The Eye of Madness Read online

  Everyone exchanged glances at this pronouncement. Even Cecil lifted his head and exchanged frowns with Burt. He could feel something devious, something big coming … he knew his father. He knew he rarely, if ever, bluffed. He also knew that what he said was always literal. General Garrison was as literal as ever tonight.

  General Garrison’s voice dropped to a somber and reverent tone. “The president was killed by Impals a few weeks ago. Our new president, who was the former vice-president, was killed by Impals this morning. The Speaker of the House is locked down at the capitol. This puts the line of succession in a sticky mess. But, this is not what is important …” he continued, his voice a little more upbeat. “The important thing is that God has shown me today what needs to be done. He gave me a great gift to accomplish the task. He-.”

  The general was cut off by an incoherent shout and a single gunshot. Next they heard the tormented screams of several men. There was another gunshot followed by three more and then silence. The only noise was the uncanny whispering and clicking. It now not only came from outside, but also from the radio speakers.

  Everyone sitting around the radio sat bolt upright in surprise. Cecil’s guts filled with a kaleidoscope of emotions. It surprised him, but he also harbored a small degree of hope. Did someone do the right thing and put this mad man down? He felt guilty for harboring this thought. After all, this was his father, but he was also the tyrant who believed in the genocide of the soul. He was also the bastard who held his youngest daughter and was responsible for the death of his oldest. When he focused on this perspective, a bullet hole in the old man’s head seemed an appealing prospect. This hope was dashed a moment later. There was a shuffling noise on the radio and then two deep breaths. Then came the firm and defiant words of General Garrison. “I apologize for the interruption folks, but if you would indulge me, I would like to paint you a picture. A member of my own staff, under the control of the Impals, just tried to assassinate me while I was attempting to bring comfort to the world. God is good, God is great, and God has spoken again tonight for all to hear!”

  He stopped for a long dramatic pause before continuing. Cecil focused his attention back on Barbara as she slumbered beside him. Her safety was the only thing he controlled and that control was fragile at best. Maybe it was a good thing his father wasn’t assassinated then. What would have happened to Steff? She was very much on his mind as well, but he was powerless to help her until they got away from this cabin … if they got away. Perhaps the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” the general continued. “Let me finish painting this picture for you. I am sitting in the situation room of the White House, around the oval conference table. I have a microphone in front of me. All the joint chiefs are here with me, but all of them are now dead. We were all sitting here and the lights went out during the incident. I am sure as you may have guessed by the noise coming through your radio; we are all in the dark.”

  He paused for several long moments to give his audience a chance to absorb and process this information.

  “How?” Burt sputtered, but before anyone could reply, the general continued.

  “Yes, that’s right ladies and gentlemen … I am sitting in the dark … unharmed and unmolested by these Impals. This is the proof I spoke of, the proof that God has seen fit to protect and shield me from this evil so I may lead my people through it.”

  He paused and cleared his throat. “I am now going to turn the lights back on. You should be able to hear the difference,” he said.

  A second later, the whispering and clicking vanished from the speakers. It was replaced by the sound of shuffling papers and General Garrison’s calm and steady breathing.

  “Ladies and gentleman, I am thankful this is not television. The sight of my comrades is quite horrifying. Let’s all observe a moment of silent prayer for their souls.”

  The general was anything but silent as he loudly whispered a prayer into the microphone. It was not reverent. Instead, it was arrogant and self-serving. Cecil backhanded a sofa cushion with his free hand. The hypocrisy coming over the airwaves was infuriating.

  “Maybe it would have been a good thing if the assassin had succeeded,” he thought to himself. He suddenly found it hard to breathe as a panic attack started to wash over him. His breathing was rapid and shallow as he stood up and began to pace. He felt the overwhelming urge to get out of there, to get away. Not because the darkness scared him, but because he couldn’t do anything for Steff. They were sitting helpless in the middle of the woods. He wanted to get out and save Steff and, if necessary, he would take care of his father himself.

  “Cecil, are you all right?” Charlotte asked.

  He put his hands on his hips as he continued to pace and then nodded his head. Before anyone else could speak, the general finished his ‘silent’ prayer. He began to address the radio audience once again.

  “My first order of business tonight is to urge everyone to remain indoors with as many lights on as possible. I am ordering energy reserves opened immediately to compensate for increased power needs. However, we can only sustain for a few days. Three days from now, all power will be redirected to military bases around the country. I am ordering extra lighting and accommodations be set up on these bases. I am not ordering everyone to relocate, this is America after all. Of course, I must warn you, if you do not, you may not have access to power for the foreseeable future. The darkness will consume you.”

  “This is America after all” Burt spat under his breath.

  The general paused and it sounded as if he were shuffling papers, then he took a deep breath and continued. “As your government, we are dedicated to keeping you safe through this trying time. It is up to each of you as to what you choose to do. Today is Wednesday. As of this Saturday night, most civilian locations … towns, cities and so forth may not have power. Transportation will be available starting at 8 AM tomorrow local time. Check with your respective municipality.”

  He paused for a moment and took on a somber, grandfatherly tone. This may have been effective for those who did not know the true General Garrison, but it was sickening for those who did.

  “Please people … please stay inside, please keep the lights on, please stay safe … your government is here to protect you. I’m here to protect you. God has chosen and blessed me so I have no doubt we will get through this. I will bring you another update in the morning. Good night, stay safe and God bless us all.”

  The broadcast transitioned to a recording of the national anthem on a repeating loop. It replayed three times before anyone spoke.

  “That sounds like the Impal camps all over again,” Sally said with a shiver.

  “Are they going to start putting people into the Tesla Gates now?” Charlotte asked.

  To everyone’s surprise, Burt was a little more optimistic. “No, I don’t think he will. He needs to keep the heart and soul of the people. That won’t last long if he turns them into death camps.”

  Cecil stopped pacing and sneered. “Why should he electrocute them in the Tesla Gate?” He asked. “If they get out of line, he can just turn the lights off and claim it was an accident or malfunction. Besides, I don’t think he would use the tremendous amount of electricity it takes to keep those damned things running. He is many things, but he is not stupid.”

  “Do you think it is necessary?” Charlotte asked.

  “Maybe,” Burt admitted. “Pooling resources seems the most practical way to go. I just wish—,” Burt said, but Cecil cut him short.

  “I just wish that brave assassin succeeded,” Cecil finished. “Necessary or not, it’s only another ploy for him to solidify his power.”

  “Of course,” Burt said. “I wasn’t taking his side, Cecil. God help me I wasn’t. I was just speaking from a pure logistical point of view.”

  Cecil ignored Burt’s comment as he continued with another thought. “Has anyone considered the big question here? Does anyone wonder ho
w he can enter the dark without harm?”

  “He was lying!” Derek said. “No one could see him … he could tell us anything and expect us to believe it!”

  Everyone nodded in agreement, everyone but Cecil. Instead, he shook his head. “He wasn’t lying,” Cecil said.

  “How can you tell?” Burt asked.

  “The screams, the noise … they were too real to have been canned sound effects for our amusement.”

  “But how do you know he was telling the truth … how do you know he was really in the dark?” Derek prodded.

  Cecil shrugged. “I know my father,” he said, pronouncing the last word as if something were foul in his mouth. “I know how misguided and full of crap he is, but I have always been able to tell when he was lying. This is not one of those times.”

  “Okay,” Burt said. “Assuming he is telling the truth, how the hell is it possible?”

  “I don’t know,” Cecil said. “Of course I don’t buy his explanation of God choosing him. The God I know is not that misguided. I haven’t got a clue.”

  “Don’t you?” a new voice to the conversation asked.

  Everyone turned to see Musial staring sedately at them.

  “Don’t we what?” Burt asked.

  Musial didn’t even acknowledge Burt’s presence; instead he focused his gaze on Cecil.

  “What should I know?” Cecil asked.

  “One of the oldest truisms of mankind, human nature, and nature itself,” Musial said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Burt demanded.

  “Well, I think it was best put by William Turner in the mid-16th century. Of course I wasn’t around yet back then, but I do remember reading his paptist satire—The Rescuing of Romish Fox. I believe the line went something like this: “Birds of one kind and color flock and fly always together.”

  Everyone stared at him, uncomprehending. Everyone, but Charlotte.

  “Birds of a feather flock together,” she muttered.

  “Precisely!” Musial grinned. “It’s nice to know there is at least one intelligent person in this pitiful little band.”

  “Are you saying …” Cecil asked, and then trailed off with disgust on his face.

  “I’m saying,” Musial said, staring fixedly at Cecil, “your father is a kindred spirit to the dark. He is no different than me or any one of the thousands out there,” he said, tipping his head toward the window.

  Deep down, Cecil knew what Musial said was true, in fact he had suspected it before Musial ever opened his mouth. So why did he feel so sick, so hollow? Because it is a difficult thing to hate and loathe one’s own father, but Cecil seemed to be accomplishing it with relative ease. He sat back down on the sofa and took Barbara’s hand. He finally pushed his father and the dark to the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and soon his thoughts coalesced into one disturbing thought. Is my father the only one?

  The thing Cecil, General Garrison, and even Musial did not know is that immunity to the dark was not unique. In fact, many kindred individuals passed unmolested through the darkness around the world tonight. They all shared the same unique distinction of being kindred counterparts of the dark. They were all ‘chosen’ in their own way, in their own minds, and they would make the most out of their opportunity.

  CHAPTER 14

  RUTH

  “You cannot be responsible for salvation until first you’ve been responsible for sin.”

  ~Edwin Louis Cole

  Jack enjoyed his unique standing in the world. He had no illusions of being chosen by God, or even the Devil. Whether it was brutal self-honesty or a special perception, he knew the dark, in many ways, was a reflection of himself. It made him comfortable, and it made him relax. As he lay on his bed with eyes shut and his lamp casting a trusting perimeter, he listened to the soothing whispers of the shadows. They served as a sinister lullaby as he drifted off to sleep.

  Jack’s eyes flew open and he sat up. His heart fluttered in his chest. Something awakened him, something loud, something forceful and something very near. The dark may be a comfort to him, but Jack was no fool. He still didn’t trust it and with good reason … he knew how it thought. How long had he been asleep? He wasn’t sure because the batteries in his wall clock died more than a year ago. He looked for his watch until he remembered placing it on the dresser. He was about to get up and retrieve it, when a loud rapping noise made him jump. He whirled about and stared at his bedroom window. Someone was out there knocking on the glass. They wanted in.

  It took over an hour for Malaki and Rebekah to get settled into a tent. The living area was small, no more than ten feet by twelve feet. At least six people packed each of the hundreds filling the field. The soldiers tried to keep families together and divide living quarters by gender, but there was limited space. Malakhi and Rebecca ended up sharing a tent with three other women and an emaciated teenage boy. His appearance and odor suggested he had been living on the streets for weeks. He didn’t say a word and took his assigned sleeping bag. The boy huddled against the rear wall of the tent with his back to everyone. A few moments later, they heard a loud fart followed by a couple of grunts, and then the heavy breathing of the sleeping teen.

  The inside of the tents were almost as bright as the outside. Their thin fabric allowed plenty of the powerful portable lights to penetrate. However, if they got a heavy rainfall, the tent would not provide a lot of protection. Two kerosene lanterns hung inside. Each burned at full capacity, making a loud hissing noise as the flame flickered. It made Rebekah shiver when she noticed how similar it sounded to the darkness.

  Malakhi lay down against the opposite wall from the flatulent boy and pulled himself into a ball. He was cold, but he was also terrified. Rebekah stroked his head as she talked with the other women. Two of them were dark haired and about her age. One was older with long salt and pepper hair and a plump mid-section and bosom. Her voice was raspy as if a dedicated smoker most of her life. They all recounted a near death experience for the day, but none seemed as harrowing as Rebekah and Malakhi’s escape. The women were stretching out their sleeping bags, when they heard the rustling of footsteps outside the tent door. A moment later, the timid voice of a male soldier called out.

  “Ladies, can we come in?”

  They exchanged puzzled glances. The older woman, whose name was Andrea, rasped like a foghorn. “Come in!”

  The flap of the door opened and a young and blushing soldier poked his head in. “I’m sorry but we have run out of room, we’re going to have to bunk one more with you,” he said.

  Before anyone could respond, he stepped to the side and a mop of long white hair appeared in the doorway. The other three women blinked at the old, smiling woman. Rebekah recognized her at once. It was Ruth, the homeless lady who sat by her on the truck.

  Ruth smile and plopped down on the floor next to Rebekah, wrapping her in a tight embrace. The smell of body odor and dirt was overwhelming. She was forced to suppress a gag.

  “I just knew I would see you again!” Ruth said. “It’s fate, that’s what it is!”

  The other women watched with polite interest. It was evident from their crinkled noses and watery eyes, the old lady’s stench had wafted to their side of the tent. As soon as she greeted Rebekah, she made her way to the other ladies in the tent, introducing herself and hugging each one of them in turn. As offensive as it was, Rebekah couldn’t help cracking a tiny smile at the women’s revulsion.

  Rebekah took the opportunity to roll out her sleeping bag next to Malakhi. She cuddled up as close to him as she could manage with her back to the tent. Her stomach twisted when Ruth rolled out her sleeping bag right next to her.

  “So … what do you do for a living?” Ruth asked.

  She was close enough that Rebekah could not only smell her rancid breath, but could feel its warmth blow across her ear. She cupped her hand over her nose and mouth then answered in a muffled voice. “I’m a waitress.”

  “You don’t say?” Ruth said. “You
know I used to do that too. It was years ago though.”

  The conversation was pretty much one sided with Ruth doing most of the talking. Most of the responses to her questions just required a simple yes or no. Everything Ruth asked was a question about her and Malakhi. After an hour of yammering, she didn’t know anything about Ruth outside of her name and the fact she used to be a waitress years ago. Rebekah tried to endure the interrogation without passing out from halitosis overload. She kept hoping the next question would be her last. At last, the questions stopped and Rebekah heard faint and even breathing behind her. It seemed Ruth was asleep.

  Rebekah relaxed a little, yet she found it impossible to go to sleep. Even though she had shut her eyes many times during the day, she couldn’t shake a feeling. She feared that if she gave in to sleep, if she closed her eyes, the darkness inside her own eyelids would somehow put a horrible end to her life. It was a rational fear, considering. She smiled when she felt Malakhi’s steady breathing as he slept in her arms. He was unharmed and he was resting. A pang of guilt stabbed her when she considered the possibility that she used her own son as a Guinea pig. It was not her intent, but it still didn’t make her feel better. She pulled him closer and kissed him on the cheek. Malakhi snorted and mumbled before settling back into his deep slumber. Rebekah closed her eyes and tried to envision a bright, sunny day. She was about to fall asleep, when she heard a voice inches from her ear. It was Ruth.