The Good Atheist

by Michael Manto

  “I made a deal with them,” she said quietly.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “In return for informing on Paige, they agreed not to arrest you. I assured them you are still a good atheist. Although your stupidity last night almost negated the deal, they agreed to keep their deal on the condition that you get counseling.”

  That explained why I awoke on my back on the front porch, instead of in a jail cell. And why the Executrix came by to assess the level of counseling I needed, instead of arresting me. Just then something the Executrix had said as she was leaving penetrated my groggy head. Something about the rehab centers in the region about to be too full to bother with a borderline case like me.

  I checked my pockets for my phone. It wasn’t there. “Selene, have you seen my phone?”

  “I found it on the porch this morning. It must have fallen out of your pocket last night during your fight with the Inquisitor.”

  “Where is it?”

  She stood up, her face tight with anxiety. “What do you want with it?”

  “I need to order a pizza. What do you think I want my phone for?”

  “You’re in no shape to go driving. You need to get some rest.”

  I ignored her and stood up. It wasn’t so bad this time, and I made it to the front door, swung it open, and yelled: “Where is my phone?”

  The phone recognized my voice and started playing a Led Zeppelin song ‘Climbing up Mount Probability’ - originally titled ‘Stairway to Heaven’ until it was renamed by the Pure Thought Commission. It kept playing until I found it on top of the fridge. I grabbed it and headed for the front door, as quickly as my aching body allowed.

  Selene followed me through the house. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to get within cell range and make some calls.”

  “I want to come with you.”

  I stopped in the threshold of the front door and turned around. “Sorry, dear. Not this time.”

  She grabbed my forearm. “Don’t be angry with me. Can’t you see? I was trying to help you. You need help!”

  I looked down at her hand on my arm, and then up into her eyes. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs help.”

  Her hand slipped off my arm. “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you care?”

  “Do you expect me to just sit around this old dump waiting?”

  “Frankly, after what you’ve done I don’t care what you do now,” I said. Then I turned and left.

  16

  I picked up a carrier signal a few miles down the road, just outside of town. I told my phone to call Jorge first.

  “Hello, this is Jorge…”

  “Jorge, where are you?”

  “…I’m sorry I can’t answer the phone right now…”

  I waited for the beep. “Jorge, it’s Jack Callaghan. Listen, I hope I’ve reached you in time. Don’t come to the cottage for Paige.” Then I told him what happened, finishing with the Executrix’s cryptic words about the rehabs about to be too full. “I’ll leave it with you to decide what that means, but it’s not hard to guess.”

  Then I disconnected and called Lucius. A cranky voice came on after a few rings. “Yes?”

  “Lucius, this is Jack Callaghan.”

  An audible sigh on the other end. “Look, Jack. I’ve told you everything I can about your father.”

  “Lucius, I’m not calling for that. I’m calling to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  “The Tolerance Bureau may be coming by to ask you a few questions.” Then I gave him a quick rundown of my conversation with the Executrix. “They knew about my trip to Iowa last week to see you.”

  There was silence from his end of the circuit.

  “I’m sorry, Lucius.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not exactly hiding under a rock out here. It was only a matter of time.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “As in what?”

  “I don’t know. Run. Hide. Something.”

  “You mean like go underground and get myself up to Canada or something?”

  “Something.”

  “Not likely. I’m too old for that. Besides, the weather sucks up there.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “I’ll wait here and see if they show up looking for me. Then I’ll answer their questions like a good citizen.”

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “I’ll tell them what they want to hear. I doubt they’ll do anything. They’ve got their hands full rounding up the real believers. They don’t have time for guys like me.”

  “But you’re unorthodox,” I said.

  “They’ll never know how unorthodox I am. You don’t think I’m stupid enough to tell them what I really think, do you?”

  I didn’t say anything. I came to the bridge into town and started across.

  “Oh, I forgot. You are stupid enough,” Lucius said. “You probably couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”

  “It’s one of my most endearing character flaws.”

  “Well, character flaws like that will get you arrested in this country. Try to keep your mouth shut next time. It sounds like they’re planning something bad.”

  I crossed the bridge and slowed down as I entered town. Green army trucks and black Tolerance interceptors lined both sides of the street. Inquisitors patrolled the sidewalk, while others stood at the corners.

  “Jack, you still there?” I took the first right to get off the main street.

  “Yeah, I’m still here. It looks like the bad thing is already happening.”

  “Be careful. Try not to do anything too stupid.”

  “Hey, you know me.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said, then disconnected.

  I drove two more blocks and came to a tree-lined street of tidy little brick homes. It might have looked like a Norman Rockwell painting, if it hadn’t been for all the army trucks.

  Neighbors stood in small groups on the sidewalk and porches watching the show as Inquisitors ran across a lawn towards one of the houses.

  I got off that street. “Route me to Jorge’s,” I said to the car.

  A street map of Aylmer materialized on the heads-up display, and I followed the car’s directions. I didn’t have far to go. One of the nice things about small towns is that nothing is ever very far from where you are.

  I’d almost reached Jorge’s house when a large black Tolerance interceptor blocked the street. It hovered a few feet off the ground, swaying a bit in the breeze. Inquisitors stood on the sidewalk. I came to a stop. About a dozen men and woman sitting in the back stared at me through the open back hatch. Some held suitcases. One young woman held a baby on her lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks. More people gathered at the corner and on front lawns.

  I decided to stay put. I didn’t want to turn around and risk bringing attention to myself, or otherwise give the Inquisitors reason to think I might be trying to get away. So I sat tight and waited, and I did my best to look the part of a disinterested citizen who was just annoyed at the traffic inconvenience.

  Two Inquisitors came out of the house next to me, holding a teen-aged boy between them. Another Inquisitor crossed the street with an old man in handcuffs from another house. They reached the back of the truck about the same time. The old man and the teenager climbed into the back and sat down with the others. Then the doors swung closed and hid them all from sight. The Inquisitors got into the front of the truck, and it moved away. It moved slowly down the street and turned at the next block. I waited until it was out of sight before starting the engine.

  Jorge’s place was two blocks over. It looked calm, almost normal. No black trucks or Tolerance troopers, or crowds watching the excitement. I wondered if the Bureau had already swept this block and I was too late. I pulled into his driveway and got out.

  The house system answered me when I asked for Jorge.

  “I’m afraid he is no
t in at the moment, Mister Callaghan.”

  “Can you tell me where he is?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not authorized to divulge any information concerning his activities.”

  “It’s important that I reach him.”

  “My apologies, but I’m not at liberty.”

  Jorge wasn’t expecting me, so it wasn’t surprising he hadn’t left instructions with the house for me. There was no point in arguing with a piece of software. I left another message with the house. “Can you get that to him?”

  “I will relay the message.”

  My next move was Clive’s. I didn’t know Clive all that well, but he was a good friend of Jorge’s and he might now where he was. Failing that, my next stop would be Rosie’s. Lucy seemed to be the nexus of the town’s social network.

  I didn’t have his cell number, but Clive lived on the edge of town. I reached his place in ten minutes. Several people were crossing the street towards Clive’s house as I pulled up to the curb and stopped. They joined a crowd already gathering on Clive’s front lawn.

  The front door to Clive’s tidy little bungalow was wide open, swinging gently in the breeze. I got out of my car and approached the group on the lawn, fearing the worst. “What happened here?” I asked.

  A middle-aged woman in sweats and house slippers looked at me. “What do you think? It’s the same thing that’s happening all over town.” She shook her head solemnly.

  The others all started talking at the same time.

  “Such a shame.”

  “Who would have guessed?”

  “And he seemed like such a nice, normal person.”

  “They just took Janice and Alex an hour ago.”

  “I saw them dragging Janice across the front lawn into the truck, kicking and screaming.”

  “Clive had more dignity than that. Held his head up high the whole time.”

  “I had no idea he was a faith-head.”

  “Kooks.”

  “Yeah, kooks,” others chimed in.

  “Religious crazies,” a woman said, spinning a finger around her ear. “When will we ever finally get rid of them?”

  “The sooner the better,” an older man said with a scowl, punctuating his words by spitting on the grass.

  “What makes you think Clive was crazy?” I asked.

  “What kind of question is that? Of course they are crazy – believing in ghosts in the sky.”

  “If that’s not crazy, I don’t know what is,” the woman in the sweatpants said.

  “He didn’t seem crazy to me,” I said. Every head within hearing distance snapped my way. I never seem to learn when to keep my mouth shut.

  “You’re not one of them, are you?” she said, taking a step back.

  “No, I’m not. I just don’t think…” but it was too late for any kind of reasoning. A middle-aged guy cut me off. “You must be. Why else would you defend him?”

  “Christian-lover,” one of them spat, and the crowd smelled blood.

  “Oh my God,” another woman said while backing away from me. She pulled out a cellphone. “I don’t want to catch any of your religious memes.” Several of them pulled out cellphones in unison and began speaking into them.

  It was time to go.

  I hurried back to my car. Fortunately no one tried to stop me. I got in and drove away. The crowd on the lawn stayed where they were, every head turning to watch me as I passed by. Half of them were talking into cellphones. I wondered how many would think to get my license plate.

  I still hoped to find Jorge quickly. I drove slowly across town towards Rosie’s. The same scene repeated itself on almost every block. Groups of neighbors milling around on front lawns and sidewalks. Big black trucks parked along the streets. Soldiers walking up to houses, or escorting handcuffed civilians towards the back of a truck.

  A tall young woman with long blonde hair, in blue jeans and cotton shirt.

  A middle-aged man in shorts and sandals.

  A professional woman in a traditional blue skirt and blazer.

  None of them looked dangerous, and all of them looked frightened.

  A handcuffed grandmother looked like she had been arrested while baking. Her orange-striped apron was smeared with white powder. Maybe bomb recipes required all-purpose white flour.

  Two blocks from downtown the streets were barricaded. End of the line. I pulled over to the curb and parked. I walked over another block until the police at the barricade were out of sight. I was no longer in a residential area. The buildings were all restaurants, shops, and century-old homes converted into lawyers’ and chiropractors’ offices.

  I needed to get to Rosie’s. I found a narrow alley going in the right direction and followed it. The brick walls on either side were lined with garbage cans and unmarked doors. There was sunlight at the other end. One man in a business suit turned into the alley from the other end and ran towards me. He kept close to the wall and looked up. I followed his gaze up. The top of the alley was open to the sky. A large black Interceptor hovered into view, momentarily blocking the sky as it passed overhead.

  The stranger passed, averting his eyes away from me, and scurried on by. I reached the end of the alley and stepped out from the shadows and into the sunlight on the sidewalk.

  And into mayhem.

  I was on Main Street, directly across the street from Rosie’s. Rashmir’s grocery was to my left. The buildings lining Main were all old three-story red brick, dating from the early twentieth century. It was like stepping onto an old movie set. Civilians from all walks of life stood on the sidewalk in front of the shops and offices looking up.

  Black armored hover-craft descended slowly down from the sky and settled to the street in clouds of dust and litter. Gull-wing hatches hissed open and Inquisitors jumped out, in helmets and thick vests.

  A few people slipped away, back into shops or down the street. A couple slipped into the alley behind me, but most stayed where they were, either resigned to whatever fate awaited them or just wanting to watch the show.

  “This is the first round-up I’ve seen,” a young man next to me said, a traditional office type wearing the usual tight-fitting black slacks, light-colored shirt and narrow tie. He had long pointed red shoes that curled up at the end.

  “I see it all the time in Chicago,” I said. “They cordon off a few city blocks and screen everyone inside the net. If you try to run they assume you’re guilty and come after you. Better to just stay put.”

  Tolerance Police spread out along the street and entered buildings. Others started screening people on the sidewalk. A pair of large cops crossed the street towards me and my new friend.

  “What do we do?” the young man next to me asked, the nerves audible in his voice.

  This was probably the fourth time I’d been caught in a sweep. “Just stay calm and answer their questions,” I said. “No matter what happens, don’t panic.”

  “Identifications please, Citizens,” the big one barked when he reached us. Grammatically the words were polite, but his tone was anything but. We extended our arms in unison, pointing our index fingers towards the officer.

  The other officer watched us carefully, his hand resting lightly on the weapon clipped to his belt, while the first one checked his data pad. Everything about us, all our personal information, legal history, employment records, everywhere we’d travelled, everything we’d bought including what we had for breakfast, would be on his datapad. If he wanted to, he could get into all our social networking sites.

  “Alistair Cunningham?”

  “Yes sir,” the young man next to me said.

  “Do you disavow any and all belief in supernatural deities?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe in any of the following: the god of the Muslims?”

  “No.”

  “The Christian God, Jesus Christ?”

  “No.”

  “Any of the Hindu gods?”

  “No.”

  Then it was my turn.
>
  “Jack Callaghan?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “Do you disavow any and all belief in supernatural deities?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe in any of the following: the god of the Muslims?”

  “No.”

  “The Christian God, Jesus Christ?”

  I hesitated. Such direct questions were usually enough to flush out believers, especially those of the major religions. No true Christian would deny Christ when asked such a direct question. It made catching believers fairly easy.

  Why I hesitated I wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps I was beginning to doubt my doubts about God.

  The Tolerance cop was visibly annoyed. “I’ll ask again. Do you believe in God, as he or she is traditionally understood, or in Jesus Christ?”

  “No,” I said after a pause.

  “You hesitated, Citizen.”

  “I suppose I did.”

  “Why?”

  “Sorry. I guess I was distracted by all the excitement.”

  He returned his data pad to his belt. “Next time, don’t hesitate. Be on your way, Citizens.” He dismissed us and moved on down the sidewalk.

  Alistair looked my way. “Well, I’d better get back to work. See ya.” He turned and walked away down the sidewalk.

  The phone vibrated in my pants pocket and I pulled it out.

  “Hey, Jack, my house just got through to me with your message. What’s up?” It was Jorge.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been out of town making arrangements for Paige. I had my phone turned off.” His carefree, cheerful tone sounded out of place for the circumstances.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” I asked.

  “Great news,” he went on. “I’ve got everything set for Paige. My contacts will be able to get her across the border. We can get her there tonight.”

  “That’s what I was calling you about. Paige is gone. She’s been taken by the Tolerance Police.” I told him about the raid on my cottage during the night and the sweep going on in town. Then I got to the part about Clive.

  “They got Clive too,” I said. “I was by his place looking for you. He’s been arrested. The sweep is still going on. You better stay where you are until the coast is clear.”