The Storm (20 page)

              Just as an actor flips personalities and becomes a new person when necessary, this man changed character and walked to the front of the room. Confident and sure of himself, he had now become our opening act of the meeting. Samantha was taken aback but didn’t retreat. She stood her ground and gave this man a cold stare. He had inadvertently stolen her thunder, and we all watched to see what would transpire next. When he reached the front, the hall was dead silent and all eyes were on him. Samantha was five feet away, arms crossed over her chest and looking on. Jean Pierre was frantically shuffling some papers around.

              With a shockingly deep voice that almost sounded like it was amplified by a large subwoofer, the man addressed the group. “You are all doomed!” Instantly the crowd turned raucous. Without a pause, he raised the bible above him with his two hands. His height was now revealed in full to be at least six foot five. He had probably been hunched when walking and speaking before. Arms fully outstretched, he held the bible up high where a ray of light coming in through the window illuminated it in an eerie way. As intended, all eyes looked up at it as he began to speak again. “My name is Allie, and I am a man of God. I am thy Lord God’s hand here today to tell you the rapture is upon us. The end is nigh.”

              Again, some noise erupted, and Samantha rolled her eyes in disgust, but Allie pressed onward. “The devil is among us, ladies and gentleman. The great Satan has come to take this godforsaken world, and it is time to repent.” His left hand held the bible up high, and his right hand pressed upward with a small shake, his palm facing the ceiling. “This is the end of the world. This book has predicted this for thousands of years. The four horsemen have already come and taken our means to live. Gangs are out there doing the devil’s work, and the only way to ensure you survive is to drop to your knees and accept Jesus!” His voice echoed off the cement walls throughout the hall.

              Rick and Roald were shaking their heads in disagreement. I had glanced at them, but my attention was back on Allie as he started pacing. From my side someone muttered “idiot” a little louder than he had intended. If Allie heard it, he ignored it. He was wearing his Jesus armor now, and in his mind, nothing could penetrate it.

              “Yes, folks, I am on a mission to travel around and deliver the good Lord’s message. With him, you will have no worries. You will be protected, and he will take you into his bosom and cover you with godly love. Without him, Satan will march through here and you will all burn in his brimstone.”

              “I am a Christian, sir, and I do believe, but God is not putting bread on my table right now!” Nana had grown up in a country rife with superstitions and was the first to call out Allie.

              Allie took a moment to make eye contact with Nana. The fire and intensity present minutes before with Wenda had been smoldering and was apt to return. One more gust of wind to fan the flames and this fire would be an inferno. “Believer, you say?” came out with a snort. “Believe in me and ye shall have everlasting life, so said the Lord. You say you are a Christian, but then doubt the Lord in protecting you. Jesus was able to feed the masses with a few fish. He shall do it again here and will turn water to wine in order to nourish us.”

              Samantha couldn’t take it anymore and broke her silence. “Tom would love that,” she said sarcastically to Allie, her heels clicking and clacking on the floor as she shuffled forward to go on the offensive. “We don’t need a repeat of Jonestown here. Each person can pray to his own god, and if God is all loving as you say, then we already all have his love.”

              From out of nowhere, Mohammad was up near the front now and spoke up. “I pray to Allah five times a day for myself, for everyone I have ever known, and for this community. Back in my country, there are always zealots like you who try to tell others how to think. I left that part of the world and hoped to never see another one again, but I realize that every religion has them. You disgust me, sir,” and with that, a shoe was launched at Allie, but it flew over his left shoulder.

              For a moment, the overtly pious Allie froze. He was used to sermonizing people and even getting some pushback but never a shoe launched at high speed toward his face. For Allie, he wasn’t just facing unbelievers; he was facing a Muslim, which was equivalent to a devil worshipper, as far as he was concerned. “Unclean son of Satan,” he shouted loudly toward Mohammad. “I come here to offer you salvation from this revelation taking place before us, and you challenge me!” Allie squinted and stared at Mohammad, as though he intended to walk over and plunge a knife into him. A most unclean act for a “most clean man.”

              Absolute silence filled the hall. A pin drop would have echoed. I was aghast at what I was watching unfold. Finally, Jean Pierre found the out we were all looking for. “Sir,” he said politely given the circumstances, “What residence do you live in?”

              Allie twisted around slowly to address this simple but loaded question. It was probable Jean Pierre knew the answer before it was asked. Allie glanced at him, then Samantha, and back again. “I do not live here. I am from Frederick County, twenty miles north of here. I am on a mission to march to the White House and to save lives on the way.”

              A few people gasped as they realized fully how much of a different reality Allie perceived than the rest of us. Suddenly I remembered a book about the First Crusade that I had read when I was young. A hermit named Peter had invoked the wrath of God on the “enemies of Christ” and led tens of thousands of people to their doom against the Turks. Despite his piety, it was ironic that God let all his followers be slain by the sword. Thus it would be for this man if anyone was foolish enough to follow him. Back in London, Kentucky, he may develop a cult-like following, but not here. In this diverse, tolerant setting, he was as likable as a dirty diaper.

              Samantha just nodded after Allie answered where he was from. She took a few steps forward and stood in front of him. His gigantic hulk of a body towered over her petite self, but she stared him down. Allie probably never imagined in a David versus Goliath scenario that he would be the bad guy, but it was such today. Samantha then spoke directly at him but loud and firm as a leader does. “It’s time for you to leave. Thank you for your . . . input. I want you out of our neighborhood. Miller!” she turned and looked around for her partner.

              “Here,” he answered loudly while emerging from the crowd. His hand was in his jacket pocket and was probably clutching a pistol. Whatever game Allie had come to play, it was now over.

              Samantha turned around again and looked back up at Allie. “Time for you to leave. My friend here will escort you to Plantation Road, and you can be on your way. Best luck to you.” Her smile had daggers in it, and Allie could sense it was time to make an escape.

              He began walking toward the door but held his head high. Everyone was looking upon him silently with angry eyes. Miller Bradford was close behind but left a few feet of distance, his hand still clutching an object in the jacket pocket. Just as he reached the door and opened it, his eyes swept the floor again, looking at the various faces. If he was hoping for a last ditch effort to single out a supporter, he came up empty. “Mark my words,” he spoke, “the curse of God is upon you. You there,” he pointed to Mohammad. “You will die first as a tool of Satan. The rest of you will dwell without divine angels to protect you. You rejected God, and you invite the devil in. I pray you seek redemption. I go to spread the good word of this book.” He raised it high again. With that, he turned again toward the door and walked out and on to his next neighborhood missionary trip.

              I had hoped the worst was behind and everyone let out a collective sigh at the same time. Samantha just shook her head in disbelief. Throughout her career, she had always had a gift for managing meetings. They were organized and ran right along whatever outline she had created. Her HOA meetings were usually the same format. Today had every indication of being routine until Allie had intruded. Now that he was gone, it was time to get on with business.

              Samantha then shook her head and gave a small laugh while standing before everyone. “Well good afternoon to you all too!” she said with a humorous tone. A small chuckle was returned to her. “I didn’t realize we would be talking about God today, but I’ll be sure we get it into our meeting minutes. Right, Jean Pierre?”

              “It’s duly noted,” he replied while looking down at a paper that had been typed up with scribbled notes on it.
Amazing,
I thought, the typewriter was useful again and either Jean Pierre or Samantha had one in storage all these years. They had a couple of nicely prepared documents that they were holding and reviewing in their hands.
It was probably too much work to type up dozens of them as handouts
, I thought. The copy machine was always taken for granted but really was nice.

              “All right then,” Samantha spoke again aloud to the crowd before her. “Anyone else wish to carry on with a religious discussion or should we get to the business at hand?” She raised her hand into the air. “All who wish to move on say aye.”

              Unanimously everyone said “aye” with half raising their hands as well.

              “Very good. Take note, Jean Pierre, we have moved on to our first planned topic of the day. Our first topic is defense.”

              A small grumbling greeted this. Most everyone wanted to hear about the census. As before, I figured Samantha was looking to start with something easy and build momentum. I was exhausted but too angry over her treatment of my family this morning to speak. If I was called upon, it might get testy, and so I stood next to my new friends Rick and Roald. They were making some jests over the Allie figure, something along the lines of how he would see them as the sons of the devil.

              Samantha gave a quick glance at her paper, her lips mouthing something in silence for the briefest of moments. She was preparing to speak. “Our security chief is out on a special mission, and I was going to have his number two, Mr. Bradford, speak about defense today, but he’s now escorting our guest out of the community.” She paused a second, looked back at the paper again, and then continued, “The status of our defense is good. We have several teams set up and working around the clock.” She gave me and a few others quick nods of acknowledgement. “Refugees are beginning to pour forth from DC. We are seeing more every day. So far, most have bypassed our neighborhood, and they are intent on heading out to the country.”

              Some people were nodding in agreement, as though they already knew or had given the same idea some thought and were happy to hear others had too. Onward Samantha spoke, “The vast majority of those people see our armed guards and continue to walk by without incident or contact. We suspect most are on the major highways, but Plantation Road is seeing an increase in traffic as well. So far, none have tried to enter our neighborhood through the woods, although we are sweeping them periodically.”

              More nods. “A few have asked for resources, especially those with kids. I wish we could help them, I do.” I thought for a moment she was purposefully being a bit cheesy and overdramatic, the same way someone might act in a daytime soap. “The thought occurred to me that maybe we should be asking them for resources. Maybe we can make a road tax for those who pass. Something small, say one can of food per person?”

              Immediate uproar and pandemonium filled the pool house. She was floating an idea out there to test the waters, and it received a mixed reaction. Some were shouting “yes” and “more food for us,” while others said “that’s evil” or “we can’t take from others.”

              She raised her hand into the air to silence everyone before her. “I can see that this is an idea that is a bit . . . controversial.” She let out a breath and glanced down at her shiny, black shoes for a moment. Then, looking up and around, she let out what everyone had come to hear. “I was going to wait for the census. I really was and I don’t want to bore everyone by going through every number in it, but let me just cut to it. We are in trouble, folks. We have, as a community, about a week’s worth of food. A few families that had the most provisions have already left and taken their provisions with them. We need to get our act together if we are going to survive.”

              I would have expected another uproar, but there was silence. Silence can say a lot. We all knew we had food problems, and it was going to be a big issue. Never in my mind did I realize it was this bad. Most people truly kept only enough food for a few days in their homes prior to the storm. I didn’t know what was coming next, but my gut twisted and a nauseating feeling started creeping into my chest. With some effort, I forced it back down and listened with my undivided attention.

              Again, her voice climbed in intensity and loudness so that it was borderline yelling. “We are in a desperate situation, and we are all going to have to get our hands a little dirty. We need to plant crops as soon as we have a break in the weather, be it tomorrow or next week. That will take time to grow and to feed us, so we have to institute a short-term, medium-term, and long-term plan. Long term, we will grow food, hunt, and setup orchards around here that will sustainably feed us in the years ahead if the power never comes back. There will be fewer people around as the exodus continues, so long term, we look to be okay.”