As bizarre as it sounded, that did seem like a more accurate description to me.
“Thank you,” I said and hung up the phone.
I started breakfast and was just in the middle of scrambling the eggs when it occurred to me that I probably needed to call Miss Chenowith’s sister, Rose from the motel. I pondered it for a moment and then decided I would let Miss Chenowith make that determination. After all, it was just a change and not a loss.
A few moments later, Seth came trotting down the hallway and headed for the back door. As he passed the door to the kitchen he looked in at me with a jubilant, toothy grin.
“Where are you going, buddy?”
He didn’t break stride as he continued for the door.
“It’s a s’prise!” he called, as I heard the door creak open and then shut.
I paused, a little curious, and then I figured that he was probably going out back to properly squench the cookies he had been training with. The problem was that Jackson or Miss Chenowith was not with him. I grabbed a paper towel to wipe egg white residue from my fingertips and casually peered through the door at Miss Chenowith. She was still seated at the table but had scooted her chair back slightly. Jackson was curled in her lap and his eyes closed contentedly as she stroked his head. Miss Chenowith was smiling; that was good to see.
I was just about to dish the eggs out of the pan when I heard the back door open again. Something was strange. Instead of the dull pitter-pat of Seth’s feet, I heard two sets of feet coming down the hall. I turned around to see Seth beaming at me in the doorway. Someone was standing in the shadows behind him.
“Daddy, I would like you to meet my friend,” he said in a hushed voice.
I knew who it was before he said anything more. I think I had suspected, at least since last night, anyway. His “friend” had been hiding in the shed, and Seth had been sneaking him food. He ran away after the storm started and he was very hungry. I didn’t know whether to be angry because we had spent so much time looking for this person, not to mention Miss Chenowith being worried out of her mind, or to be proud because Seth had been kind enough to take food to this person. The hungry boy at Seth’s school came to mind, causing my anger and frustration to fade away. Still, he should have told me.
“This is Shasta. He lives here with Miss Chenowith. He’s been hidin’ because he was scared.”
A black boy, a few inches taller than Seth, stepped out of the shadows and extended his hand.
“Howdy, Mista Penalton. Seth sho’ spoke awfully fine of you!”
The description provided by Miss Chenowith was dead on. Well, maybe that is a poor choice of words, but her description was very accurate. Shasta wore a pair of gray trouser overalls with a white button down undershirt. He wore no shoes and his head seemed to be shaved. A chubby face that she had fondly described as “bubble gum” cheeks topped a slender body giving his head an oversized appearance. He had an unusually dark complexion that was clearly visible under the shiny translucent sheen.
He looks like an oversized bobblehead doll, I thought but did not say. An amused grin came to my face and I did my best to channel it into a polite smile.
I extended my hand and shook his, experiencing the same cold and then warm sensation as my hand slowly sank into his.
“Thank you, Shasta,” I said. “There is someone who wants to see you very much,” I said as I nodded toward the door where Miss Chenowith sat.
“Yessa,” he said sheepishly then looked at Seth.
Seth gave him a reassuring smile, then took him by the hand and led him down the hall. A few moments later I winced from what I thought was screaming coming from the next room but as it turned out, it was cries of pure joy coming from Miss Chenowith.
“Oh, Shasta! Thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God …” she repeated over and over again.
The return of Shasta made things more tolerable for Miss Chenowith. In fact, it may be accurate to say it made things okay. She wouldn’t let him out of her reach, let alone out of sight. She was as doting as a mother bear. I would have to say that this was the first real “mothering” that Shasta had enjoyed in well over 100 years, and the first time that Lizzie Chenowith had been a mother. That was sad, because from what I saw, she would have been a good one.
The 911 operator was as good as her word because the ambulance drivers called me ten minutes later. I served breakfast on the old wooden picnic table in Miss Chenowith’s backyard while the paramedics respectfully retrieved the sweet lady’s remains. No one ever knew they were there except for me.
After breakfast, which entailed some more squenching lessons from Seth, Miss Chenowith shocked me.
“You and Seth should get on the road. I don’t need to hold you up any longer,” she said.
“Are you sure? Will you be okay?”
She smiled reassuringly at me.
“Yes, very much so. As strange as it may seem, I can’t remember the last time I was as happy as I am today.”
“What about Rose, your sister?” I asked, doubtful.
She half-smiled and half-smirked.
“Oh, I can call her when I get ready,” she said, pretending to punch buttons on an invisible phone. “Actually, I can’t wait to see the look on her face,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I have a few other calls to make before I trouble myself with that old biddy.”
I was dumbstruck at her transformation. In an hour’s time she had gone from deep despair to mischievous exhilaration. Part of me wanted to question this rapid emotional metamorphosis, but another part of me was anxious to take her at her word and set back out on our trip. The latter part won out. Miss Chenowith and I exchanged phone numbers before we departed 30 minutes later.
She winked. “Going to the Air and Space Museum, eh? I might be able to help you. Let me make a call or two.”
I didn’t follow up this comment because Miss Chenowith had turned her attention back to Shasta. I told her to call if she needed anything. Seth said his goodbyes to Shasta and presented him with the Hot Wheels car he had gotten in his Martian meal a few days before.
“Shasta doesn’t have any toys,” Seth explained as he got in his seat and shut the door.
I smiled.
“I know son. I’m proud of you, but …” I said and paused as he looked at me like he was about to be scolded. “Promise me you won’t keep any secrets from me going forward. You can tell me anything, okay, buddy?”
He nodded his head.
“Pomise,” he said, dropping the ‘r’ as usual.
We waved goodbye and pulled away. I could see several neighbors gawking from the security of their yards. I honked and waved at them, shaming them back in their houses. Maybe that was rude of me, but I thought it was cruel spying on Miss Chenowith and Shasta. I wanted them to just leave her alone.
We had just pulled onto the entrance ramp to I-40 when I turned the radio back on. Seth pleaded for Radio Disney, but I needed to catch up on the news.
“Later,” I told him. “Daddy needs to listen to some boring talking first.”
He frowned and pulled out a Clone trooper action figure and began to pretend like the door was a great military fortress for the Galactic Republic. I smiled and found my favorite news station then carefully turned it up. I didn’t like what I was hearing in the discussion.
“Do you believe it is constitutional, Dr. Winder?” the host asked.
It was Ray Winder again, the White House scientific advisor. Why were they asking him about legal concerns?
“We have legal experts reviewing it now, including a Federal judge. The consensus is that the current situation is appropriate justification for exercising the president’s emergency powers.”
“But don’t these people have rights?” the host pressed.
Another voice piped in, sending chills up my spine.
&
nbsp; “It is for their own protection,” the man said. “Please keep in mind that it is yet to be decided how far constitutional rights extend. I mean, what would the Founding Fathers say about it?” The man finished with a laugh that was anything but humorous.
“For those of you just tuning in,” the host said. “You just heard from General Ott Garrison, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He has joined me here with the White House’s scientific advisor, Dr. Ray Winder. We are discussing the Executive order coming out of Washington yesterday stating that all Impals that have passed away since the phenomenon started should be redirected to military bases until they can be acclimated into society or until the phenomenon passes, whichever comes first.”
My heart sank when I thought of Miss Chenowith and Shasta. My first instinct was to call and warn them, but I decided to get more information first. The fact that General Garrison was involved with this did not make me feel any better. He had been involved in some sort of human rights or war crimes investigation about a decade ago. I couldn’t remember the details because it was quickly swept under the rug like so many other transgressions by people of power and influence. I guess the world forgot it completely when he was appointed by the current administration. I’m starting to think that my vote was severely misplaced.
“General Garrison, why can’t we let these people’s families take care of them and help them to acclimate?”
There was that unsmiling laugh again.
“It’s not that simple. It’s a matter of simple mathematics. In a very short period of time, we will start to have a population problem. Death is a natural thing; it is a necessary thing to make way for new generations. This storm, phenomenon, whatever you wish to call it, has removed death from the natural equation in a sense.”
“But General, people are still dying, are they not? I mean their bodies are dead.” The host said.
“Yes, but the individual is not removed,” Garrison said with what sounded like sterile indifference. “The storm gives their spirits, or whatever the hell you want to call them, physical substance. In my book it means they are still here. It is unnatural. It is quite frankly a little sick.”
The general breathed a deep sigh and continued, “Look, let me spell it out. In the United States alone, approximately 8,000 people die each day, not to mention some 12,000 births. If you take the births out of the equation as a given, the unnatural 8,000 which stay here gives us an unnatural population increase of about 56,000 Impals per week. That’s each week! That’s not even taking into consideration the untold thousands—if not millions—that were already here before this storm began. It is a crisis to the natural order and business of the country, make no mistake!”
His attitude was making me sick. These were people, for God’s sake. I looked at Seth as if to confirm that, and he smiled back at me with a goofy grin. My heart melted but my stomach twisted; I didn’t have a good feeling about what I was hearing.
CHAPTER 19
The Road Less Travelled
“So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.”
—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
By the end of the interview with the two men, I felt much worse about the situation. They were going to be relocating RDIs, which was now the short term for Recently Deceased Impals. They were relocating them for their own safety and security to military bases around the country until they could figure out how to acclimate them. The first question I had, aside from how could this be morally acceptable, is how would they differentiate between an RDI and a PDI – what they were calling Previous Deceased Impals, the ones that were here before the storm. They both looked identical with their silvery sheens and physical capabilities, so who was to say whether they died today or 200 years ago?
I could tell from his tone and reactions that Dr. Winder was struggling with the decision. I think he probably felt like I did but he was stuck in his position between a rock and a hard place. General Ott Garrison, on the other hand, seemed to be relishing the decision. I don’t know if he was enjoying the fact that he actually had something to do, a potential crisis to deal with, or if he got some kind of pleasure rounding up these “things,” as he referred to them at one point in the interview.
I suppose his military duties had been noticeably reduced since the conflicts overseas had subsided recently, but was that any reason to be a heartless bastard? He obviously didn’t see the Impals as people, just some sick nuisance that needed to be rounded up and discarded. That was a dangerous attitude for anyone to have, but even more so for a soldier. I think the most troubling statement made by the man was when he was asked a legitimate question by the host.
“General, we only have so many military bases. What happens when we run out of room on the bases?”
He gave an arrogant laugh and replied in a chilling tone, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
He refused to elaborate on his response.
Did the president willingly order this? Had he been given fair and balanced advice? I did not know; I hoped he didn’t know fully what he was doing because I voted for the man, for God’s sake. Of course, the president makes decisions based on the best advice of those in his circle. Dr. Winder could be included in that exclusive group, but General Garrison could as well. That fact made my blood run cold.
As if on cue, when the interview was over, we were passed by a convoy of military transport trucks heading east. They were camo green with a canvas cover over the bed like a cloth camper shell. I noticed the last truck that passed; the flap on the back had become untied, affording me a glimpse of the interior as it sped past. I could make out the silvery luminescence of several Impals, but that was not what caught my attention.
A solitary Impal girl peered through the open flap at me. She smiled and raised her hands as if to wave. I had just enough time to see before the truck sped out of view that there was something blackish gray binding her wrists like shackles. She waved her right hand up and down in a friendly childlike greeting and smiled, but then the truck was gone. A sudden feeling of panic washed over me like an icy wave, forcing me to pull off on the shoulder.
I clicked on the flashers and then turned to look at Seth. He had been sleeping but my sudden stop had awakened him. He looked at me sleepily.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” he asked as he craned his neck like a turtle to look around.
I was still breathing heavily from my instant of panic and it took me a moment to compose an answer.
“Seth, buddy,” I breathed. “How would you like to play in the back for the rest of the trip?”
He looked over his shoulder and then looked doubtfully back at me.
“But it isn’t safe, Daddy … you says I have to buckle up.”
“That’s true buddy, I did say that, but I think it will be okay. We have a big safe vehicle in case anything happens. Besides,” I continued as I patted him on the head, “I know it can get boring for a little guy to sit up here, and you’ll have plenty of room to play back there.”
He beamed excitedly.
“You mean it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can Jackson come with me?”
“You bet.”
That was all the confirmation he needed. In a flash he was out of his seat belt and scurrying between the front seats and over the back seat into the cargo area. Jackson followed him over the seat like they were tethered together. We only had a couple of bags with us, so he had plenty of room to spread out and play. We had two bags plus a duffel bag full of Seth’s favorite toys, of which I immediately heard the contents dumping onto the floor.
I smiled and faced forward. I could hear Seth getting thoroughly engrossed in play as his own personal playtime sound effects drifted up from the back. He was occupied and he was happy, and if he got tired he could stretch out and take a nap. As happy as he was, I had not sent him back there f
or his own enjoyment, but his own safety. The windows were tinted and it was impossible to see in from the outside. If we were passed by another convoy or stopped for any reason, I thought it was best if Seth were not seen.
Did I have anything to worry about? My head told me no but my gut told me a different story. My gut is seldom wrong. I knew I had just seen a convoy of trucks full of Impals being carted off to God knows where, but that wasn’t the scariest part – the little girls hands had been bound with something. I would have thought that impossible if I had not seen it with my own eyes, the Impals that I had encountered could pass through anything if they desired. When I thought about it, I realized how stupid that sounded. Of all the materials on planet Earth, how many had I actually seen them pass through? It was probably one tenth of one percent, if it was even that high.
What I believed this meant is that any Impal could be bound and contained. Even if an Impal got put in a cinder block prison and under normal circumstances they could easily pass through the wall, they would be stopped like an anchor by whatever bound their wrists. I shook my head in disgust. If that weren’t bad enough, they would be forced to face constant humiliation with their wrists bound in perpetuity. Maybe I was assuming too much. I mean, I had just caught a glimpse; maybe the girl was playing. I didn’t think so. In any case, I wasn’t taking any chances. As much as I enjoyed the little guy sitting next to me, Seth was spending the rest of the trip in the back.
We resumed our journey a few minutes later. It was hard for me to focus on the trip or our destination. I kept having a disturbing thought running through my mind: what if we got to our destination and Seth was taken into custody? I mean, we were going to Washington, D.C., just a short walk from the White House.
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