The Myriad Resistance (21 page)

I watched Dr. Winder for several long moments as he puffed on his cigarette and gazed at an invisible point across the water. I wondered how such an intelligent man could have taken up such an idiotic habit. If anybody should know better it would be the National Science Adviser. Still, my family doctor smoked like a chimney when I was a kid, even in the clinic in front of patients. If the three of us served as any indication, intelligence and good judgment do not always go hand in hand. At least I finally developed the good judgment to quit.

As I followed his gaze, I realized it wasn't such an invisible point after all. He was staring at Kingston and the president's graves.

“You know, it could have been me over there,” he said in a distant voice. “It should have been me over there.”

The doctor was heading down a mental road where I did not want to follow this morning. It was too damn nice a day to lament about the morbidity and cruelty of life.

“Dr. Winder, has anything else been learned about the storm since it arrived?” I asked.

He blinked at me as if he did not comprehend what I said, and then a dark cloud seemed to dim his features.

“Well, according to your father, it came from the devil himself,” he said.

The remark was uncalled for yet not completely out of line because it was true. I decided to ignore any personal jabs, whether intentional or not, and continued with my questions.

“Where do you think it is from?” I asked.

“Deep space, some form of energy we have never seen before. I am not a religious man so I will not proclaim it is a sign from God, Satan, Buddha or Bozo the Clown.”

I smiled a little at his remark, but I also felt a little sad. I never could comprehend how anyone could be an atheist or an agnostic. Especially in times like now. I guess my father brought me up right in that respect. Thank God I didn't inherit his fringe interpretations.

“Is the energy dangerous?” I asked.

Dr. Winder shook his head. “In a physical sense, no. Socially, morally, politically and religiously, hell yes. There is the proof,” he said, pointing with the lit end of his smoldering cancer stick at the distant graves.

I was beginning to realize that engaging Winder in conversation this morning might not have been the best idea in the world. He was jaded and angry, but who could blame him? It was a constant battle for me not to fall into his rut. I decided to attempt one more question.

“When do you think it will end?” I asked.

Dr. Winder shrugged.

“To sum it up, major … here is all we know, which is not much,” he paused to take a drag off his cigarette before continuing. “This storm, this energy cloud, this anomaly from space has a definite size even though it was almost impossible to measure since we have never seen this energy before. NASA and most scientists right now feel about as ignorant as a Neanderthal trying to explain the dynamics of nuclear fusion. Since it has a defined size, it will end one day. Whether it is one day or a thousand years no one can say for sure. There is something else I think people need to be worried about with this storm.”

“What?” I asked, fearing I was not going to like the answer.

He took another puff off his cigarette then flicked the smoldering butt into the water. He yawned and for the first time I could see his teeth were as yellow as the clouds.

“Even though we don't know what the hell this storm is made of … we can still differentiate it from other energy. This storm is not unlike polar lows, tornadoes or hurricanes here on Earth. We were able to detect a distinguishable ‘eye' in the center of it. This eye is very different. It is not a calm center; it is a different form of energy. This cosmic storm hit Earth head on, so this eye will pass over us sometime in the future.”

“When?” I asked.

Dr. Winder sighed. “Again … it could be one day or a thousand years; there is no way to predict. And before you ask, nobody has any idea what energy the eye is made of or what effect it will have.”

I didn't know whether to be glad or not about my talk with to the doctor. It seemed now I had more questions than before. I decided to end our conversation there and before I could stop myself, I extended an invitation.

“Well, doctor … would you care to join me and my family for breakfast this morning?”

The dark cloud on his face seemed to part in an instant as he beamed at me. My eyes were drawn to his yellowed teeth. He was a professional, clean-cut man until he smiled.

“I'd love to!” he said. “What time?”

“Give me about thirty minutes,” I said. “I'll round my group up and meet you by that tree on the trail,” I said pointing up the hill at a gargantuan pine tree. “Just try not to burn the woods down in the meantime,” I said, pointing at his cigarette, which had burned down millimeters from his fingers.

He pulled his pack of smokes back out and retrieved another one. I turned and walked up the hill, feeling a little frustrated at Dr. Winder's lack of answers and disturbing new revelations. I also felt frustrated from the fact that I really wanted a cigarette right now.

I told Barbara about my conversation with the doctor and Steff's appearance on the front porch. She grabbed my hands with a playfully and sniffed my fingertips.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Just double checking,” she said with mock suspicion, and then kissed me.

“You guys need to get a room,” Abbs said as she sat on the side of her cot and stretched.

“We do,” Barbara said. “The problem is that you and your sister are in it.”

“Ewwww!” she said as she walked to the door.

“Are you going to the latrine?” I asked.

“Dad!” she snapped, flushing red as if I asked her what her bra size was.

“I want you to find your sister. I saw her heading that way a few minutes ago,” I said, starting to turn a little red myself.

She shrugged, rolled her eyes, and then went out the door. Our sudden alone time was tempting. We didn't want to scar the girls for life, so we got dressed and walked down to meet Dr. Winder by the large pine tree.

He was there early so we slowly walked to the mess hall in hopes the girls would catch-up to us. Abbs caught up as we reached the door. To our surprise, we found Steff sitting by herself at a table, poking at a slice of fried Spam with her fork as she munched on a red apple. The resourcefulness of the cook never ceased to amaze me given his shoestring budget and little or no access to a supermarket. A nice juicy apple sounded good this morning.

As we dined and talked, it became evident Dr. Winder was desperate for companionship. His mood was much more chipper than it was earlier and it seemed that even Steff warmed up to him a little. She did have a fascination with science and unlike most kids her age; she knew who Dr. Ray Winder was.

Spending much time in close quarters with Danny was enough to grate on anybody's nerves. I believed Danny was a good person and a great friend, however his personality could be considered gruff. Even when in a good mood, his conversation style left a lot to be desired.

Before we got up from the table, Dr. Winder leaned over and whispered to me.

“Can I see the president?” he asked.

“You bet!” I said. “We can go now if you like.”

He looked skeptical.

“It's okay,” I chuckled. “We're all friends here.”

Dr. Winder approached his longtime friend with apprehension. It was like the same fettered and uncomfortable caution many people exhibit at a funeral or wake as they approach the open casket for the first time. It didn't take long for him to realize there was not much different about the president other than the obvious distinctions between Impals and fleshers. They engaged in conversation while I took this opportunity to speak with Abraham Lincoln again. Mrs. Fiddler joined us along with another man. Judging by his clothes, he was from her same era. His name was Jim Valentine and was a cricket player from Liverpool, England.

“How did you wind up here in the States?” I asked him.

“My wife and I were here on holiday to see the sights. I think we perished in a train crash. I am not completely sure. At least
she
had the good sense to move on,” he said with a rueful smirk.

I did not know what to say because as far as I was aware, Mrs. Manners hasn't released a revised book on etiquette for Impals. There was no addendum yet containing a section titled:
How to be tactful when speaking to a deceased person when their deceased spouse has moved on.

“Well, you're going to be almost back home,” I said. “You will all be going to an island in the English Channel.”

“Hopefully,” a voice said behind me. I knew without turning around that it was Danny.

I turned to see him standing with his arms behind his back and Burt standing beside him, his one good arm behind his back. Danny made a subtle motion for me to come.

Excusing myself, I turned to follow as he led us into a deserted corner of the mine, which was well out of earshot of everyone.

“What do you mean, hopefully?” I asked.

Danny didn't answer at first, so Burt jumped right in.

“It seems Europe has been doing some back door dealing with our government. They publicly denounce the rumors of the existence of the Tesla Gates. On the other hand, they seem desperate enough to start sending their Impals over here, gate or no they will turn a blind eye.”

“Is it that bad?” I asked.

“Well you have to take into consideration that even with Native Americans; Europe has boasted a higher population for many more years. No telling how many they have who stayed throughout the centuries. Then couple it with everyone who has died in the last few months. Well, I'm sure they do have a problem.”

“You agree with them?” I snapped.

“Of course not!” Burt spat, showing a rare glimpse of his temper. “That is what is happening whether we like it or not!”

“The bottom line,” Danny interjected, “is that we could be sending them over there to be rounded up and sent right back.”

“Is that the way it will be?” I asked.

“Admiral Dyson assured me that the Island of Guernsey is secluded enough that no one will notice or care,” Danny said then sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Besides, this is Europe we are talking about; England does not share the same view … at least not yet.” He shook his head and held out his hands in supplication. “I guess we don't have a choice, do we?”

It was the truth. We could do nothing and be caught or we could send them out tomorrow night as planned. At least by going through with our plan we would be giving them some degree of hope.

“Where's Chester?” Danny asked, peering over my shoulder.

It didn't take long to spot him sitting on a cot and playing a quiet game with Mrs. Fiddler's daughter. We started to walk that way, but Mrs. Fiddler met us halfway.

“He's doing fine,” she said. “He had a few rough moments last night. I rubbed his head till he fell asleep.”

“How did the dinner go?” I asked.

“It was great. That was such a good idea; I think it helped him to assimilate better. He was quite taken with President Lincoln.”

Before we knew it, there was movement among us. Chester stood in our midst, beaming up at Danny. “What was your name, Mister?” he asked.

“Danny.”

“Thank you, Mr. Danny,” he said.

“No, just Danny,” the colonel insisted, but Chester shook his head.

“No, my folks said all grown-ups are Mister or Misses. Can I call you Mr. Danny?”

“Sure you can, son.”

After formal introductions were made, we would now be known as Mr. Danny, Mr. Cecil and Mr. Burt. I felt encouraged that Chester seemed to be doing well, yet there was still something amiss. He harbored an almost imperceptible feral look in his eye. I was thankful that Mrs. Fiddler was there to nurture him.

“I'm going to stay here for a little while. I'll see you guys tonight,” Danny said as Burt and I turned to leave.

“Can you at least give us a little hint about what this plan is all about?” Burt asked.

I wished Burt had kept his mouth shut because my stomach churned at Danny's response.

“You boys aren't afraid of the ocean at nighttime, are you?”

CHAPTER 19

LINCOLN AND STEFF

“No problem can be solved from the same level of consciousness that created it.”

~Albert Einstein

As is usual for Danny, his answers were vague and frustrating. Burt and I were not sure whether he was trying to keep as much of the information as possible classified or if he was having fun making us sweat. I guess it was a little of both. All we could get out of him was we would be in very tiny boats.

Burt and I left after saying goodbye to Dr. Winder. He barely acknowledged us because he seemed to be having a splendid time with a group of Impals, which included the president. Much to our surprise, Lincoln asked to join us.

“I'll grab a couple of them batteries over there,” he said, pointing at a box of batteries stacked near the entrance to the mine. “No one will ever know the difference.”

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” I thought to myself. One of the most recognizable faces in the history of the United States, if not the world … yeah, nobody would notice. Nevertheless, he was who he was and far be it for me to tell the sixteenth President of the United States no. Besides, it was not as if he would be parading down a street in the middle of Washington.

Danny seemed exasperated as Lincoln dug into the box to retrieve his batteries. I shrugged. Danny shook his head as he walked over to Chief Powhatan. Impals were not supposed to leave the mine unless there was a very good reason. Danny didn't regard Lincoln's desire for some fresh air a good reason.

With batteries in hand, Lincoln stepped out of the tarps into the bright sunny day. He reveled in the moment like a man sealed in a dark hole for years. The batteries masked his ethereal presence, however he seemed to emit a glow all the same as he basked in the sunlight.