Escape to Canamith

by Richard Friedman

  “I realize what we’re seeing and reading in the news. It’s easy to blame somebody for this. Man, Nature, God, your neighbor, heck, anybody can stand on the highest mountain and shout down to a scared populace, ‘Hey, run for the hills! You’re all doomed!’ For years, whenever science is confronted with an unexplained problem, we study, test, re-test and eventually solve the problem. The scientific community has risen to the challenge to explain any unsolved phenomenon. That’s what we do.”

  Drake didn’t appear too impressed with her soliloquy. “That was a wonderful lecture. Do your students sit back and listen to that? Because you’re preaching to the choir, sweetheart.”

  Lila cringed when she heard Drake refer to her as ‘sweetheart’. She abhorred his patronizing way and would have none of it.

  “Mr. Drake, I’m not your sweetheart!”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. Forgive me. I work in a different environment than you do. My tools are optical fibers and microcomputer chips. I say you are looking in the wrong places.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Dr. Massey.

  Drake continued, “Look, there are people a whole lot smarter than me who have analyzed every animal in the world, right?”

  The group nodded in agreement.

  “And they’ve come up with nothing. Until we come up with solid scientific evidence, we leave ourselves open to other interpretations of the situation. Now, my field of expertise is communication. Somehow these animals are communicating with each other. We didn’t see it in the zoo, but perhaps in the real world there are examples we should look at. We see animals communicate during fires and earthquakes.”

  Dr. Goldman joined the fray.

  “The animals have a sense of self-preservation, Mr. Drake. The squirrel doesn’t say to the rabbit, ‘Hey, the forest is on fire, buddy, you better run’.”

  “Ahh, exactly my point. We don’t know what is happening in those moments of panic. Are you sure that Nature hasn’t designed another way for creatures to communicate? Why do we believe and acknowledge that humans have non-verbal communication but we refuse to give a squirrel the same right?”

  Morales didn’t budge from his long-taught beliefs. “Mr. Drake, their brains are too small. If you would spend the years we spent pouring over research you’d see that—”

  Drake’s voice rose as he interrupted Dr. Morales. “And yet, doctor, here we are. We’re on our way home from an empty zoo that should be filled with the wonderful sound of children. They were enjoying the manner in which we have kidnapped animals and placed them in a park for us to stare at them and toss peanuts at them for our amusement.”

  Aldo piped up next. “Hey, Mr. Drake, excuse me, sir, but there’s a lot of reasons for having zoos. I started coming here when I was a kid and—”

  Drake discounted the comment and was about to continue speaking when Dr. Goldman asked him a question.

  “You think it’s multi-species inter-communication? I think your forest fire example is a poor one. That’s the sort of mob mentality that humans use. Ten people turn around and stare at the ceiling and before you know it, everyone in the room is straining their necks to see what is on the ceiling. One animal starts to run, then another, and another, and in a flash you’d be in the middle of a stampede. You are trying to interpret that as group communication. The animals are being frightened into knowing their life will end if they don’t flee.”

  “Dr. Goldman, we have the right to disagree, but what about the insects?” asked Drake.

  Before the Lila could speak, the truck lunged to the left, narrowly missing a huge hole in the ground. The driver regained control amid shouts of “What the heck was that?” and “What’s going on up there?”

  “Sorry, folks. I thought in our best interest I should avoid driving into a crevasse,” said the driver.

  Lieutenant Branley steadied the vehicle, and chipped in with his own perspective. “All you fancy folk with your advanced science degrees, have you speculated that nature is not causing the problems? What if this the work of Man? Evil men that want to kill innocent lives to gain control of the planet. There are people who would love to get the chance to run the world. Many countries in the world resent the way we have consumed so much of the world’s resources.”

  Goldman asked the million-dollar question. “Are you suggesting that this is the work of a terrorist organization? Who could do this?”

  “Why? To rebuild the world—a New World Order, if you will. A chance for the starving masses to perceive this person, or group, as a demigod who can save them from destruction,” said Morales.

  Lila, rearranging her backpack from the tumultuous veer to the left, couldn’t wait to answer. “That may be true, but then that just reinforces what we’re saying. If there is such a man, or country, and they’ve figured out a way to use animals against us: find them, soldier. That’s your job. Let us do ours.”

  “General Taft is a personal friend of mine and there’s no way he’d have us on a wild goose chase if they thought this was an act of terrorism,” expounded Drake.

  “Mr. Drake, with all due respect, if Gen. Taft is as good as soldier as he has been proclaimed, then he’s following orders,” said Dr. Goldman.

  “Fair enough, Dr. Goldman, but I don’t see him falling in line to that degree.”

  “We’re not sure what he knows, or what he doesn’t,” Dr. Massey added.

  “Look, you can believe what you want. I don’t think there’s a group out there telling swarms of bees to attack people driving their cars, or convincing dogs to stop playing fetch and start biting Timmy on the leg.”

  “Or little Sophie?”

  “Huh?” asked Drake.

  “We shall see, Mr. Drake. We shall see,” Lila said.

  CANAMITH COMMUNICATION DEPARTMENT

  Update #303

  Bees Ruin Festival; One Dead, Many Injured

  A swarm of female honeybees, numbering in tens of thousands, escaped their hives today and flew in mass to the nearby town of Nordonia. The small suburban city on the east coast was celebrating Apple Festival, a local tradition honoring the 100th birthday of town founder, and apple expert Albert C. Sydenberg.

  Local officials don’t know how the bees escaped, but speculate they were attracted to the town by the strong smells emanating from the apple festival. Upon the bees’ arrival, local children panicked, exciting the bees and they began stinging children and adults. People fled for cover and the event was cancelled. Sixty-six children were taken to the hospital, where three children remain in critical condition. Twenty-seven adults were also admitted, and sadly, a sixty-year-old man has succumbed to his numerous stings. His name is not being released until authorities can notify his next of kin.

  CHAPTER 21

  The hotel lobby was filled with uniformed men. Not all of them were military personnel.

  Lila and Aldo spotted three men from Dead Insects Incorporated.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Edgar Watkins was the oldest of the men, resplendent in white cotton scrubs and bright green nametag that identified him as Vic. He failed to respond to the question and didn’t look up. He continued spraying the unique concoction of ingredients that made Dead Insects a profitable and highest-rated bug-killing franchise of the year.

  “Don’t breathe this stuff, lady. It’ll tear your throat up. Be careful. Don’t get it on your clothes neither. It’ll burn a hole right through ‘em. You won’t notice it for a week or two, and then you’ll forget you were exposed to the stuff, but there will be a hole. You might as well toss’em in the trash when you get home.”

  “What’s in the canister?” asked Lila.

  Edgar spun the purple and black cylinder clockwise so the label could be read. He removed his glasses and squinted as he tried to get the cylinder to the right distance from his glasses in order to read the microscopic printing on the two feet long container. His arms and glasses imitated a man playing the slide trombone.

  “Le
t’s see now. What’s in this, you asked? Hold on, missy, you’ll have to forgive me, it’s my second day on the job and you’re the first person that’s asked that question. I bought the franchise last week and if you can keep a secret and promise not to tell. I’m not on the schedule for doing this job. The uniform says Vic, ya see? My name is Edgar. My brother Vic is on the schedule today, but we’re busy with the infestations. He asked me if I could fill in for him. He’s working at the Science Center. I’m glad I’m not there. He called and told me the place is overrun. Gross. I’m lucky that I lost weight or this uniform wouldn’t even fit. It’s tight, but for a day or two it’ll do. He’s giving me cash under the table. Hey, you don’t work for the government, do you?”

  Lila shook her head. “No Edgar, or Vic, or whoever you are. I work for a college on the west coast. I teach science, I’m not in the tax department. Your secret is safe with me, but I do want to know what you’re spraying all over the place.”

  “Oh, yeah, hold on, let’s see…Chronomaglio, oh, er, ah, I guess the label is worn away. There sure are a lot of these big red X’s all over the tube. You don’t want to see that if you’re a bug. Excuse me, ma’am, I gotta finish the hallway and then I’m going outside and grab me a smoke.”

  “Nasty habit. It’ll kill you someday,” said Aldo.

  Edgar was too busy soaking down the hallway to notice that Lila had walked away and headed down the opposite hallway in search of General Taft.

  Wearing a jet-black overcoat, General Taft had entered the hotel through the revolving glass front doors. The doors let in a pinch of the panic that was forming in the streets. The people were glued to their television sets hoping to hear a glimmer of encouraging news from the conference. The networks suspended all regular programming. A search of the archives would find a repeat of a sporting event or a kid’s TV show. Movies ran at cineplexes to empty theatres and comedy clubs shut down until further notice. Local news stations tried to fill as much of the day as they could with pre-recorded programs. “Taste of the Town”, a longtime favorite cooking show, was cancelled due to the sensitivity regarding the dwindling food supply. Even the larger television markets were shutting down for the middle part of the afternoon. Advertising had all but stopped as companies slashed their budgets as business plummeted.

  Companies like Mountain Retreats and One Stop Nature were doing a brisk business. These companies sold camping gear, portable gas stoves, tents, and miscellaneous products used for roughing it outdoors. The economy was sliding into the abyss. The futures market for food and grains had skyrocketed. Prices reached an all-time high and speculators couldn’t go any higher on bids. The suppliers couldn’t guarantee delivery of their products. Insurance companies closed. They couldn’t keep up with the new claims from farmers who saw their inventory dwindle. The initial fears of a worldwide food panic grew. The government had tried to reassure people that everything was all right, but it wasn’t. A quick trip to the grocery store proved whether the government was telling the truth. Many grocery stores were down to bare shelving. The run on canned goods, water, and consumables was frightening.

  Taft deftly avoided the press. He ducked quickly into the first hallway near the reception desk and wiped his brow with the old, tattered handkerchief that his father had given to him on the occasion of the general’s wedding day. With each washing, the beige piece of the cloth lost more and more of the original bright brilliant white color it was manufactured with. There were slight tears in the fringes of the material, but Taft used it as if was right out of the store packaging. He was meticulous in the manner in which he folded the handkerchief back into the right amount of squares, making sure it fit back into his breast pocket as neatly as it had been removed. Taft had made his mark as a soldier, but he was sentimental at heart.

  Taft carried the tattered note he wrote when he first met his wife. The soon-to-be lovebirds were avoiding the lecture at the Institution on Foreign Affairs. Taft was walking the hallways, checking his watch periodically to see when he would be free from this obligation and he could continue on with the rest of the day. His mother had insisted he come to the lecture because the head of the department promised that she’d be allowed to ask a question during the audience participation section of the lecture. She wanted her son to witness it.

  His future wife Elizabeth had been roped into going because her mother insisted that she be seen in places where intelligent people went for sophisticated learning, not bars and restaurants.

  Elizabeth rose during the lecture and excused herself. Her mother was livid, but Elizabeth had the perfect retort. “Mother dear, how do you expect these men to notice me if I’m sitting here with you?”

  Taft spotted Elizabeth from across the way. Her bright red hat and matching dress were an eyeful. He started the conversation and that led to a first date. He wrote the directions to her house, stuffed them inside his brown leather wallet, and although many years had passed, and the wallet had been swapped out several times, the note stayed tucked away. When Elizabeth would introduce the general to strangers, his note was an icebreaker to show people he was more than just a man in uniform. Many of the people that Taft met were inspired by his remarkable military achievements. There were plenty of people who never saw the romantic husband beneath the uniform until a note describing how to get to 3456 Johnnycake Lane was yanked from his pocket. The note always impressed. Taft had survived many hazardous circumstances, but the original note was in one piece. He was great at saving things that were close to his heart. Now he needed all the help he could find saving the country and perhaps the world.

  As members of the media were ushered away from the front doors of the hotel, Taft reemerged.

  “General, there you are.” Lila called. “What’s going on with the insects?”

  “I see you’ve noticed them.”

  “Noticed? There are more guys killing bugs in this building than chemists and biologists.”

  Taft used his free hand to take a viscous swipe at bumblebees that had made their way into the hotel and had their sites fixed on attacking the general. With no regard for style, the masculine general gyrated his body in four different positions to avoid the flying black hostiles. Hands flying to and fro, a quick slide step with the right had Lila chuckling.

  “Hey, quick moves for an old man,” kidded Lila.

  “Yikes…I hate bees. What are bumblebees doing in here?”

  “I’m not an entomologist General, but I believe those were carpenter bees and they were probably looking for a snack. They’re not interested in you. I heard your heart was made of steel.”

  “That’s not a kind thing to say. I’m a softy inside, didn’t you know that? I’ll see you later. Thanks for telling me about the bees. I won’t panic if I see them again.”

  “See, general? All things are indeed explainable,” mustered Lila.

  CHAPTER 22

  Rex and Mathis sat by the pond under a clear sky. There are times when a father knows the precise words to say to a child to lift his spirits, and Rex was optimistic that this evening his words would alleviate Mathis’s troubles.

  “I know you are disappointed in my decision, but you must get over it. You’ll face your own challenges and you’ll discover a way to make it work. You’re a terrific kid. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

  “But not as proud as you are of Buck. He’s your ‘chosen one’ for the Village.”

  “Call him whatever you want, but that doesn’t change my feelings for you.”

  “Yeah, I get it. When you’re gone, what are people going to say? There are the Templeton boys. Their dad was a great man. His daughter fled the Village and his one son Mathis works doing meaningless tasks. Not much of a legacy to leave. Thank God for Buck.”

  “That’s not fair!” said Rex. “Lila made her own choice. That’s no indictment on you! You’ll build your own legacy and not live off mine!”

  Whatever words of wisdom Rex had hoped to impart on his son were ruined by the harsh
words aimed at Rex and they struck right at his heart.

  “This conversation is over. Soon we’ll close the tunnel doors and you’ll have to make the best of it. There are times when you will be forced to take a stand and make tough choices. I did that with you and Buck. If you want to hate me for it, then go ahead.”

  “You don’t get it, Dad. Come on. Can’t see you see that the entire village looks at me as a failure?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “In your eyes, no, but I can see it in theirs. I can’t describe it, but it’s there. ‘Why didn’t your father pick you?’ ‘I wonder what’s wrong with him?’ Dad, unless I do something extraordinary, I’m just the guy who came in second place, like Ethan White.”

  “Bite your tongue! You have nothing in common with him. He’s petty and jealous. Those are his most charming characteristics. He’s a cruel individual.”

  “Dad, sorry, we don’t see eye to eye on this one.”

  Mathis stood up, gestured goodbye with his left hand, and abandoned his father for the evening.

  As Mathis departed, Rex shouted to him.

  “Don’t forget, tomorrow morning we’ll continue prepping the final activities to seal the tunnels. Don’t be late!”

  Mathis didn’t acknowledge the question as his lanky body slipped from view.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Your attention, please,” asked Gen. Taft. His plea fell on deaf ears. His next attempt was more animated as he raised his arms up over his head and brought them back down to his chest, palms outward, and repeated this motion seven or eight times until the distinguished scholars in the room acquiesced to his wishes and simmered down.

  “Quiet please. Thank you. Let’s continue. Many of you undoubtedly have heard stories of the people who live in Canamith.”

  Lila jumped to attention when she heard the word Canamith. Why would Taft, of all people, be talking about her hometown? Lila guarded her past life in Canamith with extreme secrecy.