Again, with the stylized “O” in the word “Obey,” on every other post, they saw the drawing of Ohmshidi's head, the ever-present portrait in red, beige, and blue, looking slightly up and to his left with his pensive, “I am so much better than you” look.
Here too, they were met by several dozen local policemen as well as several SPS men. It was a policeman, and not one of the SPS officers, who stepped up to the car.
“Obey Ohmshidi,” Paul greeted.
The policeman returned the greeting, then asked, “How many children do you have?” He was holding a clipboard.
“There are two in the car,” Paul Manning answered.
“Their ages?”
“My son is sixteen.”
“And my daughter is fifteen,” Clara spoke up from the backseat.
“Quiet, woman. You do not have permission to speak,” the police officer said.
“But I thought you wanted . . .”
“I said QUIET, WOMAN!”
“Mama,” Jane whispered.
“The girl is fifteen,” Paul said. “But she isn't my daughter, she is the daughter of the lady in the backseat, my next-door neighbor.”
“It is not permissible for a woman to ride in the car with a man who is not her husband or her relative.”
“She is my sister,” Paul said quickly. It was a lie, and Paul took a chance, but it was either that, or see Clara punished.
“And this woman?”
“Is my wife.”
Both Clara and Edna were wearing scarves and veils, though Jane was not.
The policeman stood there for a moment as if he might challenge Paul to prove that Clara was his sister.
“Officer Carter! Move them out quickly!” one of the SPS men shouted to the policeman, and he nodded. Paul realized then, that any thought of challenge had passed.
“What are their names?” Officer Carter asked.
“Eddie is the sixteen year old. Jane is fifteen.”
“Their full names,” Carter demanded with a long suffering sigh.
“Jack Edward Manning, and Jane,” he turned in the seat and, quietly, Eddie supplied Jane's middle name.
“Ann.”
“Jane Ann Poindexter,” Paul said.
Officer Carter wrote something in a notebook. “Is this all there is to it?” Edna asked. “Are the children registered now? Will you be sending the identity cards to the house?”
“If either of your women speak again, without being spoken to, I will have all three of you whipped!” Carter said, gruffly.
“Then I shall ask the question,” Paul said. “Are we free to return home now?”
“You two,” Carter said to Eddie and Jane. “Out of the car.”
“Out of the car? What for? We gave you their names and addresses. What more do you want?” Paul asked.
Officer Carter drew his pistol and pointed it at Paul. “I want them out of the car,” he demanded.
“We're coming,” Eddie said, opening the door and stepping out. Jane slid across the seat, then stepped out behind him.
The policeman tore off the sheet of paper he had been writing on, and handed it to Eddie. “You two, on that bus over there,” he said.
It wasn't until then that Eddie and the others in his family noticed that there were several buses, and that there were lines of children of all ages boarding them.
“What do you want us on the bus for? I thought we were just supposed to come here to get registered,” Eddie said.
“Don't give me any backtalk, you little punk! Just climb on that bus like I told you,” Carter hissed, angrily.
“Just a minute!” Paul said. “You can't talk to my kid like that!”
Carter turned toward the open car window, then hit Paul on the side of the head with his pistol.
“Pop!” Eddie screamed.
“Get on the bus now, or I will shoot your father for resisting orders,” Carter said.
“Come on, Eddie, let's do like he says, please,” Jane said, pulling on his arm.
Eddie looked back at his father, and saw that his mother was wiping blood from his lip.
“Pop, are you all right?”
“Please, Eddie,” Edna called to him. “Do what the man says before you get hurt.”
Eddie paused for another moment, then turned to go with Jane toward the bus. Halfway to the bus Eddie heard a pistol shot and turning quickly, saw that the SPS had shot a man who was protesting what they were doing with his children.
Jane had shut her eyes when she heard the gunshot.
“It wasn't pop, or your mom,” Eddie said, comforting Jane.
“Eddie, will we ever see our families again?”
“Yeah, sure we will,” Eddie said, though he wasn't sure he believed they would.
C
HAPTER
N
INE
St. Louis
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The TV screen opened with the call letters AITV, then a full-screen picture of Ohmshidi over the words “Obey Ohmshidi” as a voice-over spoke the words
“All praise be to Allah, the merciful. Whomsoever Allah guides there is none to misguide, and whomsoever Allah misguides there is none to guide. You must live your life in accordance with the
Moqaddas Sirata
, the Holy Path. Those who do will be blessed. Those who do not will be damned.
“This is American Islamic Enlightened Television.”
When Ohmshidi's picture went away, it was replaced by a newscaster who stood facing the camera. He made a fist, and folded his right arm across his chest.
The newscaster then sat behind a desk, in front of the familiar portrait of Ohmshidi with the words Obey Ohmshidi underneath.
“And now, the news.
“Operation Blooming Flowers is nearly completed. Although it has been reported that some parents have protested the operation, the vast majority of our citizens welcome it and the positive effect it will have on raising a new generation, free from any corrupting influence from America's sordid past.”
On screen a series of pictures showed young people in classrooms, in games, and at worship in
Moqaddas Sirata
âcompliant mosques.
“Here you see some of the children at an Enlightenment Center at an undisclosed location. And as you can see, everything is being provided for them, from their studies, to their physical needs, to their religious training. It has been decided to allow no visitation between parents and children until they reach the age of eighteen, when the young people will leave the Enlightenment Centers, well prepared to become productive citizens in our new society.
“As of now, every young person between the ages of six and seventeen has been enrolled in these Enlightenment Centers. Should anyone be found in noncompliance of the Blooming Flowers order, the entire family will be executed.”
The picture returned to the studio, where the stern-looking male newscaster continued with his report.
“It was announced in Muslimabad today, that ninety-nine percent of the country has embraced, with great enthusiasm, the progress toward peace and prosperity offered by our Great Leader, President for Life, Mehdi Ohmshidi. The only dissension seems to be coming from an insignificant island that acts as a barrier between the Gulf of Mexico and Mobile Bay.
“Reed Franken, who is the National Leader of the State Protective Service had this to say.”
The picture on the screen switched to a rather small man, wearing rimless glasses over beady eyes. He smoothed his close-cropped moustache with the end of his finger as he stared into the camera. Off camera could be heard the words, “
You are on, National Leader.”
Franklin looked toward the sound of the words, then back into the camera. As the newscaster had done before him, he gave the clenched fist salute to the camera.
“Obey Ohmshidi. My fellow citizens of the American Islamic Republic of Enlightenment, may the peace of
Moqaddas Sirata
guide you in your service to our Great Leader, President for Life Ohmshidi.
“As you may have heard, there is a group of misguided apostates who have refused to accept the order of
Moqaddas Sirata
, and who have taken refuge on an island off the coast of Alabama, once known as Pleasure Island.
“Although we have the military might to erase the island, and everyone on it, from the face of the earth, our Great Leader, President for Life Ohmshidi, is as merciful as he is powerful. And, in his great wisdom and benevolence, he has made the decision to take no action against them at this time. It is his belief that if we wait them out, they will eventually see the error of their ways, and will accept the new order, as so many million others have done.”
The picture returned to the TV studio.
“A restaurant in Chesterfield was closed yesterday, when it was discovered that they were serving pork. The restaurant owner, two waitresses, and four diners were arrested and will be tried and executed. The public is invited to the beheading, which will take place in Forest Park, in front of the Jewel Box.”
Tom Jack turned off the television, and shook his head.
“How the hell did we let this happen?”
“We elected him, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Look Sheri, we can't stay here.”
“Where will we go?”
“To Gulf Shores. We went there for vacation a couple of years ago, remember?”
“You want to know what I remember? You made me go deep sea fishing, and I got as sick as a dog. That's what I remember.”
“Well, yeah, but other than that, you liked it there, didn't you?”
“Yes, but how will we get there? We don't even have a car anymore.”
“We'll ride our bicycles.”
“Ride our bicycles? That's over 700 miles.”
“I promise you, we won't try to make it in one day.”
“That won't work. SPS agents are everywhere. They'll be checking us for ID cards, and when we can't produce one, they'll arrest us.”
“We'll go downtown tomorrow and get ID cards.”
“We can't get ID cards without swearing allegiance to Ohmshidi. Are you ready to do that?”
“We are going to have to do that,” Tom said. “It's the only way we are going to get out of here.”
“All right, but I'm going to cross my fingers,” Sheri said.
“Nah, they'll see that. Stand there with your legs crossed, like you've got to pee,” Tom suggested.
Sheri laughed. “What are you going to cross?”
“I'll reach down to scratch myself, and I'll cross the boys,” Tom suggested, eliciting another laugh from Sheri.
“All right, let's go get our ID cards.”
Â
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The ID cards were issued from the City Hall on Market Street. Tom and Sheri rode bicycles down to the City Hall, then Tom chained the two of them to a steel banister, before they walked up the steps. Just inside, they were greeted by a huge flag of the American Islamic Republic of Enlightenment, which hung down from the ceiling. On the wall behind the desk was a huge picture of Ohmshidi, and there were signs everywhere. A huge banner was spread across the outside of the building.
ONE PEOPLE, ONE COUNTRY,
ONE RELIGION
Over the door, as they went in, they saw another sign.
A GOOD CITIZEN REPORTS NEIGHBORS
WHO ARE APOSTATES
Then, just inside the entrance hall,
At the opposite end of the hall just before they stepped into the main room, they saw
BLESSING BE UPON OUR GREAT LEADER
PRESIDENT FOR LIFE OHMSHIDI
In the main room, over the desk where they had to report, was the sign
YOUR POLICE AND THE SPS
ARE FOR YOUR PROTECTION
Tom and Sheri stepped up to a desk where a sign, much smaller than the others, read, “Start here.” Sitting behind the desk was a rather large man with a bald head and a full beard. Although the room was full of the green and gold uniformed SPS troopers, this man was a civilian, and he was wearing a dishdasha.
“Obey Ohmshidi,” the civilian said.
“Yeah,” Tom replied, and when the man glared at him, Tom returned the salute. “Obey Ohmshidi.”
“Why are you here?”
“To, uh, swear allegiance, and get ID cards,” Tom answered.
“Where were you born?” the bald-headed man asked.
“Kotzebue, Alaska.”
The official looked up in surprise. “What were you doing up in Alaska?”
“I was getting born.”
He went through the same thing with Sheri, then had both of them sign a document swearing allegiance to the Great Leader, President for Life Mehdi Ohmshidi.
As the official filled out the paperwork, Tom looked around the room. In addition to the other signs, there were at least a dozen of the now ubiquitous stylized drawings of Ohmshidi, all of them over the words “Obey Ohmshidi.”
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“What do we do now?” Sheri asked as they went back outside to their bikes.
Tom unlocked the padlock. “We start getting things together for the trip. Food, water, clothes, matches, sleeping bags, a small tent. Things we will need for camping.”
“How are we going to carry all that on a bicycle?”
“I'll make us a little trailer that I can pull behind the bike.”
Over the next few days Sheri did some shopping, buying tins of sardines, coffee, cans of beans, and hard rolls. Tom bought a couple of sleeping bags, some camp cooking utensils, and a canteen. He also bought a used baby stroller, and using the wheels, attached them to a trailer he made from plywood. The last thing he did was put a false bottom on his bicycle seat, creating a small pocket where he could keep his pistol and the two boxes of ammunition he still had.
Packing the trailer required some very careful folding and placement, but he managed to get everything in. The last thing he put in the trailer was a copy of the Koran, placing it on the very top so it would be the first thing anyone would see when the trailer was searched. And Tom had no doubt but that the trailer would be searched.
Â
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They left St. Louis in the pre-dawn darkness, and encountered their first roadblock on Highway 61 just north of Ste. Genevieve.
“Tom?” Sheri said anxiously.
“I see them, just keep your cool, they're not SPS, they're highway patrolmen.”
As Tom and Sheri approached, one of the five highway patrolmen held up his hand.
Tom got off his bike and gave them the closed fist across his chest salute. “Obey Ohmshidi,” he said.
“Obey Ohmshidi,” the state policeman replied. “Where are you going?”
“We're going south,” Tom replied.
“Don't be a wiseass,” the patrolman said. “I didn't ask which direction you were going, I can see you're going south. I asked
where
you were going.”
“We have relatives down in Sikeston. We're going down there to see if I can find work.”
“Let me see your papers.”
Tom and Sheri showed their papers to the man who examined them carefully. One of the patrolmen stepped back to the homemade trailer.
“Did you build this?”
“Yes.”
“What's in it?”
“Just things we need for the trip. Food, clothes, that sort of thing.”
“It's locked.”
“Yes. We can't afford to lose what's in there.”
“Open it up.”
Tom unlocked the padlock, then lifted the lid. The first thing the patrolman saw was the Koran. He reached for it.
“Please treat the Koran with respect,” Tom said.
The patrolman nodded, and handed it to Tom. “You hold it while I go through the trailer.”
Tom held the book with both hands, keeping it close to his chest as if it were his most important possession. He watched as the patrolman unloaded his trailer, tossing everything aside until he reached the bottom.
Fortunately, none of the patrolmen made a very close examination of Tom's bicycle. If they had, and they had discovered the false bottom, they would have found his pistol, a Beretta Px4 Storm Type F Sub-Compact pistol taped up under the seat.
“All right, you can go,” the patrolman said when the trailer had been thoroughly checked.
It took a few minutes for Tom and Sheri to refold everything compactly enough to repack the trailer. Then, making a point of “reverently” putting the Koran back, he mounted his bike, and he and Sheri rode on.