The Ancestors: A Tale form Outside Time & Space

by Wm. Barnard

  Fearing at first that the venom had caused me to hallucinate, I rubbed my eyes as I watched the swelling slowly decrease in my wrist. Almost immediately my heart rate lowered and my breathing began to steady. The only traces that I had even been bitten were the two small red pricks on my skin.

  I climbed back into the truck, and sat stunned by what had just transpired. After a few minutes, I finally felt comfortable enough to drive ahead, but I found it difficult focusing on the sharp curves in front of me as I continued glancing down at my arm to see if any of the symptoms of the venom had returned. By the time I arrived to an extended straight-away, my appetite kicked in and I engulfed two granola bars and a small bag of chips that were stashed in my front seat.

  Constantly replaying all the day’s events, I was eager to return home, and post these wild turn of events on my webzine. Unsure of what was more astonishing, the miraculous healing or the amazing vision I had received, I realized that both had happened for a reason and knew the story would certainly benefit my readers. Nearing my home, I wondered how we could actually recognize this Chosen One the ancestors had just spoken of and when he would choose to reveal himself. Regardless of how those details would eventually unfold, I knew the entire world was about to witness some incredible things.

  CHAPTER 16

  A perfect winter storm had produced a generous ground swell that hit our coastline Friday afternoon and I made it over to catch several good waves right before the sunset. The long swim had left me ravaged and looking forward to preparing a feast when I got home. Driving into my neighborhood, my thoughts of what to eat were soon replaced with serious concerns as to what was going on inside my home.

  Parked in the street outside my house, three dark sedans with government license tags sat vacant while a tall, odd shaped van occupied most of my driveway. From the side door of the van, two sets of thick, black cables ran along the ground up to my house, keeping my front door slightly ajar. After parking beside the van, I slammed my truck’s door and marched up the sidewalk before being intercepted by a towering man in a blue suit and tie.

  “Zach Miller, I’m Ted Smith from Homeland Security,” he said, quickly flashing me some identification, but stashing it away before I could even verify it.

  “What are you doing inside my house?”

  “We are in the midst of conducting a search. We shouldn’t be more than a couple more hours.”

  “I guess the Bill of Rights doesn’t mean anything to you guys?” I said, staring up at him as the veins in my neck bulged.

  “Mr. Miller, we now live in an extremely volatile environment, as I’m sure you’re well aware of. Terrorists of every kind threaten life as we know it and it is our job to prevent all viable risks. But if it makes you feel any better, yes, we have a search warrant from a federal judge,” he said, presenting a yellow envelope from his suit pocket.

  “How do you view me as a possible menace when I haven’t even said or done one thing that would threaten anyone?” I said, pushing the envelope away.

  “Please step inside so we can continue this conversation,” he calmly stated, turning sideways to allow me to pass him.

  Several men with special instruments were scattered throughout my house trying to get readings. Two had been specifically assigned to the contents of my desk and had consequently divided my personal computer into sections along the hallway floor.

  “You guys are wasting your time. You’re not going to find anything that I haven’t made public knowledge already,” I said loudly. Both of the guys in the hallway looked at me briefly before returning to focus on their task.

  Turning back to Smith, I pleaded, “You never answered my question. How can you guys see me as a threat?”

  “That’s what we’re here to investigate. We can’t determine yet whether we view you and those you have reported about as a genuine threat to National Security.”

  I sat down on my couch and tried to take a more passive approach. “Well, everyone I have written about is all about peace.”

  “However, you have reported that these aliens plan to come and forcibly remove citizens from their homes, and your most recent posting is about a new leader arriving and taking control of our nation. It’s only logical for us to consider such talk as hostile. You may have thought you were merely reporting on the events that you saw, but you have to understand that it would be easy to view you as a co-conspirator. So, the more you cooperate with us, the better your chance at leniency.”

  “Hey, I’m not guilty of anything. Last time I checked, freedom of speech was still part of the Constitution,” I said, wringing my fingers.

  Smith clenched his squared-off jaw line tightly and squinted at me through his thick, black frames.

  “Look, there’s nothing we can do to stop their plan,” I continued. “What you may see now as hostile, you will later come to see as necessary.”

  “That’s the kind of rhetoric we hear from religious fundamentalists and that, Mr. Miller, is exactly why we’re here.” He removed his glasses and casually cleaned the lenses with a tissue.

  I buried my face in my hands and slumped over in disbelief at what was happening. Noticing in my peripheral that Mr. Smith had started jotting down something in a small notepad, I slammed my fist into the coffee table.

  “Well, why did you wait until now? You let me go on more than forty talk shows, spilling my sinister message and you just wait? With police work like that in this country, no wonder 9/11 happened.”

  Apparently I had struck a nerve as Smith flexed his muscular jaw and took a deep breath through his nose before coolly affirming, “You, of all people should recognize that we’re not dealing with an everyday occurrence. We’ve tried to be as thorough as possible. You’ve been under surveillance for some time now, Mr. Miller.”

  “Oh, thanks for the news flash. I’m on to your good friend Gina Martinez.”

  “You mean her?” He pointed down the hallway to a woman who had just come out of my study.

  I jerked my head sideways and saw “Gina” in the hallway, holding one of my file boxes.

  Glancing back at me coldly, her expressionless eyes reiterated that our relationship had been strictly business.

  As she returned back into the study, Ted continued. “Not to alarm you, but we’ve been monitoring several foreign agencies watching you as well. You should be thankful we wouldn’t allow anyone to take you out of the country.”

  “I would be thankful if I thought you had the right motives,” I said, cocking my head.

  “Mr. Miller, you have maintained the statement that you don’t know the exact whereabouts of the ranch. It is imperative that we talk with the owners of this ranch, so please tell us all that you know.”

  “You can’t contact them and neither can I,” which was a lie, but I didn’t feel like indulging this guy. “Besides, they couldn’t tell you anything that I haven’t publicly stated already.”

  “Let us be the judge of that, Mr. Miller.”

  “Well, I can’t tell you because, as I’m sure you have read, I was blindfolded when I went up there.”

  “Just tell us what you know.” He clicked his pen in anticipation of what I would share.

  “It’s northeast of San Diego. Possibly four, maybe even eight hours drive…” I paused and held my chin pensively. “Umm, yep, that’s about it.”

  Smith shot a look at one of the other suits who had also started taking notes over at my dinner table. The man got up knowingly, reached into a black leather bag and pulled out a stun gun before walking over to stand behind the couch.

  Leaning forward, Smith slowly rubbed his hands together before pressing a fist inside the palm of his other hand. “We would obviously prefer to do things the easy way here, Mr. Miller, but we can also….”

  “So, what?” I asked, shifting in my seat as my eyes danced between the two men. “You’re going to torture me until I tell you what I don’t even know.”

  Before I could even say another word, Smith nodde
d at the man behind me who obediently plunged the device into my neck. The four point five million volts threw me to the floor, causing me to flop around uncontrollably and bang my head into a leg of the coffee table. As I writhed in pain on the rug, his assistant methodically reached into his bag again to retrieve a syringe. I didn’t feel the injection, but the pharmaceutical cocktail soon had its way with me and I began talking with the agents as if they were a couple of old friends.

  Naturally, the details of that discussion remain hazy and I don’t recall how it ended. Awaking in the middle of the night from a cold breeze blowing through an open window, I found myself alone curled up on the couch. Crippled by an intense narcotic hangover, I found it took several minutes before my eyes could regain focus. The government thugs were long gone, leaving my house in the same order they had found it. As I looked around, I became suspicious that everything appeared a bit too nice and tidy. Maybe they got what they were looking for, but it seemed fishy how they had conveniently left my hard drive here.

  Rubbing the back of my neck to ease my aching head, I could only wonder what I had ended up actually telling them. Somewhat relieved that I had previously encrypted everyone’s email addresses, I also had to acknowledge the very real possibility that the FBI’s experts could break my codes. Since all of my calls and letters had certainly been traced over the last several months, I felt fortunate at least that Bill and Jack had continued using disposable cell phones.

  Rising sluggishly from the couch, I saw a business card propped up against the lamp that read: Ted Smith, Senior Investigator, Homeland Security. Flipping it over, I read his short note: Thank you for your cooperation. Please call me if there is anything else you would like to talk about.”

  His cute remark made the pain on top of my head radiate down into my temples.

  What a freakin’ Nazi! I thought.

  Walking lightly to the kitchen to grab a couple of aspirins, I contemplated any legal recourse I could take, but it was a snowball’s chance in Haiti that I would ever be able to bring those guys to justice.

  Moving down the hallway to my study, I turned on my computer, relieved to find that all my files seemed intact. Extremely uncomfortable as the painkillers had little effect, I pressed forward so I could swiftly relay on my web page what had just transpired here. Needing to ostensibly protect the identity of certain people, I avoided writing anyone directly and could only hope that all my friends who I had met on the ranch would read my message.

  This is a note of warning to those who have met me personally and who know the truth. I will not elaborate on why I am writing this but, against my will, I may have given away information that could possibly jeopardize your privacy and civil rights. I trust you know that I would never do anything to bring any of my friends into harm’s way. I hope this note will reach you and give you ample warning.

  Sincerely, Zach Miller

  The bright glare of my computer caused me to turn it off and I sat rubbing my temples, wondering if this warning would end up helping anyone. It seemed fairly evident that if the U.S. Government wanted to find someone, they had more than enough resources to do so. As I thought about the tyranny that my own “democratic” government had demonstrated to me, I began to dwell on all the injustices that tyrannical regimes around the world had exhibited over the ages. For thousands of years, the entire human race had been dominated by the iron-fisted few who held all the power.

  Staring back up at my blank computer screen, I remembered what my Ancestor had told me about the chosen leader who would come and free us from this oppression. Those words proved encouraging as I thought about a world leader who would truly care about the interest of all people and could establish a lasting peace. He would promptly chase the current despots out of office and finally establish a righteous government.

  DEVOTED TO WRITING ARTICLES OVER the next couple of weeks, I became increasingly determined by the many supportive responses I received. I allowed my work to consume me as it helped me not to dwell on the negative things that had happened to me recently. When I hadn’t heard of anyone else I knew being harassed by the FBI or Homeland Security, my confidence somewhat increased that no one had been jeopardized by any of my inadvertent confessions. Instead of quenching my desire to share the Ancestors’ message, the government intrusion only fueled my resolve to stand firm and push on.

  My ongoing phone conversations with award-winning writer Sterling Hames proved to be invigorating. Extremely enthusiastic about the movie project, he had made plans to relocate to San Diego in six weeks so we could begin the writing. I offered him one of my extra rooms in the house I would be purchasing in La Jolla and he gladly accepted. Ecstatic that I would soon be working with him on an everyday basis, I looked forward to seeing him craft his art.

  With the prospect of working on the greatest endeavor of my life, things were finally coming together. Like the calm before the storm, I couldn’t foresee how quickly my world would start to fall apart.

  CHAPTER 17

  The loud echo of someone’s voice caused me to rise from my study and hurry down the hallway. Knowing it had to be someone leaving a message on my answering machine when I approached the kitchen, I barely recognized the scratchy voice on the speaker and I picked up the phone right before he hung up.

  “Zach,” Johnny moaned.

  “Buddy, what’s wrong?”

  “You didn’t hear? Todd’s dead. He shot himself three days ago,” his voice broke and he began sobbing.

  “What? No!” I gasped. The painful lump immediately constricted my throat and I couldn’t utter another word.

  After a couple minutes of shocked silence, Johnny swallowed hard as he tried to compose himself. “The funeral is tomorrow, but I can’t even bring myself to go.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said, trying to sound convincing, even though I really felt otherwise.

  “Yes it is, Zach. Don’t you see? It’s really all of our faults.”

  “Johnny, we can’t beat up ourselves because we weren’t there to stop him.”

  “I’m not talking about that. I mean, if I wouldn’t have listened to those aliens, I would’ve never gone after Jenny and none of this would’ve ever happened.”

  “Johnny, I’m not sure you heard from The Ancestors, maybe you…”

  “That’s bull! I heard them just like you heard them. Zach, you’re just as much to blame because you’re the one who told me how to contact them!” Johnny shouted.

  “I’m the one who told you not to hook up with Jenny, remember! Don’t blame me because you were so freaking blind you couldn’t even see that it was wrong!” I yelled back.

  Johnny sniffled as he sat silent on the other end for a moment. Now calmer, his voice still cracked, “I can see that now. I take full responsibility for what I did. But I was misled and you had a part in that, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  Gripping the phone tightly, I shook my head and clenched my teeth, so I wouldn’t say something rash. While there had never been any drama or tension between us since becoming friends in high school, an unsettling resentment began to take root in my heart toward Johnny. He had made a flat out foolish and selfish decision, but his attempt to shift the blame on me for his actions made me livid.

  “Where’s the funeral gonna be?” I finally said.

  “Somewhere near Dana Point? Call Lindsey for the details,” Johnny said, letting out a deep breath.

  Wanting to say the right thing, I asked, “Hey, are you gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny’s replied in a hushed tone

  “Well, I plan on going, so if you change your mind and wanna ride up together…”

  “Man, I can’t show my face around there. Todd’s brother wants to kill me.”

  Given Todd’s younger brother Dave’s violent history, I could understand Johnny’s concern.

  “Okay, well…” I said, not knowing how to respond.

  “I gotta get off the phone. Talk to you later.”


  THE MARINE LAYER BLANKETING THE canyons around my home was unusually thick the next morning and I wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. While dreading the day ahead, I needed to hurry and meet up with my friend Mickey so we could carpool up to the funeral service.

  Driving toward Todd’s hometown of San Clemente, a coastal town about an hour north of San Diego, Mickey relayed some of his fond memories since first meeting Todd in high school. Even though they had gotten in a fist fight with each other their junior year over a girl, during the past ten years they had traveled together on numerous ski trips and fishing excursions, becoming close friends.

  In contrast, I had only come to know Todd a few years ago, but had instantly liked him the day we met. Thinking back, I couldn’t even remember a moment when I saw Todd exhibit a sour attitude or even talk badly about someone.

  While I felt it was good for us to reminisce on the good memories we had shared with Todd, Mickey eventually turned our conversation back to why we were here.

  “Man, I still can’t believe he’s gone. It all seems like a bad dream that I keep hoping I’m gonna wake up from,” Mickey said, shaking his head.

  “Yeah it still feels almost dreamlike to me. I only heard about it yesterday so it’s like it really hasn’t sunk in yet. I just keep wondering if there was something I could have done. I mean, I don’t think anybody could’ve seen it coming knowing Todd, but…” I was still trying to form my thoughts when Mickey interrupted.

  “You know, I’ve tried hard not to be judgmental, but Johnny really screwed up. He flat-out stabbed Todd in the back,” Mickey said, grabbing the steering wheel tightly with both his hands.

  Up until now, I had been looking at Mickey as he talked, but when the discussion turned to the subject of Johnny, I averted my gaze out the passenger window. “I know. But what can we do about that now? What’s done is done.”