Saint John

by William Oday

  The crowd waited, expecting the two men to have the answers. The quick fixes that our modern American society required.

  The general’s cold eyes narrowed as he digested the information on the screen. He finally looked up at the ancient presenter.

  Senator Rawlings, of course, already understood, as his office had coordinated with the Office of Net Assessment in directing the study.

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  The old man pushed thick bifocals back up the bridge of his nose. His rumpled form straightened for an instant, and he seemed to take on the air of the wizened professor about to lecture a stubbornly disappointing student.

  “I am not saying anything.” He pointed to the large, red numbers on the display. “The data, however, is shouting that we’re running out of time.”

  The general squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He resembled a child closing his eyes, hoping the world would disappear. That the monster in the night wouldn’t be real if he just believed it hard enough.

  He finally opened his eyes and blew out a slow exhale. The colorful assortment of ribbons, medals, pins, and stars on his jacket settled.

  “How can this be?”

  “Sir, your people have run war games that concluded we’re headed for large-scale, persistent conflict over dwindling natural resources.”

  “Yes, but you’re talking about the end of the United States of America.”

  The old man nodded.

  “Our simulation accounted for a far larger set of initial conditions. Depletion of the fresh water supply. Diminished biodiversity. Climate destabilization. Exploding sovereign debt. The end of cheap oil. We accounted for these and a thousand other pressing issues.”

  “You’re saying we’re doomed?”

  “The data is saying that we are approaching a peak of many correlated and undesirable trends.”

  The old man tapped the red numbers.

  “And this is the destination.”

  The general chopped a knife hand at the screen. “This is the land of the free?”

  Senator Rawlings stepped into the silence that followed. “Listen, we’ve dug this hole for ourselves over the span of many decades. The days of perpetually kicking the can have ended.”

  The nation’s highest military officer bristled at the patronizing tone.

  Anton vaguely remembered how Senator Rawlings had made the general’s confirmation hearing an extended and contentious affair. There was bad blood there, and neither man appeared to have forgotten.

  The general glared at Senator Rawlings and then moved his focus around the room, daring anyone else to repeat the disrespect. A few held his gaze with just a hint of deference while most collapsed as soon as their eyes met.

  He looked back to the presenter, who had returned to a hunched shell of a body, the brief flare of youthful fire a fading memory.

  “What is the least disruptive solution?”

  “My staff have been crunching scenarios for months, and, well, they’re all bad.”

  “Give me options.”

  “We are about to leave my field of expertise,” the white-haired man said. He pointed toward the door, and Anton felt the world rotate into place. His time had come. “Let me introduce you to Dr. Anton Reshenko.”

  Anton stepped forward and smiled as he stroked the mat of hair on his cheek. Yes, real power wasn’t always in the obvious place.

  He understood the artifice. That stars and elections and even guns and pens were shallow symbols and implements of genuine power.

  Yes. He knew the truth.

  Real power came from one, and only one, place. The unbowed will of an extraordinary man to achieve his destiny.

  He walked to the head of the long table and stopped behind the empty chair. He yearned to grip the headrest. Perhaps even to spin it around and take a seat. But these people still mattered. He looked around the room and was pleased to feel the focus of every man and woman present. The deserved weight of their desperate hope. He gave himself a moment to appreciate the spectacle.

  To acknowledge destiny.

  The day he had worked so long for, so hard for, had finally arrived. It would’ve been a lie to say it didn’t feel right.

  To say it didn’t feel inevitable.

  The world was his, as he knew it always would be, in the end. Insurmountable problems required men of unparalleled stature to solve them. The world needed him, and he would humbly deliver salvation.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Anton said, “I’m here today to tell you about the Darwin Protocol.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Last Day

  Venice, California

  MASON WEST cracked an egg into a sizzling hot pan and stared as it bubbled and turned white. The rich scent of melted butter enveloped the kitchen. He stirred and pushed at the gelatinous puddle until a spongy yellow form emerged, something that somewhat resembled scrambled eggs.

  Breakfast wasn’t his usual gig. He had a long and sordid history of blackened toast and burned eggs. But not this time. Not if he could help it.

  Arms came from behind and wrapped around his torso. He twisted back and breathed in the morning scent of the love of his life. Elizabeth. She was the woman he didn’t deserve. Fifteen years could blink by with the right person. Theirs did.

  He’d never been happier. Given his record, that wasn’t necessarily saying much. But he’d take it.

  “Morning, honey,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her lips, faintly tasting the earthy sweetness of roasted coffee.

  “The same to ya, handsome,” she said with a wink.

  Mason wondered for a moment if it was an invitation. Maybe she changed her mind about leaving for work early? He slid a hand lower and cupped it around her curved backside. Her brow lifted in that what are you up to way. He planted another small kiss and gave her a squeeze in that you know what I’m up to way.

  She nibbled his lip and then pulled back. “Easy, tiger. You’re gonna force me to call in a sick day with that attitude.”

  “Okay by me.”

  Mason’s daughter lumbered into the kitchen with headphones on, her head bobbing to a silent beat.

  “Gross, guys,” she said. “Seriously. Get a room. You have one, right down the hall.”

  Mason looked at her and the shock of a fifteen-year-old daughter hit him for the umpteenth time. Any resemblance to the chubby little angel that used to giggle in his arms was more his projection than hers. But Theresa was still his baby girl, no matter how many years flew by.

  “No headphones at the table,” Mason and Beth said in unison.

  Theresa pulled them off and set them on the counter.

  “Morning, uncomfortably expressive parents.”

  Beth poked her tongue out at her daughter and replied, “Oh, don’t be a square.”

  “Very funny, Mom,” she replied as she flopped down at the breakfast table. “Whacha burning for breakfast?”

  Breakfast?

  Damn! Beth had distracted him from the subtle signs of a successfully cooked egg.

  The acrid bite of scorched yolk filled the kitchen, and he turned to verify the scent. Mason examined what remained in the pan. Black, crispy charcoals changed the breakfast plans. “Cereal. Looks like a milk and cereal morning. How about toast?”

  “Can I get it only slightly burned?”

  “No promises.”

  Beth unwound herself from his embrace and grabbed her unfinished coffee from the mottled gray granite counter. “It appears your father has breakfast well in hand. I gotta go in early.”

  “What’s up, Mom?”

  “Jane’s a little off. It’s probably nothing, but being so close to term makes me extra cautious.”

  “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Don’t worry, honey.”

  The lightness in Theresa’s face evaporated. Mason’s heart ached for her.

  Jane was a fourteen-year-old chimpanzee at the Los Angeles Zoo. She�
��d been rescued as an infant from the bushmeat trade in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Beth’s heart was soft as warm butter for the animals in her charge. And it was hard as steel for those that mistreated them.

  She’d been a volunteer at the time. Nobody expected the sickly, malnourished chimp to survive, but Beth didn’t give up. She brought the little chimp home every night for nearly a year to ensure Jane received around-the-clock nurturing. Theresa in one arm and Jane in the other. They were almost sisters in some ways.

  Mason thought she was a cute infant, but that was it. Except that wasn’t it because she turned out to be a Bili chimpanzee, the largest subspecies ever discovered. Jane was nearly six-feet tall and weighed a hundred and ninety pounds.

  She was a wild animal. Not a pet. She couldn’t be trusted. However, the single time he reminded his wife of this fact, she gave him a cold stare that couldn’t have been a clearer version of “back away from my baby!”

  He didn’t bring it up again.

  As if on cue, the family dog trotted in with a haggard, slobber-matted giraffe stuffie in his mouth.

  Now here was an animal you could trust. Mason had trusted Max completely with Theresa from the day he joined their family.

  Max nuzzled his nose against Beth’s waist and looked up with rapt attention. His eyelids sagged a little, so he always looked concerned. She smiled and scratched his neck. “She’ll be fine, Max.” She looked back to Theresa. “Both of you, don’t worry.”

  That was apparently good enough for Max, as he dropped the giraffe to the ground and proceeded to hump it without regard for who else might be in the kitchen.

  Theresa grabbed the giraffe and tried to tug it away, but Max clung to it while his hips gyrated wildly.

  “Does no one understand the concept of inappropriate kitchen behavior?”

  Max paused in his machinations and straightened up to lick Beth’s hand. Did he somehow know Jane wasn’t doing well? Mason didn’t think it was likely, but his experiences had taught him enough to not deny the possibility.

  He’d seen firsthand the power of the primal brain.

  “Sorry to change the subject ladies, but it just so happens that I had a client cancel this weekend. Had to leave town for whatever reason. I say we visit Tito and Mamaw.”

  The darkness hanging over Theresa melted. The sun shone again in her smile, and just as quickly in Mason’s heart.

  “Yes! It’s been forever,” she said.

  Beth slung her messenger bag over a shoulder. “Tito said several chicks hatched last night. They’re up to their eyeballs in adorable furriness.”

  Max barked, perhaps also excited to see the newborns. Theresa bounced in her chair. “We have to go!”

  “It’s settled then,” Mason said. “The West family escapes the metropolis tonight.” He set a bowl of cereal in front of Theresa. Brightly colored blobs of whatever it was that passed for cereal swam through organic, low-fat milk.

  Max left Beth and sat next to Theresa. Mason demanded and begged her not to feed him at the table, but she slipped him food anyway. It wasn’t simple teenage rebellion because she’d done it since he was a puppy. Beth did it on occasion too, so it was a three-against-one issue.

  You had to pick your battles. Some weren’t worth the injury. Negotiation happened at both a tactical and strategic level. Mason understood the value of taking a tactical loss, so long as it didn’t mean losing limbs or lives.

  Beth planted a kiss on Theresa’s forehead. “I’ll let them know we’re coming.”

  Every weekend at her parent’s acreage in Ojai was a good one. It ate at his wife that they’d been out to visit so few times in the last year. Their family had never been busier. Between his clients, the demands at the zoo, and Theresa’s burgeoning social schedule, free weekends were a scarce commodity.

  Her parents weren’t getting younger, and Tito had his share of health problems recently. They all needed a visit.

  Mason looked forward to time away from the city. As much as he loved the city of angels, sometimes he needed a break from heaven.

  Especially living on the west side of Los Angeles. He loved Venice. The bohemian flavor. The easy access to the beach. The taste of life under a sun that warmed the air year round. But it felt like being surrounded at times. With the ocean to their backs, they had around ten million people between them and the outside world.

  Trapped in paradise. It only made sense if you lived it.

  Beth looked up at him with a shadow of concern in her eyes. “Walk me out?”

  Mason wrapped his arm around her and tried to remember she needed to get to work.

  “Sure.”

  Theresa gagged like a duck choking on a log. “The Crayfords don’t want to see your PDA either.”

  Mason tossed her a smirk. “Quiet. Or we’ll continue in here.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  They stepped out of their tastefully gray with white trim, single-story Craftsman, unconsciously hitting the first and third wood steps down off the front porch. The middle step was loose and a lawsuit waiting to happen. It was on Mason’s list, but had been continually bumped.

  The smell of freshly cut grass drifted over from the Crayfords’ yard. Their new electric mower and perfectly clipped, deep green grass evidence Oscar had already been hard at work this morning. In his mid-eighties, he still insisted on keeping up with things himself.

  Yellow Gerbera daisies filled a flower bed below their front window. Their bright hue gave the yard a cheery glow that Mason always appreciated. Especially since he and Beth didn’t have a green thumb between them.

  The bed was a bit overgrown. Oscar took pride in his yard, but his wife’s illness had taken a toll on them both.

  Mason helped out where Oscar would allow it. He’d trimmed the apple tree in their backyard a few months ago. He made sure their garbage, recycling, and yard waste bins made it to the curb and back every trash day.

  The early morning sun warmed his face as he accompanied Beth to her old, rusted black and dulled chrome Kawasaki Vulcan 750. Spock, as she called it. Any normal person would’ve tossed it into the junkyard years ago, but Beth gave the twenty-year-old bike all the care it needed to keep going. It was a point of love and pride for her.

  She was like that.

  He didn’t like that she rode Spock on the freeways. He’d tried to force her into something with more steel wrapped around it. But then she’d forced him to drive her to work in his Bronco a few mornings. Right into the belly of the morning commute.

  What a complete nightmare.

  The bike cut her commute time in half. That ended the last opposition towards her riding. Spoken ones at least.

  Beth was a natural fixer. On a work day, she’d be elbow-deep in elephant crap trying to solve a medical issue. On the weekend, she’d be in the garage keeping Spock alive.

  She tossed her bag into the stow compartment, and slung her helmet over a handlebar. She turned to Mason and fell into his protective embrace. Her face burrowed into his chest.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Theresa,” she said, “but Jane’s not doing well.” A tear pooled on the inside corner of her eye. “I can’t lose her. Not another one. Not again.”

  He lifted her chin to pull her eyes to his. She loved Jane. But he knew it was more than that. Some losses never faded. Years could be seconds to the heart.

  “You aren’t going to lose her,” he said. “You’re the best damn veterinarian in the world. And you love her like a child. She couldn’t be in better hands.”

  Beth moved her hands back and forth in the golden sunlight, examining them with detached interest. Measuring them.

  “Depending on how she’s doing, I may have to sit out the weekend trip.”

  “Your dad will be pretty upset. And not just because he won’t have his favorite free vet checking out the new chicks.”

  “I know. But if I can’t get her feeling better, I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

  Her h
eart was still so raw, just under the surface. Sure, you could show the world a scar and say you’d healed. But some wounds weren’t that easy.

  He wrapped her in a bear hug and squeezed. He leaned down and touched their foreheads. Strands of wavy, black hair framed her sunlit amber eyes. They mesmerized him now as much as they ever did. Maybe more. At thirty-four, she was more beautiful than ever. Small lines had crept into the smooth curves, the ripeness of youth just starting to show signs of wear.

  The imperfections made her more tangible. More precious. Again, he wished she didn’t have to leave for work. He could comfort her with more than just hugs. Before the derailed train of his thoughts totally crashed off the tracks, he gave her a peck on the lips and pulled back.

  “Get to work, doctor,” he said with an authoritative voice. His work voice. The voice he used when he wanted to get someone’s attention and make them comply.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she said, her eyes mocking and grateful all at once.

  “Never pretended to be. If you do have to stay, I’ll take Theresa. Tito can’t get too mad if she’s there.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Beth hugged him again and turned to grab her helmet. She slipped it on and popped the visor up. “I’ll call when I know more.”

  Of course she would.

  Without another word, she dropped the visor and fired the engine to life. He glanced behind her to verify the driveway and street were clear. Anyone that might not notice or care about a motorcycle pulling out. He worried any accident would turn out like a crash test boxing match where her opponent had the advantage of about three thousand pounds.

  There were no other cars. He watched her pull out and leave with a wave.

  Max bounded out of the open front door and howled as she rode away. When she didn’t respond to his off-key entreaties, he moped over and begged until Mason offered him a scratch under the neck.

  The gray bike paused at the stop sign at the end of their block before continuing. Mason was about to head back to the business of scraping the egg pan when the sky to the north drew his attention.