The wind began to blow harder; rustling the trees in the nearby woods. The sound was strange. The darkening sky had driven the shadows closer to the house. The dark whispers made the rustling leaves sound like background static. Cecil couldn’t help thinking of the TV in the movie, Poltergeist. Judging by the approaching clouds, he guessed they had about ten minutes before the dark forced them into the house.
“I’m sorry, Cecil,” Derrick said. “I don’t think he is coming back. He’s already been gone almost twenty hours. I could have driven to Denver by now.”
Cecil didn’t say anything at first, he just shook his head. Then he took a deep, shuttering breath. “I understand, Derrick but lay off of Burt, okay? He’s in bad shape.”
Derrick seemed shocked. Either he had not paid attention or he didn’t understand the nature of head injuries. “Okay …” he stammered. “How bad?”
“I think he has a concussion and a pretty bad one. He needs a doctor.”
Derrick rubbed the back of his hand across his upper lip. “Jesus … I had no idea,” he whispered.
The wind picked up as lightning flashed, followed a few seconds later by an enormous clap of thunder. It rumbled through the woods, exciting the dark as their insidious hissing intensified.
“We better get inside,” Cecil said, clasping Derrick’s shoulder. “The shadows are going to be on us before we know it.”
The two men turned and walked inside as the first fat raindrops began to splatter the driveway. The dark was coming and would soon be on the doorstep. It would be contained only by their interior lights. The lights which were now putting a tremendous and unplanned demand on the starving generator.
If they had stayed outside a few moments longer, they might have heard the distant approach of a vehicle deep in the woods.
CHAPTER 26
REGIME
“There are three things in the world that deserve no mercy, hypocrisy, fraud, and tyranny.”
~Frederick William Robertson
The new cabinet accompanied President Garrison to the large relocation base at Quantico. As far as they were concerned, DC was in hand. Last night, they introduced their final opposition to the whispering lunatics. It was now time to broaden the web, to shore up support, and to prune the tree of discontent beyond the capital. This time the military personnel who sympathized with the Myriad Resistance would meet the same fate.
The president brought his new cabinet because Avery was now the vice-president. He could deal with the unpleasant tasks since the president didn’t need to get his hands dirty. Garrison believed himself superior to the individuals who had to leave the lights on after dark, yet he still knew the importance of plausible deniability.
“Looks like a hell of a storm heading this way,” Robby said as he peered out the window. He had been biting the inside of his lip and clinching his fists for the last ten miles. He was seeking something to resist the temptation to rip Garrison’s throat out with his bare hands. The president did not care for smoking and deplored the sinful act even more in closed quarters. When Robby tried to light up a cigar, Garrison slapped him.
“Who the hell does that idiot think he is?” he thought to himself. “If he wasn’t the president he would be dead right now.”
The presidential limo carried five people, not counting the Secret Service ride along. There still seemed to be enough room to play a pick-up game of basketball inside the spacious sedan. This car was identical to the presidential limo which vanished a couple of weeks earlier. The only difference was this car did not sit under a hundred feet of murky water.
Everyone stared out the window at the approaching storm. Actual weather related storms were a rarity since the cosmic storm arrived months ago. For some strange reason, it seemed to have a calming effect on meteorological conditions. Ironic, since it also had the effect of materializing souls and unleashing dark spirits on the Earth.
“What did you do … piss off God?” Joan asked, glaring at President Garrison.
Garrison glared back. It was clear to everyone that he didn’t appreciate her disrespect or sacrilege. Avery moved in to diffuse the situation. “What exactly did you do for the government?” he asked her.
She kept her eyes locked on Garrison as she answered. “I screwed men to death,” she said with no emotion.
“Damn,” Sebastian chimed in.
“You come near me,” Joan said with the guile of a poisonous snake about to strike, “and I’ll cut off your root and feed it to you. Then I’ll stab you in the throat, shish-k-bobbing the little worm while it is still in your gullet.” She then muttered a host of curses while clinching her fists.
“Joan was one of our best operatives,” Avery interrupted. “She did whatever she had to do for the mission.”
“Sounds like she enjoyed it,” Robby grinned as he chewed on an unlit cigar.
“What if I did?” Joan snapped. “What did you do,” she asked, eyeing Robby’s rather large mid-section, “sit on people?”
His face flushed red with anger and he turned toward the window as another brilliant streak of lightning spiked across the sky.
Almost as if the ensuing thunder was his queue, Garrison said, “I think all of you need to shut the hell up! We are doing God’s work. We are all chosen by God’s will and all you can do is fight amongst yourselves and use language offensive to our Lord!”
“What does God have to do with anything?” Sebastian thought, but dared not say. He was an atheist and had spent his whole life despising the Christian faith. Sebastian was never sure why he hated Christianity. He was never molested by a priest, struck by a nun, nor was he ever berated by an overzealous evangelist for his sinful ways. He reviled the hypocrisy he saw in every Christian church he ever attended. He never believed the deeds he committed as evil or hypocritical. He was doing what he must in the grand scheme of the universe. He did things those hypocritical Christians would find offensive. He despised the hypocrisy breaming in the car around him, culminating with President Garrison. This zealot was the personification of every negative feeling he ever held about religion. For a moment, he wondered why he was here. He reminded himself that not everyone had the opportunity to be a presidential advisor. What else was he going to do?
Everyone took the president’s advice and shut up, but no one was happy about it. The only thing that kept the rest of the ride from becoming a scowling contest was the sudden onset of rain. The rhythmic beating of large raindrops splattering against the roof and windows was soothing as the wind nudged the car from side to side.
The driver and Secret Service agents were saved at the behest of President Garrison’s insistence. He demanded they bring plenty of extra lights. It wasn’t because he cared for their well-being; he didn’t want to have his driver engulfed by the dark while travelling at sixty miles an hour.
Even though it was a little after noon, it was as dark as dusk when they reached Quantico. A single guard remained at the post sitting in a tiny shack. What appeared to be a three hundred watt bulb burned inside. Of course, he did not come out; he couldn’t. The guard waved them through when he recognized the car.
They arrived at the command center a few minutes later. It was lit up with brilliant white lights shining from every window and door. No one was outside. A dozen or so officers in full dress uniform stood inside the door ready to greet them. Garrison had been forward thinking when it came to the lights for their support staff, yet he had not when it came to umbrellas. They got out of the car and sprinted the twenty yards to the building. The wind howled, the lightning arced, and the rain fell with enough force to sting.
Garrison glanced up moments before he made it under an awning. A bolt of lightning arced like a spider web across the clouds. He couldn’t help noticing how much it resembled the foreboding entrance to the Tesla Gates. In an instant, an idea struck him. What if he could kill two birds with one stone?
In the course of eliminating dissenters, he could also see if the Tesla Gate would get rid o
f Impals in their current dark form. He could use the condemned dissenter as bait. It would have to be done quietly though. If it leaked, it would destroy any form of plausible deniability. He was deep in thought as they entered the building. Garrison ignored greetings, respectful applause, and the offering of dry towels. He walked straight to the nearest conference room, entered by himself, and then locked the door behind him. He would have to think this over.
“Thank you God for giving me this insight,” he muttered under his breath as lightning flashed outside. The thunder followed with an ominous “You’re welcome.” At least, it’s what President Garrison heard in his head.
Cecil’s heart leapt into his throat as headlights flashed behind him, casting small shadows on the far wall. They gathered as close to the window as they dared. It was almost completely dark outside and the howling wind competed with the whispers of the dark. Burt was glassy eyed, but he smiled with triumphant vindication as the SUV driven by Musial bounced up the road. It came to an abrupt and jerky stop in front of the cabin.
“I tffld yof he wouff come bath,” Burt muttered.
A chill ran down their collective spines. Not because of the dark souls, the presence of the ominous storm or even Musial’s unexpected return. This sudden shared horror was due to Burt’s slurred speech. He sounded like Andrews after a six pack or two. He sounded much, much worse.
This new worry overshadowed any joy they may have felt by Musial’s return. It may have taken him twenty-four hours, but he came through and came through in a big way. Every canister was filled to the brim.
“I say, what a welcome,” Musial said stepping in the door as lightning and thunder simultaneously cracked.
“You better hurry,” Derrick said. “We only have a few hours of gas left in the genny.”
“Well, it’s very nice to see you too,” Musial said with a sarcastic sneer, and then he turned to Cecil.
“You have no idea what I had to go through to get this. It is as if every soul has disappeared from the planet. The damned pumps don’t work if there is no electricity and I couldn’t find a single gas station within fifty miles of here with power.”
“Then how did you …” Cecil began but Musial cut him off.
“How did I get it? Well major, I may be a dark soul seeking redemption for my wicked ways. Nevertheless, I am not above borrowing, especially if lives are at stake.”
“You stole it?” Sally asked.
Musial seemed hurt. “Why my dear, I merely accepted an involuntary charitable donation to save your lives, nothing more.”
Cecil grinned and glanced at Derrick. He was surprised to find a smile creasing his face as well.
“Thanf yof Mufal,” Burt stammered.
Cecil knew he needed help, but there was nothing any of them could do for him. Even if Musial could drive him to the base, there was no way Burt would make it through the woods alive. There were too many dark shadows.
Musial turned and jogged into the driving rain where he retrieved one of the gas cans from the back of the SUV. Lightning struck somewhere nearby, but he didn’t seem to notice as he toted the can around the corner of the house. The sound following the lightning was quite unusual. It was like an ocean wave folding back in on itself at ten times speed. The dark souls hated the radiance from the lightning and they were temporarily driven back into the woods.
A few minutes later, Musial filled the tank. He walked back around front, setting the empty gas can under the covered front porch before coming back inside.
“Well even if this damned storm lasts all night, there is enough gas in the generator to last at least another day. There is plenty more where that came from,” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the SUV.
“Thank you, Musial,” Cecil said and extended his hand.
Musial regarded him for a few moments, then reached out and shook his hand. “You are welcome, major,” he said.
This brought on an uncomfortable silence which Derrick soon broke. “I would suggest we gather up all flashlights, lanterns and such. We may be on a generator, but all it would take is one good strike to blow it out.”
Cecil and Derrick gathered the lights and arranged them on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Musial sat back in the same chair where they had tied him up and propped his feet on a small end table and watched. After they counted six high beam flashlights, five camping lanterns, and three penlight flashlights, Musial gave a snort of laughter. “If the lights go out in here, do you think that is going to be enough to hold back the dark?” he chided.
Cecil ignored him as he walked back to the sofa and knelt beside Barbara. Musial shrugged and then stared out the window.
“How is she?” Charlotte asked as she bent over the back of the sofa and touched Barbara’s forehead.
“No change,” Cecil said. “I guess no news is good news.”
“She’ll be fine,” Charlotte said. “I know she will.”
They both had the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching them. They turned and saw Sally staring at them from the adjacent love seat. Burt’s head was on her shoulder and she lovingly stroked his hair. His expression was vacant.
Cecil tried to give her a reassuring smile, yet he was not very convincing. She could see the fear and worry in his eyes. Sally ducked her head and kissed Burt on top of the head as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Nobody noticed the rain had stopped and there was an eerie quite outside. Even the whispers of the dark were absent. Musial noticed. He got up and walked out on the front porch. He stood still and silent for several long moments, before cocking his head to one side as if he were trying to hear a distant noise. He heard it seconds before everyone else did. A low dull roar in the distance, like the approach of a freight train. Cecil stood up and ran to the door. The roar slowly grew louder. Cecil almost fell down as Musial turned and ran back into the house. Everyone stared in disbelief as he began flipping furniture over and tossing a flashlight or a lantern under each one.
“Cecil, damn it, we have to move her!” Musial shouted as he grasped Barbara around the shoulders and motioned for Cecil to take her feet.
Under normal circumstances, Cecil would not have approved of Musial touching his wife. These weren’t normal circumstances. There was no time to argue. He sprinted back and took her feet as they sat her on the floor and gently turned the sofa on top of her.
“What is it?” Charlotte shrieked as the roar grew louder.
“It’s a damned tornado!” Musial shrieked. “One of those bastards killed me before and I have no intention of letting it happen again!”
CHAPTER 27
PROPER INTRODUCTIONS
“Mary, Mary quite contrary …”
~English nursery rhyme
Gestas awakened in Ruth’s body refreshed in the physical sense. The rightful owner of the geriatric physique still cowered in the background. The old woman was afraid to speak, afraid to act, and afraid to remind him she was still there. He knew she was there and, in spite of his nature, he left her alone. He still did not know the poor woman’s name nor did he find it important. He did think it important to learn some etiquette tips from her. She did not come right out and tell him. He could sense her reaction, good or bad, to his actions. It had been a long time since he worried about such things as social etiquette. Of course, even when he was alive, it was not important to him.
The one thing he could sense from the old woman is, despite her flaws, she was an honest person. To continue a relationship with Rebekah and Malakhi would he need to be completely honest with them? Tell them he was not an old lady named Ruth, but rather a two thousand year old man searching for redemption? The only real question was how and where to deliver this shocking news.
Gestas thought of surprising them with breakfast in bed. He could talk to them in private after the others left for the chow line. Yet, when he sensed awkwardness from his host, he reconsidered his plan. For now, he would keep his distance and give them some breathing room.
When he reached the line it stretched about twenty yards outside of the tent. A couple of soldiers took pity and ushered him inside. He couldn’t help grinning as a thought flashed through his mind.
“I could get used to being an old lady.”
The grin evaporated when the bizarre nature of his notion sunk in. His masculine side couldn’t get used to it, not one bit.
He filled his plate and took a seat at a bench table near the tent wall. He sat and ate, taking pleasure in act and taste. He had eaten in the old woman’s body, but this was the first time he was able to just sit and savor the eating experience. For a moment, he had no worries about salvation or keeping his eye on a mother and son. He smiled and relished the pure physical enjoyment. He remembered how much he adored figs and pomegranates when he was alive. By his good fortune, figs were on the menu this morning.
He was thinking about his life when another rumble of thunder made chills run through him. His memory flashed to the day he died, the day he paid the ultimate price for his transgressions. There was thunder that day as well, but not like any thunder heard before or since. It was angry thunder. Each rumble seemed as if the sky wanted to shake the world apart. As he hung outside of Jerusalem and stared at his friend, Dismas, the rumbling shook them from side to side, adding to their agony. He remembered how he felt. Even though he was in extreme physical agony, he was also angry. Not at his accusers, his victims, or even his executioners. He was angry with Dismas.
Dismas had added insult to injury by betraying him, when he sided with the other criminal who hung with them. He berated Gestas for his insolence and told him he deserved to die and this other man didn’t. Perhaps it was true, this other man had committed no murder or thievery. In fact, his one and only crime was so ludicrous it was almost laughable. But still … was it any reason to shun the one true friend who had watched out for you for years? All because of the absurd claim made by this man, the claim that he was the King of the Jews? A thought surfaced in his mind, one he never considered before. Perhaps the man was who he said he was. He was not in the dark void and neither was Dismas. Maybe, Dismas’s last act of repentance saved him. Gestas felt a new hope rising within. Maybe he had done enough. Perhaps nothing else was required for redemption. Something told him this was not the case. He was not free yet, somehow he could sense that. He would spend the rest of the day thinking about it, and then he would tell Rebekah and Malakhi tonight. Deep down he was afraid of what the consequences would be if they were not supportive. Would he be able to contain his dark nature?
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