The Eye of Madness Read online

  General Garrison rose to his feet and opened his eyes. He looked around him, seeing nothing in the pitch darkness, but, then again, he was seeing everything, wasn’t he? He saw his destiny, his purpose, his important place in God’s plan. He, and he alone, was chosen. Nothing could touch him because this was God’s will and he was more than ready and able to carry out His will.

  “This is the end times,” he whispered as he walked towards the door, “and God has chosen me to help usher in his new kingdom.”

  The general had no idea exactly how the recent world events played in to the prophecy of the end of days. He wasn’t worried because he knew God would make it clear to him soon. The book of Revelations is thick with symbolism and metaphors for things yet to come. It is not easily understandable, even to the most astute Biblical scholars. Was this the prelude to the rapture … or perhaps the seven year tribulation? The Bible did say there would be false prophets and deceivers in the end days. To General Garrison, that was exactly what the Impals were.

  He threw open the doors to the Oval Office, letting in a flood of light and screams from the well-lit administrative area. Secretaries, military personnel and Secret Service agents all regarded him with wild-eyed horror. When he stepped out and shut the door behind him, the expressions turned from horror to confusion. They stared at the general, and then each other with bewilderment.

  “S-sir, are you okay?” one of the Secret Service agents stammered.

  “I’ve never been better in my life … praise the Lord!” he boasted with a wide grin.

  “But, but sir … it was dark in there, are … are …” one of the secretaries asked through a flood of terrified tears.

  “Am I alive? Am I in injured? Am I real?” General Garrison finished for her. He gave her a large toothy smile and said, “Yes, no and yes.”

  A man in a dress Marines uniform stepped forward. He squinted at the general with intense scrutiny as if he were about to disarm an explosive device.

  “Sir … do you need assistance?” he asked.

  The general held up his hands in a calming motion. His face beamed with peaceful serenity. It made chills run up their spines, considering they all knew something horrific was in the darkness on the other side of the door.

  “Please … everyone take a seat,” he said, shielding his eyes from the bright auxiliary lighting. He couldn’t help thinking this bright lighting was akin to being in the presence of God.

  Once everyone took a seat, he stood where the lights were not in his eyes. Garrison smiled at them, resembling a preacher about to deliver a meaningful sermon. “My friends, we have experienced an unprecedented tragedy in our country … two of them in as many weeks. We have lost two presidents, two great and noble men who will be missed.”

  He scanned the faces of his captive audience with confident empathy. He understood their tragedy and grief, he felt their pain and … why not? He was one of them, wasn’t he? No, he corrected himself. He was different; he was chosen … he was better. God had shown him this. The general knew he could turn around and walk back into the darkness of the Oval Office and survive, but none of them could. God protected the general because he was righteous in his convictions, he was special.

  “As tragic as things have been, I believe all things happen for a reason. There is a reason God has put me in this place at this point in time.”

  “To do what, sir?” the Marine asked.

  General Garrison regarded him with casual indifference. “Why … to lead the country of course,” he replied as if he was speaking to a dense child.

  “Sir …” the Marine began again. “The vice president never appointed a successor when he took over the presidency. Shouldn’t the Speaker of the House be taking the oath of office today?”

  The general felt a sudden flash of anger. He hated the Speaker, hated him with a passion. He was one of the most vocal objectors to the government’s plan, the general’s plan, for rounding up Impals. The speaker was not a Godly man, in the general’s opinion. He was Catholic or Presbyterian … one of those denominations not true to God’s word. Garrison had seen fit to ally himself with the leaders of those denominations and other religions when it suited his needs. It did not suit his needs anymore. The true dark nature of the Impals revealed were all the validity he needed. God’s special protection from this evil was just icing on the cake. Besides, the general believed the speaker was an idiot. The very thought of the imbecile taking over the presidency made his stomach burn.

  “I am above such petty human prejudice,” he thought to himself. “God has seen fit to place me there.”

  General Garrison forced a smile and grasped the man’s shoulder like a prideful father greeting his son. “You raise good points, Captain …?” he said, examining the man’s rank insignia.

  “Captain Paladino, sir,” the Marine said, straightening his posture.

  “Well, Captain Paladino, the problem is that we have no time, no way of knowing if the speaker is still alive. After all, we are still on lockdown here. I’m quite sure the Capitol is as well.”

  Captain Paladino glanced at the phone on the desk beside them.

  “We could call, sir,” he suggested.

  “Captain, I believe it would be dangerous to transfer leadership at this time. It would be dangerous for our country and, quite frankly, the world.”

  “But, it’s the law sir … it’s in the Constitution,” Captain Paladino insisted.

  Garrison smiled at him. “Captain, please allow me to show you why it is dangerous,” he said, stepping back a couple of feet. He then motioned towards the door to the Oval Office.

  Everyone stared with horror at the general. What would he do to demonstrate the dangerous situation of the country? Captain Paladino knew, after all, he was a Marine. His training enabled him to analyze and recognize a situation. He knew what General Garrison intended when he motioned toward the door. He was trained to be fearless, like all Marines, but the word has always been a misnomer. Any Marine worth his salt knew there was no such thing as fearless, fear was natural and unavoidable. The key was to control it and make it useful. Captain Paladino did a good job masking his fear, but he was at a loss on how to control it and use it in this situation. He walked a few steps forward, standing less than a foot away from the general. Captain Paladino then turned and looked him in the eyes.

  Garrison smirked, his face brimming with arrogance and confidence. The general walked to the Oval Office door, the whole time keeping his eyes on the unfortunate Marine. He turned the handle then pushed the door open, revealing the pitch-dark interior. The hissing and whispering radiated from the dark opening in a demonic chorus. The general gave the others in the room a wink before giving Captain Paladino a wry smile. Garrison then confidently stepped inside, disappearing into the darkness. A few moments, later the general called out from somewhere deep inside the room.

  “Captain Paladino, will you join me in the Oval Office, please?” he called in a sing-song voice.

  “Why sir?” Paladino asked, his mouth as dry as sandpaper.

  “I need you to join me for a meeting, Captain … so we can discuss the dangers that a leadership transferal would pose to our country.”

  There was a long pause before Captain Paladino responded. “Sir … I don’t think it would be a good idea,” he said.

  The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone’s hearts almost stopped when General Garrison spoke again. “I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, CAPTAIN! I EXPECT YOU TO OBEY IT!” he boomed, not with the forceful tone of a drill instructor, but of a man about to go out of his head with rage.

  “Sir?” Captain Paladino called. Calm still registered on his face even though his heart was about to hammer out of his chest.

  “GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW, CAPTAIN!” Garrison screamed.

  The captain glanced at the others. They were frozen in terror.

  Captain Paladino was a good soldier and Marine. He would not allow himself to disobey the orders of a superior officer, even
if they were from an Army officer. But even more important, he would not let his fear control him, his fear of what waited for him in the darkness. He tightened his jaw, stood up straight, and then stuck his chest out before starting a slow march towards the door.

  One of the Secret Service Agents handed Captain Paladino a flashlight as the two men exchanged somber smiles. They both knew the flashlight would be inadequate to fend off the complete darkness of the sealed room. Captain Paladino clicked it on and shone the beam through the open door. The darkness seemed to swirl around the narrow ray of light like rushing water over a clear tube. The hissing and clicking changed cadence and pitch. It was as if something or some ‘things’ were agitated by the presence of the light.

  He paused for a second and then started once again.

  “I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY, CAPTAIN!” the general shrieked.

  A second later, the darkness enveloped the Marine. A single scream came from the open door, but that was all. They heard a series of loud bangs as if someone were taking a sledge hammer to the walls. The Secret Service agents scrambled to move some of the supplemental lighting to the door of the Oval Office, but it was no use. The banging stopped almost as fast as it began.

  Everyone in the room held their breath as their hearts throbbed between air-deprived lungs. Heavy footsteps began to pound towards the door. A moment later, the smug face of General Garrison emerged from the darkness. He gave everybody an insincere look of sympathy then reached inside the door and flicked on the light switch. The interior of the Oval Office materialized, appearing as benign as ever. The hissing and scratching stopped.

  “I’m sorry to report that our meeting did not go well,” the general said in a matter of fact tone. “But I am sure you all see why change is a bad idea. I have been chosen to lead and I will do it,” he said brushing his hands together as if eager to begin a challenging task. He then walked past everyone to the corridor beyond. He paused and turned before rounding the corner.

  “Oh … please take care of the captain,” he said flippantly. “He was a good man, but he just could not understand. I’m going to go check on my granddaughter, Steff,” he said, and then waved as if he was leaving on a trip.

  Everyone felt hollow and numb, but the general’s final words sent a chill through them all. Most people would have checked on their child or grandchild immediately in a situation such as this. Of course, General Garrison wasn’t most people. He was acting as the hand of God, everything, and everyone else, be damned.

  CHAPTER 6

  PRIVATE ABERNATHY

  “A human life is a story told by God.”

  ~Hans Christian Andersen

  Private Jack Abernathy managed to avoid latrine duty, but his partner was not so fortunate. Jack received permission to return to his flat and pick up a few personal belongings before nightfall. He was sure he would get an earful when he returned, considering the spiteful stare he received from Sean. By the time he returned in a few hours, the work would be done.

  The road leading into town was choked with the dispossessed as hundreds, if not thousands, made their way to the base. The barracks would be full soon, leaving only the parade grounds and a handful of open areas for the remaining refugees to settle. People from all walks of life and socioeconomic classes trudged along on foot with a common purpose, to escape the dark.

  Jack watched in disbelief as the civilians passed. Some dragged boxes with rope or their bare hands. Others pushed wheelbarrows or pulled carts overloaded with personal possessions. Several people toted stuffed backpacks, while others clutched their belongings in their arms. He at first thought it odd that these people were walking to the base, especially the ones with heavy loads. However, when he got a short distance up the road he understood. A military blockade was set up forcing anyone in an auto or other motorized vehicle to pull over and leave them. Space was a premium in the base and automobiles would crowd out people. A large pasture served as a makeshift parking lot. The field across the road was littered by what seemed to be a number of blankets or perhaps rolled rugs. When Jack drew even with the field, he could see it was not abandoned possessions. This pasture had become a makeshift morgue. A toe, an arm, wisps of hair could be seen protruding from under some of the sheets. A few of the lighter colored linens were spotted with stains of blood. Jack stopped and stared at the grotesque menagerie.

  “Bloody sad, isn’t it?” one of the blockade guards said.

  Jack jumped as if received a shock. “What?” he stammered.

  “Sorry mate, didn’t mean to scare you. It is enough to make the best of us squeamish,” the guard said with a shudder as he waved a small convertible into the parking lot.

  “What happened?” Jack asked. “There must be hundreds of them!”

  “Last night happened,” he said. “When we reached four hundred, I stopped counting.”

  “All of them from town?”

  “I don’t know, it has been a damn fight all day … people insisting on taking their loved one on to the base with them.”

  “Fight?” Jack asked.

  The guard raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you fight if someone told you to leave your child or parent’s body behind?”

  Jack shrugged, then without another word he continued his journey. He had to hurry; it would be dark in a few hours.

  The road was luckily free of shade. Cattle grazing land bordered both sides and the nearest patches of woods were no closer than twenty meters from the road. In contrast, the town was a sadistic minefield. Shadows cast from buildings and trees threatened to block his path at every turn. The shady patches on every street and sidewalk writhed and undulated in a hungry, shapeless mass. After a half hour of careful maneuvering, he managed to traverse the five blocks to his flat.

  The blinds were pulled shut as usual because Jack enjoyed his privacy. He picked up a fallen branch from the yard and then carefully unlocked the door. He stuck the branch in through the opening and fumbled about until he found the light switch. He flicked it upward with one quick motion. Tossing the branch aside, he slipped inside.

  Jack’s flat was of greater than average size. He could have stayed in base housing for much less money, but there was little solitude. The private’s apartment could have accommodated two grown men with plenty of room left over. Three bedroom flats were almost unheard of in this small town. It may not have been a necessity to live in a place with this much space, but for Jack, it was almost as important as the very air he breathed. He had just started to gather a few personal items into his duffel when he heard a noise.

  A whimpering sound came from outside his kitchen window. It was faint at first, but as he stopped to listen, it grew louder. Jack walked to his kitchen window and peered out. Dark shadows crisscrossed the yard from several elm trees. They made the yard seem as if it contained dark and surging tentacles. As he screwed up his eyes, he saw something that resembled a pile of laundry, until it started to move. An elderly woman was lying face down in a sunlit area, inches from a dark patch.

  Jack stared, mesmerized. This had to be a sign. Everyone left town, or so he thought. It was his destiny to come back, to find this old lady crawling about in his backyard. Excitement leapt inside him when he realized what he must do. He grabbed a couple of high beam flashlights from a desk drawer and eased out the backdoor. He aimed the beams straight ahead and crept towards the old woman. The powerful light parted the shadows a little easier than he thought they would and he soon reached the old woman.

  She stared straight ahead, whimpering and crying, taking no notice of his presence. Not until he knelt down and spoke to her.

  “Are you okay, dear?” he asked.

  She shrieked so loud he thought his eardrum might rupture. The poor woman began to scoot along on her belly as if the devil himself was after her. Jack managed to grab her by the hem of her cotton gown as she tried to scurry into one of the shadows. She screamed and writhed, but she was not strong enough to pull away. The woman was fortunate that the fabric i
n her gown was strong enough to resist their tug of war.

  “Calm down … its okay!” Jack assured her.

  She did calm down, but Jack wasn’t sure if it was because of his reassurance or because she was tired. She was injured, as evidenced by the blood on her gown and deep gash in her right forearm. However, it wasn’t until she tried to look at him before Jack discovered why she did not acknowledge him before he spoke. The old lady was blind.

  “What’s your name?” Jack asked.

  She tried to focus on where she believed his face was, but she ended up peering over his shoulder. “Agnes,” she croaked.

  “Well, Agnes, how did you wind up in my backyard?”

  She shook her head, her eyes vacant and distant. “Crawled,” she whispered.

  Jack noticed a gash in her arm as she shifted her weight onto her side. This was not the worst injury the woman suffered, not by a long shot. The skin on her lower legs from her knees to her ankles was one bloody mess. Exposed bone protruded from below her left knee.

  “Can you walk, Agnes?” he asked. The answer should have been obvious.

  She started to emit a high-pitched whine.

  Jack got to his feet and scooped Agnes’s tiny frame up in one fluid motion and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed in agony as his arm brushed over her legs, and then she passed out. He headed back to the house toting a ninety-pound payload, his ten thousand-candle power flashlight clearing the way.

  Jack laid Agnes on his small vinyl sofa and then continued to gather miscellaneous items to take back to base. He stopped and stared at the old woman for several moments, as if he had forgotten his purpose. In truth, he hadn’t forgotten. His purpose came into full relief. He was meant to come home today. No, it was more of a gift and he intended to appreciate it to the fullest. Life on the base had been dragging him down as of late, especially since the Impals arrived. He hadn’t enjoyed the privacy he so craved. It was a little over two months, a couple of days before the storm arrived, since he had the alone time he desired. He didn’t need to come back home, he kept everything back at the base, well … almost everything.