psychologists, and pediatric hospice care.

  I thought of fabricating symptoms for other “drought illnesses” to get a quick appointment, but the kids, Jon and Nate, especially, would have contradicted me. My kids had no qualms with calling people out, pointing out when they didn’t believe what they’d heard, and Jon had even told one of the couples in our complex, “My Mom doesn’t like you. My Dad doesn’t like you. And I don’t like you.”

  Nate, ever protective of his siblings, then said to the same couple, “Losers!” Nate then made the “L” sign with his thumbs and index fingers.”

  Our neighbors’ crime?

  They were part of the CWP. They wore CWP uniforms, had CWP stickers on their cars (“We need your advice and help. Please join us.”), and they proselytized in the complex.

  More apologies and more timeouts.

  To get an appointment, we told the doctors the truth. We were worried that our kids might have something deadly, or they might eventually contract something dangerous, and we wanted to do everything we could, especially since Jon had had terrible nightmares, and we were concerned.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Virdis,” Dr. Itai Lowgood said as he examined both Jon and Nate. The manner in which he examined my sons was curious. You’d be forgiven for thinking that Dr. Lowgood had either dropped his watch or his wedding band into each of my son’s mouths, and he was now examining both Jon and Nate’s abdomens to see how far into their stomachs his belongings had fallen.

  “We’re seeing much panic among parents these days,” he told us. “I’d say a good third of the patients we now see should be talking with a mental health professional instead of coming to us. I get it, though. You hear of this disease, HRE747 (the hatred), and you want to ensure that your kids never contract it, but we scientists can only work with cold, hard facts. Feelings are very tricky things for us.”

  Dr. Lowgood examined my sons’ eyes, throats, mouths, and ears. He listened to their breathing and their hearts, asked them to cough, touch their toes, and stand on one foot (which made us all laugh). He ordered testing, which meant bloodwork, X rays, and a new blood test, developed by the Center for Water-Related Illness in Menlo Park (owned by the CWP) that would “definitively exclude HRE747.”

  His colleague, Dr. Anne Jeremiad (whose brittle fingernails had white spots on them), examined my twins, ordered the same testing, and she said she was pretty sure they were OK.

  I was still concerned when we got home.

  Were Jon’s nightmares a response to my own?

  I called my kids and Mauru to Jon’s and Nate’s room. Given the changes all around us, I wanted my kids to know that they belonged, that they, too, had a history of which they could be proud. I thought of Dad. He’d be happy that I’d found a way to tell the kids about who we were—even though I struggled with that myself.

  I pointed at Upstate New York on the map, which Giulio, Mauru’s dad, had given his grandsons (with Italy circled in red).

  I told the kids that I was born in Cortland, New York. I pointed at Nashville. That’s where their Dad was born. Then I pointed at California. I showed them where San Diego was. I pointed at Alaska.

  “Is it true that no one dies in Alaska?” Nate asked. “I heard that they don’t have the hatred there.”

  “When are we going, again, Mom?” Jon asked.

  “This summer, buddy,” Mauru said. “In about four months.”

 
“My birthday is on August 3,” Nate said. “So, does that mean we’ll go before my birthday, Dad?”

  “Yes,” Mauru said. “We’ll leave in early July, and we’ll spend two weeks in Alaska.”

  “Can we move there?” Jon asked.

  “Oh, darling,” I said to my son. “Grandma and Grandpa are here, your school is here, we have our home here, and Nonno and Nonna are up in Sacramento. Also, moving is hard. You have to start all over again wherever you move, and in lots of places, they don’t like people, even people from other states.”

  “Why?” Jon asked.

  “Because people worry that other people might hurt them,” I said.

  “But we won't hurt them,” Jon said.

  “In these times, buddy,” Mauru told Jon. “People worry about everything, even things that aren’t true. We won’t hurt anyone, but people over there might say we will.”

  I read what the map said about Alaska.

  Six hundred sixty-three thousand two hundred sixty-eight miles.

  Ninety-one thousand three hundred sixteen square miles of water.

  I pointed at the Southern African Federation. “This is where Grandma G. and Grandpa D. are from. That means that Mom’s from there, too, and a part of all of you is from there, too.”

  I pointed at Italy.

  “Dad’s from there,” Jon said.

  “No-uh,” Nate said. “He’s from Nashville-uh. Have you ever heard of Nashville, Italy? Because it doesn’t exist.”

  “I know he’s from Italy!” Jon said. “Dad—”

  “So, you’re both right,” Mauru said. “I was born in Nashville, and Nonno and Nonna were also born there. But my grandparents, your great-grandparents, were all from Sardinia, Italy.”

  “Why did they move to Nashville, Dad?” Nate asked. “Why didn’t they move to Rome?”

  “Or Venice?” Jon asked. “Mom, can we go to Venice next weekend?”

  “Jon means Venice Beach,” Nate said.

  “No, Nate. I mean, Venice, Italy.”

  “Next weekend, Jon-Jon?” I asked my son. “You want to go to Venice next weekend?”