“Wonderful! Yes, all those flavors, and as the bottle sits, as you have your next glass, yet more flavors will join that dance. Such is wine! The complexity, the pushing and pulling of flavor – just like life! And what began as full, will inevitably end as empty, and we are but left with the memories of experience, experience that presents itself as the very essence of that wine.”
Dublin rolled her eyes and giggled at her grandfather, before looking back at me and shaking here head.
“He likes to show off. We don’t have new guests at our table often.”
She rose from her chair and walked the short distance to the cooking area, removing a platter from the oven compartment of the stove. The room filled with the delicious aroma of cooked meat, vegetables, and spices. Dublin placed the platter in the middle of the table, steam rising from large pieces of meat, carrots, and potatoes, all surrounded by a deep brown-colored broth.
“Reese, this is my version of Potee, a type of French stew. This is my mother’s recipe. She used beef, but up here, I use caribou. All the vegetables were grown in the greenhouse, of course. I hope…I hope you like it.”
“It smells wonderful Dublin, and I’m very hungry.”
Dublin used a large spoon to gather up pieces of meat, vegetables and broth and placed them in three bowls, giving one to each of us, though her grandfather’s portion was less than half of what she served herself or me.
The Old Man extended both of his hands to each of us, and bowed his head. Dublin took his hand into hers and I did the same, before also finding my other hand clasped with Dublin’s as well. I glanced sideways toward her and found her doing the same, both of us smiling as the Old Man spoke a brief prayer.
“Blessed is God for providing us this meal. Blessed are You, our God, by whose word all things will come to be.
“Now please, let us eat this wonderful meal and be grateful for the presence of a most deserving guest.”
XII.
My time at the table of the Old Man passed quickly, as music played and wine was poured and drank, the three of us shared stories of our youth, of experiences, and hopes for the future. With the last of the wine consumed, and my belly more than satisfied with the meal Dublin had prepared, I made note of the fatigue that was clearly overtaking Dublin’s grandfather.
Dublin sensed it too, and gently helped the Old Man to his feet and walked him to a door at the very back of the cabin which opened into a small bathroom area.
“Reese, moments like tonight, just sitting down and talking with people…it meant so much to Grandfather. He admires you a great deal you know. What you do with your program. All of the people you reach. You give hope to us, that maybe someday things will be better.”
I made no attempt to hide my surprise at her words.
“He admires me? My program? I’m not even sure how many people actually hear it Dublin. If it does any good. I just…my father asked me that I keep sharing my thoughts on the shortwave, so I’m doing it as much to honor my promise to him than anything else. I don’t really know if it’s doing any good beyond that.”
“Reese, grandfather has looked into it. He told me there were millions listening to you. All over the world. Millions of people. And others have joined you. There’s an underground media taking place. You really don’t know about that?”
“I…I’m aware there’s others doing what I do, but as far as millions listening to anything I have to say, I find that almost impossible to believe.”
Dublin persisted.
“Reese, why do you think Officer Denny was up here so soon after you arrived? The New United Nations certainly suspects the impact you’re having. If you were just speaking to a few people, they wouldn’t bother with you. Grandfather doesn’t say things that are not true, that he hasn’t verified. So if he believes there are millions out there listening to your updates, then I have no reason to doubt him, and neither should you.”
Silence hung between us now as I contemplated Dublin’s words. Was it possible that many people were listening to my program? Could that many have access to shortwave?
The Old Man opened the door and made his way slowly back to the table, brushing off Dublin’s attempts to help him sit down. He pointed back to the small bathroom area in the cabin.
“Every home up here utilizes the very best designed septic system. Not to go into the details so soon after a meal, but I have made certain to maintain the highest health standards up here. Want you to know that. Even though…that same system…as have all private septic systems, was banned by the mandates years ago. And why do you suppose that was Mr. Neeson? What purpose would the government have in banning such systems?”
I shook my head, admitting I had given absolutely no thought to that particular subject.
“Control. As always, it’s about control. People in the United States were deliberately pushed back to the urban areas where increasingly stricter mandates were more easily enforced. From the foods they were allowed to eat, to their personal habits, modes of transportation…millions of people systematically brought into those urban areas. Some people, they resisted of course. The mandates that outlawed private septic systems then allowed authorities to red tag those properties and bulldoze those homes. There were…some families took up arms. Barricaded themselves in. Places that had been family homes for generations. And what happened to them? Murdered. Hardly a word from the media at the time. And what was said of those families? The media portrayed them as radicals, criminals, dangers to society. So then…then people just stopped fighting. Gave up those homes and moved back into the cities. They were given government housing vouchers of course, made dependent on the government. It always comes back to control, power, enforcement.”
Dublin placed her hand on her grandfather’s shoulder.
“Grandfather, it’s time for sleep. You need to rest.”
The Old Man showed his annoyance at Dublin’s repeated concern, scowling at her before continuing to speak.
“Sleep? I’ll have more than enough time to rest soon granddaughter. For now…I wish to continue my discussion with our guest. Shall we return to my study Mr. Neeson?”
I looked to Dublin and then to the Old Man, not wanting to disappoint either one of them. Dublin gave me a small smile and shrugged.
“Yes, Mr. Alexander, that would be fine. If you wish to continue…absolutely.”
The Old Man rose to his feet and shuffled the short walk to his study as Dublin hovered by his side. I followed both of them and returned to my seat across from her grandfather’s desk.
“So then, where did we leave off, Mr. Neeson? What questions do you have of me now?”
“I thought you could explain the name – Dominatus. You said earlier that it was more Mac’s choosing than yours.”
“Yes, that’s right. The original sign, it was a sad little thing I had made up during one of my initial trips up here. It said, ‘Dominatus: Ends Here’ Just something I had scrawled in marker on cardboard and stuck to a stick and placed it in the ground near where Mac’s tavern now stands. The term Dominatus is Latin for…well…basically it means tyranny, domination. So my original meaning was that tyranny was to end upon entering the property. That myself, Adina, and Dublin, would live in freedom here, away from the mandates, away from the New United Nations.”
“And how did Mac end up calling the place Dominatus?”
“Well, Mac arrived a fear years after I did, and by then my little sign…you could hardly make out the words. Mac had assumed I had named the place Dominatus because that’s the only word you could actually see on my sign by then. So, he meant it as a good gesture I suppose. He made up a more permanent sign, a stained piece of wood with the letters carved out that simply read ‘Welcome to Dominatus’. That’s how he always greeted people who arrived here over the years. And over at the reservation, that’s what they call us as well. So, that’s what this place became known as – Dominatus. Even the authorities have taken to calling us that in recent years.”
<
br /> Again I noticed the wheezing sound coming from the Old Man as he spoke – though now it seemed more pronounced.
“We can continue this tomorrow morning Mr. Meyer. It’s been a long day.”
The Old Man sighed.
“Yes, it most certainly has, but…I have been looking forward to this discussion for a long time, Mr. Neeson. Your program is quite popular among us here, and many others elsewhere. For you tomorrow is a probable certainty, at my age…not nearly so. Please, let us continue our discussion.”
“Dublin mentioned you saying there were, she said it was millions who were listening to me. I find that difficult to believe.”
The Old Man leaned forward in his seat, his eyes widening as he answered.
“You are far more important, far more influential than you likely realize, Mr. Neeson. Yes, there are millions who follow your words. I have confirmed that through my own research…you are a considerable thorn in the side of the New United Nations. The use of the shortwave has become something the authorities are having great difficulty controlling. They can attempt to monitor it, but controlling it is a far more difficult thing. Are you aware of how your updates are recorded and then sent out on a myriad if frequencies across the world repeatedly in the weeks following your initial broadcast?”
“Yeah, I knew something of that, but wasn’t aware so many were involved.”
“I assure you, Mr. Neeson, millions upon millions. That is why your arrival is so important to me…to all of us here.”
Covering his mouth with a shaking hand, the Old Man began coughing, though it soon subsided and he continued speaking.
“It is my desire to have you tell the story of Dominatus in your next update, Mr. Neeson. Share with the world our way of life…a way of life that was once the rule and not the exception in America. A way of life I believe in my heart can be again, if only enough would awaken from their slumber that is their government-directed lives and demand it so through sheer force of numbers. Help to re-establish the Constitution, nullify the mandates, return autonomy to the United States, free from the authority of the New United Nations.”
“While I’m honored you think so highly of my work Mr. Meyer, it seems very unlikely I could have any impact on, are you actually talking about overthrowing the New United Nations? And you think I could play a part in something like that? I’m sorry but, there’s just no way.”
The Old Man’s hand slammed down upon his desk with a surprising amount of force.
“Don’t ever minimize your own potential like that, Mr. Neeson. Never! You do the memory of your father an injustice by saying such words. Do you understand me?”
Shocked at the anger in Alexander Meyer’s voice I attempted to repair the damage, while also trying to control the quickly rising anger within myself at his use of my father’s memory against me.
“I didn’t mean to insult you, Mr. Meyer, but the prospect of anything I’m doing having that kind of impact, it seems irresponsible and more than a bit arrogant for me to even consider such a thing.”
With a voice again sounding tired and weak, the Old Man responded in a near-whisper.
“God is not done with the United States, Mr. Neeson, and He certainly has purpose in your journey here to Dominatus. Of that, I am most certain. Tomorrow…tomorrow evening, Saturday…we gather at Freedom Tavern. You can see more of us there tomorrow, our weekly celebration. Share that time with us, Mr. Neeson and then transmit the story of this place to the world. Will you do that?”
“I have every intention of doing just that, Mr. Meyer. Should I get Dublin?”
“Yes, please.”
Dublin rose from one of the seats at the small dining table as I opened the study door.
“I think he’s ready for bed, Dublin.”
I watched as Dublin gently removed her grandfather’s winter boots, helping him to lie down on the small bed in his den, and covering his frail body in multiple layers of thick blankets. As Dublin kissed the Old Man’s forehead and whispered him good night, his gaze found me standing in the doorway.
“Mr. Neeson, please stay the night here. It is too dark, and too cold to journey back to Mac’s place. Dublin will contact Mac, let him know and see to the sleeping arrangements.”
By the time he finished the sentence the Old Man’s words were already trailing off, sleep taking him quickly. Dublin walked from the den and gently closed the door behind her, then looked up at me and smiled.
“There’s a toothbrush and toothpaste in the top drawer of the sink in the bathroom…feel free to use them. I’ll get your bed ready.”
The interior walls of the cabin’s bathroom were constructed entirely of cedar, very similar to how a sauna would be built. The floor was a simple concrete slab with a drain, and above it a very basic shower head connected by an exposed copper plumbing line that ran from a tankless water box installed just above the toilet sitting next to the right of a small white sink. By the time I finished in the bathroom and returned to the main area of the cabin, Dublin had set up two small cots on either side of the room. She pointed to the one on the right side and indicated that was mine, before making her way to the bathroom.
By the time Dublin returned I had taken off my boots and jacket and was lying on my back on the cot underneath a heavy fur lined blanket that had been folded neatly on the floor. Just like the Old Man earlier, I found myself giving in to deep fatigue, my eyes growing heavier with each breath I took.
Dublin adjusted the heat setting on the stove before turning off the last remaining light in the kitchen. I could see her outline in the darkness as she made her way to the living area.
“Is the cot comfortable, Reese?”
I turned my head slightly to the right to see her standing over me, the now familiar scent of lavender still surrounding her.
“Yes, thank you. It’s just fine, Dublin. Everything…everything was wonderful.”
Dublin leaned over me, her lips brushing my cheek.
“Thank you, Reese. It meant so much to my grandfather to have you here. And…it meant a lot to me too. Good night.”
The touch of Dublin’s lips pushed aside my fatigue, my heart pounding inside my chest. I had to concentrate on my breathing to make certain I did not betray my excitement, while also grateful the darkness hid the flushing of my cheeks. Dublin’s face remained beside mine, waiting perhaps for me to say goodnight to her as well. Instead, the instincts of one who knew well a moment of opportunity, disregarded any previous pretense of good manners or simple considerations. I found Dublin to be an incredibly attractive woman, and was now intent on communicating that to her in no uncertain terms.
My right hand placed itself behind Dublin’s head and gently drew her face closer to mine. For just the briefest moment I sensed her hesitation and resistance, before that resistance melted away and her mouth was on my own, her warm breath dancing across my tongue. What I had intended to be a gentle kiss was returned with far less inhibition and far more force than I had anticipated. Dublin’s hands grasped the sides of my face as her mouth continued to move with my own, a small moan escaping her. She bit down gently on my lower lip before slowly moving back from me, the sound of our breathing filling the small room.
I couldn’t quite make out her face well enough in the darkness to know for certain that Dublin was smiling, but rather sensed it.
“Are you smiling at me, Dublin?”
“Maybe.”
“And why is that?”
Dublin gave no response to my question.
“Well?”
I felt Dublin’s hand gently squeezing my own.
“You ever hear about people who are fans of someone famous, or important…someone they always wanted to meet but then they do, they’re disappointed? They find out that person is not nearly as interesting, or as attractive as they thought they would be?”
Alarms were sounding in my head as I propped myself up onto an elbow to face Dublin.
“Uh…yeah. Is…is that what just hap
pened here?”
Dublin’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head.
“Oh no, Reese, not at all! Just the opposite! Our little moment right there...I assure you, you’re very interesting to me. And…very attractive. I’m smiling because, that kiss was nice. Really-really nice.”
Dublin leaned in again, her mouth pressing against my ear.
“Goodnight, Reese.”
XIII.
By the time I awoke the next morning Dublin was already preparing breakfast as the Old Man sat sipping a cup of coffee and reading from a hardback book titled Fahrenheit 451.
“Well good morning young man! Hope the cot was comfortable enough for you.”
“It was fine, thank you. Sorry I overslept.”
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 79