“Stand up, Mac. Stand up and look at me.”
Mac didn’t want to stand, but in his dream, his limbs were no longer his own. He kept his eyes looking to the ground as he felt himself rise up. August Hess was no more than a foot away from him. Mac could feel his warm breath on top of his head.
“Look at me.”
Mac screamed for his head not to look up, screamed for his eyes to close tight and not look at the monster, but they wouldn’t listen.
August Hess’s wide grin grew even wider, and Mac caught a glimmer of something metallic in Hess’s dark eyes.
“Here’s your gift, Mac. Just as I promised you back in the cave. Back in Dominatus.”
The knife slowly cut through and pushed into the center of Mac’s nine year old chest, until it was sunk hilt-deep. There was no real pain, just an odd sense of pressure, as if something was sitting on top of him making it difficult to breathe.
August Hess placed both of his hands on each of Mac’s shoulders, and leaned down so they were face to face.
“You’re no different than me Mac. Never were, and you never will be. And you’re right you know…there is no god. Just darkness. Terrible, black, unending darkness. And me. Oh yes, I’ll be there, Mac. I’ll always be there in you. At least what’s left after I’m done eating you from the inside.”
August Hess’s mouth continued to spread wider and wider, and now instead of the large, white, human teeth he had revealed before, his mouth was full of little gleaming daggers that curved backward toward his throat.
“Get away from my boy, you fucking monster!”
The voice of Mac’s father bellowed from behind, and August Hess took a startled step backward. Mac felt the arms of his mother grab him up as he saw his dad step between him and August Hess.
Merle Walker was not a terribly big man, but his mother had told Mac once that he knew well enough how to handle himself. His father had spent two terribly cold and brutal winters in Korea during that war, and it was there, his mom said, that Mac’s father had left whatever innocence was left in him back in the bloodied snows of that war torn country.
As he was being carried back by his mother into their house, the knife still sticking from his chest, Mac watched as his father grabbed August Hess and threw him to the ground, his right hand repeatedly striking Hess’s face. Mac was having more difficulty breathing as Betty Walker set her son onto the couch in the living room. She did not appear panicked, only sad as she placed a small pillow under Mac’s head and attempted to straighten the hair that had fallen over his forehead.
Mac’s father soon joined Betty as he too looked down at his son while placing his bloodied right hand around his wife’s waist.
“August Hess is gone, Mac. He won’t come back here anymore.”
Mac began to cough uncontrollably, and felt warm blood oozing from the corner of his mouth and run down his chin. He began to panic as it quickly became more difficult for him to breathe.
“Ssshhhhh now, Mackenzie. It’ll be all right. Just rest now. Soon enough, it’ll be all right. You’ll be back home soon.”
Mac’s mother took a cool, wet cloth and dabbed the blood away form her son’s chin and mouth.
“Don’t tell him that. He still has work to do.”
Betty Walker turned angrily toward he husband, her voice rising up against the words of Mac’s father.
“He’s done enough already! This is too much! He’s tired, Merle. He’s so tired now. They can’t keep expecting him to go on. Not anymore. He deserves to rest. He’s earned that rest.”
Growing up, Mac had rarely seen the gentle side of his father. He had always been a man direct in his expectations of others, and unrelenting in seeing those expectations met. Now though, Merle Walker leaned down next to both his wife and son, and tried to comfort both of them.
“I know, Betty, but Mac made a promise, and he’s always been a man to keep a promise. That’s how we raised him. He’s his mother’s son, and that means he’s gonna keep doing what he can until he can’t do it no more – and that time hasn’t arrived just yet.”
Mac watched as a row of tears dropped from under each of his mother’s eyes as she drew close to kiss his forehead before whispering into his right ear.
“You do what you have to do, Mackenzie, and we’ll be waiting for you when it’s done. Don’t believe what that monster said. It’s not all dark. Not for you. Not for you.”
Mac sat up clutching his chest in the bed he had fallen asleep on just a few hours earlier inside the Wilfrid Guest House. A painful cough erupted inside of him, causing him to focus on simply being able to take another gasp of oxygen. As had happened back at the cabin earlier, when he removed his hand from his mouth, the palm was covered in blood.
Without speaking, Mac walked quietly from his room and to the hall bath across from Bear’s room and down the hall from Reese and Dublin. Cooper had taken the bedroom on the lower floor of the house.
Closing the bathroom door behind him, Mac found himself still struggling for air, his head growing dizzy from the exertion. Taking a towel from the rack next to the sink, Mac turned on the cold water and soaked the towel before using it to clean off the blood from his hands and face. Finally he was able to take a full breath as he looked into the mirror above the sink and saw the gaunt face of a tired old man staring back at him, followed by the words of August Hess from his dream.
You’re no different than me, Mac. Never were, and you never will be.
“See about that, you bastard.”
Mac then closed his eyes and heard the voice of his mother.
You do what you have to do, Mackenzie, and we’ll be waiting for you when it’s done. Don’t believe what that monster said. It’s not all dark. Not for you. Not for you.
Mac opened his eyes and again saw his own face looking back at him. He thought perhaps he didn’t look quite so old after all. Not so ready to call it quits. He had just managed to take out five Muslim bandits, after all.
I know, Betty, but Mac made a promise, and he’s always been a man to keep a promise. That’s how we raised him. He’s his mother’s son, and that means he’s gonna keep doing what he can until he can’t do it no more – and that time hasn’t arrived just yet.
His father was right. Mac had made a promise to help get everyone to the priest. To the weapon that was supposed to help bring down the New United Nations. He was dying, quick now, but not so quick that he didn’t have time to follow the mission through to the end. He’d do that, and then…well…whatever.
Before his dream tonight, Mac hadn’t thought about his parents for a very long time.
He hadn’t realized just how much he missed them…
XXV.
As he had told them after dropping them off at the guest house yesterday, Imran was back at noon to pick up the group and take them to meet the godfather. Imran’s mood was, as usual, upbeat and cheerful as he stood on the porch waiting for the others to walk outside to join him.
The temperature, though just above freezing, was comfortable as the sun shone down on the faux green lawns and plants of the Acorn Drive neighborhood. A man walking his dog paused to wave to Imran, as Brando barked from inside the house as he spotted the Golden Retriever moving down the sidewalk.
“How about we walk? We’re going to Mel’s Diner for lunch. The godfather will meet us there. Just down the road – we passed it last night on our way here.”
Cooper shrugged.
“Fine by me, Imran, whatever the others want to do. I’m gonna have Brando stay here at the house anyways.”
No one objected to walking to the diner, though Mac looked as if he had slept very little during the night. Dublin was the first to mention something to him.
“You look tired, Mac – sleep ok?”
Mac buttoned up his coat and waved Dublin’s concerns away .
“Fine. Probably got more sleep than you two did.”
Despite his attempts at humor, Mac moved noticeably slower than the oth
ers going down the porch steps.
Halfway to Mel’s Diner, Bear nudged Imran with an elbow.
“So tell me, Imran…this place actually owned by a guy named Mel?”
Imran shook his head and chuckled.
“Not a man – a woman! Mel is short for Melanie! She’s a great cook! Wonderful woman! All the way from San Francisco.”
Wilfrid’s Main Street was bustling with vintage cars driving by, young boys and girls on bikes, and people moving into and out of various small businesses. It truly was small town America somehow reborn in the vast open fields of northern British Columbia.
Imran pointed to the stoplight that hung across the intersection above them as they waited to cross the street to where Mel’s Diner was located.
“The stoplights are all refurbished from a bunch of them that came from St. Louis, Missouri. They were used there up until about 1977 when they were replaced by the newer technology. Some guy found them piled up in the old city maintenance yard and sold them for scrap to a builder outside of Montreal. We heard about them and the godfather contacted the guy and bought a bunch of them up from him. That was oh…almost seven years ago.”
A black Buick drove by driven by an older white haired woman who honked and then waived at Imran.
“That was Ms. Kapplan. She runs the Wilfrid schools. Was a teacher for thirty years back in Salem, Oregon before she came up here to get away from all the New United Nations mandates. Did you have a school in Dominatus, Mac?”
Mac was gazing around at all of the Main Street activity with a hint of a smile, his face reflecting how much the current scenery was pulling him back to another time in his life so many years ago.
“No, we didn’t have too many kids in Dominatus. Nothing like…like this.”
Imran was making his way across the street as the others in the group followed close behind. The parking in front of Mel’s Diner was nearly full, with many more vintage American cars lined up outside. Imran nodded his head in the direction of a particularly pristine, candy apple red, 1959 Ford Thunderbird.
“Good – the godfather is here already. Let’s go inside.”
The unmistakable scent of burgers and fries enveloped all of them as Imran opened the clear glass door of Mel’s Diner, the tinkling of a small hanging bell that hung from the top of the door frame announcing their arrival.
A short blonde woman who appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties, dressed in a pink blouse emblazoned with “Mel’s Diner” across the back, greeted the group warmly as they walked in.
“Well hello there, Imran! Glad to see you again! The godfather told me to be expecting you today. And these must be your friends everyone was talking about this morning. We heard you had a bit of trouble last night on your way here. Took care of too! Well good for you! My name is Brenda and I’ll be your server today!”
When Brenda got a look at Bear towering above the rest, her eyes flew open and she walked up next to him and placed a hand on his left arm.
“Well my goodness aren’t you just about the biggest thing I’ve seen walk in here! Say, have we met before? You sure look familiar!”
Bear looked down at Brenda, his familiar scowl communicating to her he would rather just get on with sitting down and having something to eat rather than stand and talk to her. Brenda proved more than willing to get a response from the big man though.
“C’mon now – what part of the country did you come from? You a southern boy?”
Bear broke down and gave Brenda a one-word response.
“Texas.”
“You don’t say – I’m from Texas! Now where have I seen you before? My goodness don’t you look familiar. I just can’t quite figure out why though!”
Imran, likely sensing Bear’s smoldering annoyance, intervened to refocus Brenda’s attention.
“Uh, the godfather is expecting us.”
Realizing she had been making the rest of the group stand and wait as she questioned Bear, Brenda’s face grew red and she began to apologize profusely as she turned to show them their seats.
“Oh, I am so sorry about that. Just lost my mind there trying to figure out where I knew your friend from. Follow me now, Imran, the godfather is at his regular table right back here.”
Mel’s Diner echoed with the sounds of conversations, food being prepared, and happy customers. It appeared to be filled to capacity. Red booths lined the window areas, while stools ran the length of the long bar that extended from one end of the former train car to the other. Behind that bar a small window looked into the kitchen area where a flurry of activity could be seen as all of the orders were being prepared.
At the opposite end from the entrance was the last booth, and in that booth sat a medium build, older man with dark, silver streaked hair sipping from a cup of coffee. He wore a simple, dark blue short sleeved cotton shirt, and Levis blue jeans. The hair was combed back from his forehead, and glistened slightly with pomade. His olive skin was relatively smooth except around his eyes, which were kept behind thick, dark framed glasses. The skin was clean shaven except for a thin, neatly trimmed grey mustache. Mac noted on the third finger of the godfather’s right hand was a gold ring housing a large green emerald.
Imran stood next to the man in the booth and bowed slightly, extending his left hand toward the others in the group.
“Godfather – these are the ones I told you about. The ones from Alaska.”
The godfather looked up from his coffee cup and looked at Imran and then over to Mac, Reese, Dublin, Cooper, and Bear.
“Please, everyone, have a seat. Brenda, two more seats for the end of the table here. Thank you, darling.”
The man’s voice was low, almost a whisper - the voice of a longtime smoker. It was not an unpleasant voice, and had the hint of someone confident that what they said would be taken seriously – always.
“Please, before we discuss business, let me treat each of you to a Wilfrid burger and fries. You must be hungry. Gonna love it. Top notch all the way. Brenda, can you take care of that, please?”
Brenda moved with far more speed back to the kitchen than when she had first welcomed them into the diner.
Taking a slow sip from his coffee, the godfather peeked across the table at Reese and stared at him for several seconds.
“You’re the radio guy, right? Did the program from Dominatus? When the drones were attacking? We all listened to your talk. Great stuff. Really…what’s the word? Inspirational!”
Reese nodded, fascinated by the intensity of the older man’s eyes.
“Yes, that was me. The others here, Mac, Bear, and Dublin, they were there as well. They lived there in Dominatus. I was just…just visiting.”
The godfather put his coffee down and pointed to Mac, Bear and Dublin, and then lastly, Cooper Wyse.
“So if those three were with you at Dominatus, who’s this?”
Imran began to remind the godfather of who Cooper was, but a quick look from the founder of Fort Wilfrid warned Imran he was to remain quiet.
Reese continued with his own explanation.
“This is Cooper Wyse. He’s an associate of Imran’s. He helped to get us here to Wilfrid.”
The godfather’s dark eyes went from Reese to Cooper, where they remained as he addressed the rancher.
“Ah, yes, the Irish cowboy, right? From Juneau. Loves horses, hay, open fields, all that shit. We’ve done a fair amount of business, haven’t we, Cooper? You and Imran, and myself. Don’t recall meeting you in person though, and yet, Imran has told me you’ve been to Wilfrid before, is that right?”
Cooper nodded but said nothing.
“So why would you travel all the way here and not want to meet me? Ain’t I…interesting enough for you?”
Cooper’s eyes met the godfather’s stare, remaining there while he responded.
“Didn’t know I was required to pay tribute…sir. I was just stopping to rest up before heading back home again. Haven’t been back for a while since then.”
>
The godfather’s head lowered slightly as he continued to stare at Cooper Wyse.
“Did you find Wilfrid hospitable enough while you rested up?”
Cooper gave a small smile and shrugged.
“Sure. Interesting place you have here.”
The godfather’s eyes flashed momentarily as he leaned forward in the booth toward Cooper Wyse.
“Interesting? What’s that supposed to mean Mr. Wyse? Interesting - I find that to be a rather…interesting choice of word.”
Cooper clasped both of his hands in front of him and placed them on the table.
Tumultus Page 19