The Myriad Resistance (6 page)

My father was and still is a Baptist, yet I think his eccentric attitude towards right and wrong goes far deeper. He grew up in the backwoods of West Virginia. His church was in an area where paranoia against anything or anyone different is the norm. In these rural areas, religion was often hardcore. He never spoke about his childhood. It would not surprise me if some of his church services involved a box of snakes.

I should have seen what kind of man my father was then, but I held him up on a pedestal. Now that I see him with my adult eyes, I realize pedestals aren't as high to us when we are grown. In fact, some of them are now quite small.

As we descended into the valley containing the resistance base, I felt fear bubbling up inside of me once again. A large lake, much like the one at my church camp, shimmered like a black light painting. It reflected the eerie night sky and full Moon. Soon, I found it hard to breathe, so I rolled down the window and took several deep breaths of summer air. The scent of the cedar and pines was refreshing as I closed my eyes and took it all in.

“You okay, Cecil?” Burt called from the front seat.

“Yeah, trying to get some air. I think I might have a cracked rib or two,” I lied.

I was still very sore, however I have experienced a few cracked ribs in my life and I knew mine were fine. I wasn't going to tell the truth about my fear of snakes. I wondered how I ever made it through basic training. We did our share of woods and swamp hikes, yet somehow I was able to channel my apprehension. Perhaps it was the additional stress. My fatigue was allowing my old phobia to get the best of me. Although … I couldn't help feeling it was something more … perhaps a warning. A warning about
what
I wasn't sure. I had the terrible, ridiculous feeling this was a harbinger of something terrible.

I didn't dwell on this prospect long because a few moments later, my spirits lifted. As we rounded a corner and leveled out on the bottom of the valley, our headlights fell on a group of people. My heart leapt when I saw, waiting underneath a large sycamore tree, Barbara, Abby and Stephanie.

CHAPTER 5

THE MINE

“I stayed in a really old hotel last night. They sent me a wake-up letter.”

~Steven Wright

I embraced my girls for a long time. Steff was a little less enthusiastic than the other two; I guess it's not cool to hug your old man in public. There was little danger of her pals seeing her way out here in the boondocks. She didn't agree with my assessment. At least I got a hug from her, which was more than I managed most of the time.

“What did you do, Cecil?” Barbara asked with her hands pressed against both of my cheeks. “They came and got us without warning. We didn't even have time to pack anything much.”

“I tried to help some Impals,” I said. “I'm sorry I didn't plan it better.”

I knew she was upset about the position I put the family in. I didn't realize how much until I saw the fear in her eyes. She knew how seeing my grandfather at the Impal camp in Arizona affected me. It was after I returned home when I learned of the Tesla Gates going online at different locations around the country.

Barbara kissed me on the cheek. “At least it wasn't Ott who came to get us,” she whispered in my ear to where the girls couldn't hear.

Arizona was the first base to put it into action. A colleague of mine there confirmed my grandfather was one of the Shredder's first victims. I'm sure if I had known I would have gone back and tried to save him even though it would have been futile. If I did, I am sure I would not be here now and no telling where my family would be.

“Come on,” Barbara said, “I'll show you our fancy digs.”

We walked towards the lake as everyone else in the group said their good nights and went on their way. I waved to Sally, Burt's wife, as they disappeared, arm in arm, down a dark trail. I had the surreal feeling I now existed in some bizarre fairy tale at the mouth of the wood elves' lair. The ultraviolet sky enhanced the mystical ambience. The mystery of this place contributed too.

“Where are we?” I asked as Barbara and I walked hand-in-hand with the girls on either side of us carrying large flashlights.

“Brentwood Springs,” Abby said.

“It's an old coal mining town,” Steff interjected with enough disgust in her voice she might have said an old crap-mining town. “Love my new room … thanks Dad,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words.

Barbara turned and glared at her. It didn't seem to have any effect. Steff gave her an exaggerated apologetic smile. She then stared at her feet for the duration of our walk. It was not a submissive gesture; she didn't want to make eye contact.

I don't blame her for the way she felt and I was in no mood to reprimand her for disrespect. I let it go and addressed Barbara with a playful, curious tone.

“So, are we bunking with the seven dwarfs?” I asked.

“Hardly,” Barbara said with giggle. “Maybe the seven rats … Steff is right, it's not the best place in the world, but at least we are together and safe.”

Steff huffed and kept her eyes down.

“It's not bad, dad,” Abby said. “I've been to Girl Scout retreats with cabins much worse.”

“So, no amenities at all?” I asked.

“See for yourself,” Barbara said as Abby shone the flashlight beam in front of us.

The girls didn't exaggerate. The place looked like a bunch of sheets of plywood tacked together with a roof thrown on as an afterthought. The roughly hewn front door rested off center between two small black windows. I couldn't tell if the window openings contained glass panes or were empty holes. In any case, the place was not very inviting except to maybe a member of the Sawyer family, the chainsaw wielding clan from Texas. I forced a smile and squeezed Barbara's hand.

“Home sweet home,” I said.

It was obvious from the absence of light that electricity was not present in this old mining village. Whether or not my resistance allies brought any generators I did not know. I guess it made sense because we were hiding out from the military and electric lights would make us easy to spot.

The door creaked like it would fall off its hinges as we entered the small cabin. Dust rained down like brown snow. I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and much to my relief it was a mouse. There were no furnishings inside except for four camping cots, an ice chest and a gas lantern. The clean, new cots with fresh sleeping bags seemed completely out of place in the dusty, musty interior. I considered the bright side; it was preferable to a tiny prison cell. I was free and my family was with me. I counted my blessings and stepped inside. Taking the flashlight from Abby I walked around the small room, inspecting for more vermin and for any easy access points. I spotted a small hole in the far corner opening under the house. I found a discarded flagstone, which someone tried to cook on it ages ago. It was the right size so I slid it over the hole. I turned around to see Steff watching me with folded arms and a smirk.

“There are snakes,” she said. “I would stay out of the outhouse if I was you … oh, and we're pretty close to the lake here.”

Abby grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the pair of cots on the opposite side of the room.

“Come on Steff, you need some sleep,” she said, pulling the deliberate dead weight of her little sister.

Steff plopped down on her cot with a huff and turned her back to us. Abby gave me a faint smile. Her sister's attitude embarrassed her.

“I haven't seen any snakes, Dad,” she said. “I wouldn't use the out-house because it is about to fall in and well … there isn't much of a hole anymore.”

Necessary body functions were the last thing on my mind. Now it seems they would soon be foremost on my worry list.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” I said. “Pleasant dreams.”

“Love you Dad,” she said before lying on her cot.

“Love you girls,” I said. As expected, I got no response from Steff.

I sat down on my cot on the opposite side of the room. I watched my daughters until Abby turned off the flashlight, plunging them into darkness. Barbara sat down beside me and wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

“She'll get over it,” she whispered. “She's going through one of those stupid stages.”

Barbara took Steff's flashlight and rested it across our laps; the beam shown into the corner of the room a few feet away. A brilliant array of spider webs reflected the light making them sparkle like strings of crystal. The ambient light shown upwards and highlighted Barbara's strong chin and wavy dark hair. It was too dark to see the brilliant color of her hazel green eyes, still, I could clearly make out her form. She gained a few pounds over the years, yet still managed to keep her sexy feminine shape.

I am indeed lucky to be in my forties and have a wife who is still a head turner. Burt's wife was a sweet, sweet woman, but she resembled a Weeble with her oval shaped form. I shared this thought with no one. I felt guilty for making such a cruel comparison with such a nice woman. The damned Weebles pitch song from the 1970s resurfaced in my head every time I saw her.
Weebles wobble but they don't fall down.

“I know, I don't blame her for being upset,” I said. “I'm sorry I got y'all caught up in this.”

She grabbed my chin and turned my head towards her then planted a big kiss on my lips. When she pulled back, she left her hand under my chin and gazed deep into my eyes.

“You are doing the right thing,” she insisted.

I saw the love and the sadness in her eyes; I felt guilty. She had lost someone too.

Barbara's mother passed away a couple of years after we married. She was a widow the last ten years of her life and lived alone in a small farmhouse outside of Hagerstown, Maryland. Two days after the storm arrived, Barbara got a call from the Yarnells. They were the people who purchased her mother's house after her death.

“Your mother is here,” a terrified voice said on the other end of the line. “Please come and get her.” They hung up and refused to answer when Barbara tried to call them back. By the time she was able to drive to Hagerstown the Yarnells were gone and so was her mother. We heard rumors that she was captured by the military. We were never able to confirm this.

“I love you,” I said and kissed her on the cheek.

We both almost jumped out of our skin when a loud knocking echoed through the cabin; someone was at the door.

“Cecil, it's me, Burt … you decent?” said the hushed voice of my friend on the other side of the door.

I took the flashlight and walked to the door, opening it a crack. I shone the light in the opening. Burt squinted back at me.

“You trying to attract every bug in a three county radius?” he said, shielding his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry,” I said and lowered the light. “What's up?”

“If you're settled in, I have something I want to show you.”

Barbara shrugged. “We'll be right here,” she said, patting the cot. “Leave me the light.” She paused for a moment, “You do have one, don't you Burt?”

“How do you think I got here?” he asked with a huff.

Barbara loved messing with Burt because he often didn't get her sense of humor. Handing her the light, I stepped out the door and closed it behind me. Burt motioned for me to follow with a couple of quick jerks of his light then we set out down an overgrown trail behind my cabin. I wished I controled the light because he didn't keep the beam low enough for my taste.

The heavy canopy of trees surrounding our cabin did not allow any light in. We could not see anything outside the range of our flashlight. I could hear very well though, and I heard the unmistakable sound of water lapping gently on the shore to our left. We were close, too close; I took a deep breath and focused my eyes on the forest floor in front of us.

“Okay, Burt … you want to tell me where we are going? It's getting kinda late,” I finished with a yawn.

“You always were a sissy at parties,” Burt said. “Always asleep on the sofa by ten o'clock.”

I glanced at my watch to verify, however I forgot it was confiscated at the prison. There was too much on my mind to remember to retrieve it as we broke out.

“Yeah, it's a lot later than ten,” Burt confirmed, noticing my futile motion. “Trust me; this is worth staying up for.”

I was anxious to get back to my family, yet I wasn't keen on getting back to our dusty rattrap of a cabin. I knew this was going to be our home for the foreseeable future. It still didn't mean I had to like it. At least my wife and daughters were there. Their presence made it bearable. I would live over a pit of snakes if that were what it took to be with them.

“All right, buddy … whatever you say,” I said. “What's the joke?”

“No joke,” he assured me.

A few moments later, we came to an abrupt stop. Burt turned and beamed at me like a kid who was about to present his award-winning art project to his parents.

“Okay, step to the side,” he said, motioning to his right with the flashlight. “Now give me a hand here,” he said grabbing at a pile of brush and limbs in front of us.

It was so dark it seemed the only things in the world were this suspicious brush pile and us. I obliged Burt as I grabbed a handful of pine branches and hoisted them to the side. After several moments of clearing I was no more enlightened than I was before, all I could see was more darkness in front of us. When Burt shone the light where the brush pile had been, I noticed something very unusual. It was as if the darkness somehow reflected the light back at us.

Burt stepped forward and stuck out his right arm. He moved it in a motion as if he were drawing a curtain. I heard the sound of rustling material, like canvas. A moment later, my eyes adjusted. I could see he moved aside one corner of a massive tarp. It was at least fifteen feet wide and extended upward about ten feet before disappearing into the blackness. I saw only darkness behind it.