THE EIGHT -- Excerpt

8/8/2019 THE EIGHT -- Excerpt

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/the-eight-excerpt 1/42

The Eight

A novel by

Steven L. Powers

1



THE EIGHT

PROLOGUE

He saw four possible futures for the United States.

Only one was beneficial.

The Coming Together played a crucial role in that future. The Coming Together had to

happen.

His vision wasn’t sharpened yet, but he dimly saw eight people. These eight people were

going to be at the forefront of the Coming Together.

He must bring these people to Montana. As clouds form and spark a massive thunderstorm,

so would these people be a catalyst for a movement that would forever change history.

The Eight were far flung. He had to bring them together as a group before they could make

the long trek to Montana. The way was long. The way was hard. The way was dangerous.

He sighed.

He massaged his head with his hands. The time was at hand.

He began Calling the Eight.

2



PART I

The Beginning – June 4th

Chad Allen

Willow Tree, Texas

Vomit sprayed from Chad Allen’s open mouth, splattering onto an orange vinyl chair. The

break room chatter ceased.

“Gross!” A young woman leaped up out of her chair.

Chad clutched his stomach.

“Uhhhh.”

He vomited again. It arced onto the white tile floor. His co-workers scattered, shouting.

Chad slumped in his chair; his eyes were closed and vomit dripped from his chin. His shirt

was stained. He breathed harshly, wheezing.

Chad Allen had just become one of the first victims of Ravioli Syndrome.

The disease’s odd name stemmed from the tragic case of three children who had eaten

ravioli for dinner, puked up every last bit of the ravioli and even parts of their own bodies, or so

the press reported.

The children died, and in the beginning, it was thought that the canned ravioli was tainted.

Even after the ravioli was eliminated as the cause, the name stuck.

The cause was something much worse than tainted food. It was a virus, highly contagious. It

passed from person to person in a breath or a touch.

3



The disease began in California. Not much was known about it then. Just a few reports here

and there of people getting sick in California; of some strange, unexplainable virus hitting the

West coast, near Los Angeles, San Francisco and San Diego.

From there, the disease spread all over the country, as travelers carried it to other states.

Debbie Irick rushed over to Chad’s side. She wiped Chad’s face with a wet washrag.

Chad opened his eyes. He looked at Debbie. He felt the bile rising up in his throat and

struggled to keep from throwing up again. He’d heaved before, but this was different .

“Chad, go home,” she said.

“Gimme a minute. I’ll be okay,” he said, with effort. He tried to stand up and almost fell to

the floor.

“Whoa there, buddy!” He felt a strong arm yank him up and saw Glenn Kajahira. Glenn

helped him sit back down, as Debbie softly patted his back.

“Maybe we should call an ambulance,” Debbie said, frowning.

“No, no, don’t do that. If I can just go home and lie down for a little while, I think I’ll be

okay.”

”Well, you can’t drive home. Let Glenn drive you home. We’ll have someone bring your car

by later.”

Glenn helped Chad into the empty house, where he fell heavily on the bed he and Laurel

shared, not even bothering to take off his clothes. Glenn called Chad’s wife and she hurriedly left

her classroom, after arranging for a substitute.

Glenn and Debbie were dead within a week. So were all the other workers in the break room.

Chad fell into a deep sleep. He woke up when he heard Laurel’s soft voice. “Chad, how do

you feel? What’s wrong, honey? Can I get you anything?”

4



“No. Just let me sleep,” Chad mumbled and turned over. His body felt leaden; it took a

supreme effort to roll over.

Afterwards, Chad didn’t remember much of what he called “my sick time.”

His memories of being sick were distorted and half-remembered.

Suffocating heat broiled his body. He clawed at his clothes. Laurel must have grown tired of

trying to keep clothes on him; Chad found himself naked and sweating as he thrashed about on

the bed.

He vomited so many times that it was finally just one long series of dry heaves. His throat

burned. His chest hurt from the repeated vomiting. Bizarre, nightmarish images punctuated his

sickness.

His body screamed in agony; in his few lucid moments, he wondered why Laurel wasn’t

taking him to the hospital. He defecated all over himself. No matter how loudly he called, no one

came.

His eyes had an immense pressure pushing on them from the inside, feeling as if they were

going to explode internally from the relentless, insistent force. His ears popped and drained,

popped and drained vile-smelling fluid repeatedly.

The bedroom reeked, but Chad was beyond caring. He only wanted to die. Why didn’t

someone come take care of him?

5



Day 1—June 12th

Chad and Jody Allen

Willow Tree, Texas

Chad blearily opened his eyes. He didn’t feel sick anymore. Weak and trembly, yes, but not

sick.

He called, in a shaky voice, “Laurel! Jody! Rob! Scott!” No response. He fell back on the

bed, exhausted.

He tried calling again. Still no answer.

He strained to turn his head to the side. He squinted as the light from the bedside window

touched his eyes. Daylight was fading and long shadows stretched from the backyard trees.

Chad tried to sit up, but couldn’t manage it. With great effort, he rolled himself to the edge

of the bed and let his feet hang off. Using his arms for leverage, he pushed off the bed. Grunting

with the strain, he finally managed to sit up, breathing hard.

He reached out to the nearby dresser and pulled himself up to a standing position. A wave of

dizziness swirled in his head; he swayed from side to side, holding tightly to the smooth wood of

the dresser.

His head cleared. He staggered into the bathroom, leaning against the wall for support.

Several times, he stumbled and nearly fell.

He flicked the light switch. A weak light shined in the bathroom, as if the bulb was burning

at half-strength.

Chad peered at himself in the mirror, straining to see in the gloom. His grubby reflection

stared back at him. His hair was matted and a coarse growth of reddish-brown stubble crept up

his neck, snaking its way to his cheekbones. He rubbed the stubble. From the looks of it, he’d

been out for awhile.

6



He leaned forward and turned the porcelain handle above the sink. At first, no water came

out, then the faucet groaned and water grudgingly trickled out. He felt of the water with a finger.

Lukewarm. He waited a few minutes but the water never got any warmer.

He finally cupped the water in his shaking hands and scrubbed flecks off his face. He did the

same with his body, trying to erase the grime and filth as best as he could.

Chad dried off with a small hand towel and looked behind him. He smiled wanly as he

spotted the fuzzy purple bathrobe the kids had given him for Father’s Day several years ago. He

actually hated the color purple, but he’d exclaimed over the robe as if were the best present he’d

ever received in his life.

He haltingly arranged the robe around him, wincing as he moved. All the throwing up must

have made him sore.

He called out to his family again. No one answered. Odd. What was going on here?

Chad walked slowly to the doorway. His legs felt weak and shaky. He looked down the

hallway. It seemed so long and looked different, somehow. Sheer will propelled him forward.

He finally reached the first bedroom on the left, the boys’ bedroom, and looked in. The room

was dark, but in the dimness, he could make out a lump on each of the twin beds.

“Rob! Scott! Wake up and help Daddy!” Neither of the lumps moved.

Chad moved to the nearest bed and shook Scott’s shoulder. The boy didn’t stir. He shook

Scott harder. Still nothing. Chad turned him over and pulled the covers off him. He recoiled at

what he saw.

Scott’s eyes protruded halfway out of the eye sockets, onto his face, mixed in with blood and

spongy matter. His pajamas were torn and covered with feces and vomit. Scott was obviously

dead and had been for awhile.

7



Chad shut his eyes and backed away, sinking to his knees on the floor. He thought he might

throw up again. A roaring filled his head and he felt dizzy. He lay on the floor, searching for a

way back into the sweet oblivion of dreamless sleep.

He didn’t know how long he laid there. He thought he might just lie there and never get up.

Finally, he did manage to pull himself to a sitting position and scooted on his rear end over

to Rob’s bed. His hands shook as he pulled back the covers.

Rob didn’t look as bad as Scott, though his pajamas were also torn and he too was covered in

excrement. But he was just as dead.

My God, Chad thought, my two boys, gone, just like that. He pulled himself up, stumbling to

the door, nearly tripping over some clothes piled on the floor.

The boys had never been good about picking up their dirty clothes and putting them in the

laundry hamper. Chad had yelled at them plenty about that.

Now, it seemed so unimportant. He would gladly suffer dirty laundry if he could only hold

his boys in his arms again, kissing their little-boy cheeks.

Chad shakily left the boys’ bedroom, walking down the hallway into the living room,

steeling himself for what he might find. The gathering darkness outside made it difficult to see in

the living room, but he could see Laurel in a prone position on the green micro fiber couch.

He didn’t need to check her for signs of life; she was obviously dead. She lay on her back,

her eyes wide open, staring into nothingness.

Her torn nightgown hung in shreds and long, red scratches covered her legs and arms.

Chad furtively looked at her, then had to look away. His chest felt tight and he gasped for

breath, only able to draw in little sips of air. He leaned heavily against the wall.

Averting his face from the sight of Laurel, he carefully made his way to the dining room

table, a beat-up old thing with scratches and gouges earned from years of kids sitting at it and

pounding on it and digging their silverware into it during family meals.

8



Chad heavily sat in one of the chairs, put his head down on the scarred wood of the table and

sobbed.

He cried for a long time, strangled moaning sounds escaping his throat. He had never felt

more alone than he did at that moment.

Chad knew what he had to do next and dreaded it.

He grabbed a kitchen towel from the rack near the bar. The kitchen was dank and smelled of

dirty dishes and old coffee. A dark stain covered the countertop, where the automatic coffee

maker had overflowed.

Wiping his nose and eyes, Chad began to walk, ever so slowly, to Jody’s room. Fear marked

his every step.

Jody was Chad’s oldest, thirteen years old. Her room was on the other side of the dining

room, tucked in behind a little laundry room. The room had been an add-on. Chad had built it

himself, an achievement he had been extremely proud of at the time.

Jody’s room was girly and immaculate. She made her bed everyday and cleaned and

vacuumed the room, almost to the point of obsession. She liked to keep her room in order and

yelled at her brothers when they moved something out of place. A polka-dot bedspread adorned

her queen-sized bed.

Chad recalled the day Jody had seen the bedspread at Target and begged him to buy it. She

had been ten at the time. She’d jumped up and down, pulling at his arm. “Oh Daddy, that is so

cute! Please, can I get it for my bed? Please, please!”

Chad had bought the darn thing for her, even though Laurel didn’t think they had the money

to spend. Jody was so excited when she got home; she rushed to her room, tore the old blue

bedspread off the bed and tossed it aside. Then she carefully made up the bed with the new

spread, got under the covers and pulled it up to her chin, grinning like an idiot. Chad had laughed

at her, but it felt good to see her so happy.

9



Chad hesitatingly entered Jody’s room. She lay on her side; her face to the wall, the polka-

dot spread nearly covering her up. He could only see her head poking out of the covers. Jody’s

light brown hair normally gleamed with highlights; now it looked dull and lifeless. Chad knew

Jody would hate that; she spent hours fixing her hair just the way she liked it.

Outside, the dark was coming. The reddish rays of the sunset streamed through the window,

casting a muted patch of color on Jody’s bed.

A sturdy oak tree, less than a foot from the window, swayed, its dark shadows seemingly

beckoning him. Its leafy branches waggled up and down, as if they had an urgent message to

impart.

Chad stood by Jody’s bedside. He softly called her name. No response. He took a deep

breath and gently shook her shoulder.

She didn’t stir. No. Not again. Chad squeezed his eyes tight and shook her shoulder again,

harder this time. As he stood there, not daring to open his eyes, he heard a faint little voice,

“Daddy?”

Chad’s eyes snapped open. Jody was looking at him, confusion in her sweet blue eyes.

“Daddy, where were you? Oh Daddy, I felt so bad. I thought I was going to die. Then I

thought I was all alone when no one came to check on me.”

“No baby, I’m here. I was sick, too. I just got out of bed.”

Jody looked at Chad with a question in her eyes, one he did not want to answer. He felt his

mouth trying to work.

But she knew.

“They’re gone, aren’t they? Mom and Rob and Scott.”

Chad croaked out, “Yes.”

Tears began spilling out of Jody’s blue eyes, like rain pouring down her cheeks. Chad lay

beside Jody, held her tight and cried with her.

In the twilight of that summer evening, Chad and Jody Allen wept. Time passed.

10



Finally, Jody looked up at Chad, wiping her reddened eyes with one small hand.

“What are we gonna do, Daddy?”

Jody and Chad looked at each other. She tried to smile at him, but her mouth barely turned

up at the corners before her lips began trembling.

“I don’t know.” Chad bleakly stared off into space, his chocolate-brown eyes unfocused,.

What were they going to do? What did you do when some unknown force ripped apart your

family, forever separating you?

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Jody bit her bottom lip. “Um. What do we do about them?”

“Them?” Chad said, confused.

“You know. Mom and Rob and Scott.”

“Oh.”

A bolt of pain shot through Chad’s head as he thought about the bodies of his wife and two

sons. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He wanted to just lie down somewhere until all

this went away.

Chad looked at Jody, sorrow and regret etching his face. “I don’t really know, honey. I guess

we’ll have to make some calls and get someone to take care of them.”

Jody reached out, gripping his hands tightly. “Oh, Daddy.”

Chad’s throat closed up. He couldn’t speak. Jody sat up and leaned forward, putting her head

on her dad’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

They sat in silence. Darkness fell.

Thousands of miles north, a man watched Chad and Jody. The man sat in his comfortable

recliner. A lit pipe hung from his mouth, a small spot of flame glowing in the darkened room.

11



The man shook his head. He felt their sorrow keenly, like a too-sharp knife slicing into

tender flesh.

Chad didn’t yet know it, but he was very important. The man needed to Reach Chad and

convince him to travel north. Then Bonnie. If he Reached these two, the others would follow and

his plan would be set into motion.

Chad loosened his grip on Jody, stretching across her to switch on her bedside lamp. The

light flickered on and off, dimming repeatedly before finally emitting its normal light.

Jody stared at the lamp.

“Why’s it doing that, Daddy?” she asked.

Chad responded thoughtfully, “I don’t know. Maybe the breakers are messed up. I’ll have to

check on them. But I wonder about the power. That’s sort of the way it acts during a

thunderstorm when the power is about to go out.”

Jody shivered. “I hope it doesn’t go off. That would be too scary.”

“It’s okay for now.” Chad looked around. “Jody, where’s your cell phone?”

Jody pointed across the room. “It’s over there. On the dresser.”

Chad retrieved the phone and flipped it open. The cell’s screen remained dark. He fiddled

with it for a few minutes, but could get no response.

Chad made a face. “The cell phone’s dead. It’s not getting a signal,”

He reached for the bright purple vid-phone on Jody’s bedside table and flicked a switch. The

video monitor remained a featureless gray.

A buzzing sound issued from the speakers, an odd-sounding note. No matter what numbers

he spoke into it, the buzzing insistently continued. He tried 911 and the operator and got the same

frustrating result.

“Phone lines are out, too,” Chad said.

Jody looked worried. “Why?”

12



“I don’t know. But something is definitely up. Let’s turn on your TV and see if we can find

anything out.” Chad walked to the foot of Jody’s bed and turned on the little TV positioned on a

small table.

Static emitted from the television. Chad quickly flipped through the channels. Same result,

except for one channel that flashed a text message repeatedly.

The message, composed of blood red letters on a dark blue background, read, PLEASE

KEEP CHECKING THIS CHANNEL FOR FURTHER INFORMATION. THE U.S.

GOVERNMENT HAS DECLARED THE ENTIRE UNITED STATES UNDER MARTIAL

LAW. HOMELAND SECURITY WILL UPDATE AS NECESSARY. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR

HOMES UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. ARMED FORCES WILL BE ARRIVING IN

YOUR CITY TO MAINTAIN MARTIAL LAW. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOME.

Chad heard Jody gasp. He felt his own pulse racing.

The bedside light dimmed again, and then went out, plunging the room into total darkness.

The two sat huddled together, the only sound that of their strained breathing.

Then the light and the television came back on. Chad looked at Jody with relief.

Jody gripped his arm tightly. “Daddy, I’m scared. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, baby girl. Gotta be something pretty serious, though. You have a radio

around somewhere?”

“In my closet, I think. An old boom box.”

Chad rummaged in the closet for several minutes until he found the boom box, which had a

built-in radio. He prayed that the batteries were still good, switching the radio on.

The radio hummed to life. Chad searched the airwaves for news.

A recorded message similar to that on the television repeated itself on one of the radio

stations. The other stations didn’t even have static; they were eerily quiet. It was as if a giant hand

had turned the stations off.

13



Chad spun the dial through the frequencies again, this time more slowly. He paused. Was

that a voice he heard on one of the stations? He turned back. A faint whispery voice was

speaking, but he couldn’t understand what it was saying.

He turned the volume up all the way. Even with the sound at full force, Chad could barely

make out the words.

“---and once again, this is Twofer Duke from the University of Oklahoma.”

Chad listened intently. Jody leaned forward, straining to hear.

“I’m telling ya, it’s a mess around here. This campus is shut down. The radio station is

deserted and I’m the only one here. I’m not even sure this is getting out, but I gotta try. Worked

all day on boosting the power on this baby.

“The word is that most of the students and staff have died from this stuff. Myself, I was as

sick as a dog until three days ago. Once I got well enough to get out of my crib, I been trying to

find out what is going on. It’s a hotbed of confusion around here, with all kinds of stories flying

around, but near as I can figger, this sickness has hit the whole dang USA.”

The voice paused here. Chad heard what sounded like a sob.

“I I I don’t really know…”

Another long pause.

“Some folks are saying that this thing has killed off at least ninety percent of the population

and that the government is sending in armed forces to control the cities…”

Chad heard a loud banging in the background, then a strident male voice bellowing.

“Mr. Duke! Open this door immediately!”

Twofer Duke sighed dramatically. “Looks like they gonna interrupt my little talk. They

gonna take me away. Sit tight. Be cool. Don’t do anything the Twofer wouldn’t do…”

The sounds of a door slamming open and footsteps rushing in could be heard.

“Later –“

There was an audible click. Then silence.

14



Jody stared at the radio, wide-eyed.

“What did that mean, Daddy?”

Chad shook his head. “I don’t know exactly. But I’m starting to get the idea. It looks like the

sickness that we had wasn’t just some flu outbreak or something like that. It was a killer disease

that’s wiped out a big chunk of the country’s population.”

Jody said, her voice breaking, “And it killed Mom and Rob and Scott.”

Chad bowed his head. He bit his lip.

Jody rubbed her face with her hands.

“What are we going to do with them? We can’t just leave them there.”

Chad shook his head. “I don’t know, honey. But it looks like all the services are out. No way

to reach anyone. And I think the power is about to conk out, too.” As if to punctuate this last

statement, the light flickered again.

Chad scanned the room. He spotted Jody’s laptop.

“One more thing to try,” he said.

He lifted Jody’s laptop and snapped it open, activating the power.

The computer’s screen brightened; Chad had no trouble accessing the applications, though

the graphics seemed washed-out.

The Internet was a different story. Clicking the icon to access the Internet resulted in a stern

error message.

Chad tossed the laptop on the bed. His mouth set in a narrow line, he reported the bad news

to Jody. “The Internet’s gone, too. The power is the only thing left. The only reason we have any

at all is because the auto-servers can maintain power for a short time without people. But

eventually, without humans to maintain it, the power sources will break down, too.”

Jody worriedly asked, “When is that gonna happen?”

“I think soon, maybe another day or two. We’re experiencing brown-outs already.”

15



“Then what do we do?”

“We’ll figure something out. Let me think on it. Right now, the only thing we can do is get

some rest. In the morning, we’ll decide what to do.”

Jody’s eyes filled with tears. “This is awful. Things are never gonna be the same again, are

they?”

Chad felt his own heart wrench. He felt like falling on the floor and screaming. He couldn’t

do that. He had to remain rational, for Jody’s sake. She needed him. They didn’t have the luxury

of grieving; they had no choice but to move forward.

In normal times, he would have busied himself making arrangements to have the bodies of

his family taken away and then try to compose himself enough to contact friends and relatives

and make funeral arrangements.

But the world wasn’t right. It wasn’t ever going to be right again. Services he had long taken

for granted were gone.

Chad reached out and stroked Jody’s hair. He gently said, “There’s nothing we can do right

now. Let’s just get some sleep, okay?”

Jody clutched her father’s arm. “Daddy, don’t leave me here alone. Sleep with me tonight.”

Chad looked at her fearful face. “Okay.” He lay down on the bed beside Jody.

He softly said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m really tired. Let’s just go to sleep and try

not to think about things for awhile.”

Chad reached out to switch off the bedside lamp. Jody’s arm shot out, grabbing his arm.

“No! Leave the light on. I’m scared.” Her lips trembled. She pulled at her hair

Chad tilted his head, looking at Jody. He squeezed her shoulder. “Okay.”

Jody relaxed, letting go of her father’s arm and falling back on the bed. She looked up at

Chad.

“Daddy?”

16



“Hmm?”

“Daddy, are you scared?”

Was he scared? He’d never been more scared in his life. How could he plan for tomorrow

when he didn’t even know what would happen in the next five minutes? Chad threw up a silent

prayer. Oh, Lord, help us through this.

He looked steadily at Jody.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m scared. But we’re gonna be okay. Now, let’s just try to go to sleep.”

Jody burrowed into her pillow and closed her eyes.

Chad kissed her on the forehead and pulled a blanket over him and Jody. The two were

asleep within minutes.

The man sighed. So much work to do. He leaned back in his recliner, his rumpled clothes

becoming even more rumpled. His friends and colleagues teased him about the rumpled clothes

he always wore, but he insisted they were comfortable and that he didn’t care about looking

fashionable.

The Rumpled Man thought about the future. The Coming Together must happen. His far

sight showed him that Chad’s leadership was essential to its success. He had to bring Chad here.

But he needed to help Chad and Jody deal with their grief first.

He tenderly regarded them, and then concentrated on sending out a tentative, caressing wave

of warmth. In their slumber, father and daughter stirred, feeling an invisible, reassuring arm wrap

around them. Their bodies visibly relaxed.

17



Five years ago

Willow Tree, Texas

Internet Relay Chat (IRC) session

Chad heard the winds howling outside. Distant thunder boomed. Rain was coming. He

settled into his cushy office chair. Finally, everyone else had gone to sleep and he could talk to

his online friends about the startling events of the day.

Chad logged on to the channel. Instantly, the screen filled with video representations of each

of the participants chatting on the channel, seated in a comfortable living room setting.

They weren’t really in a living room, of course; this was merely a computer simulation of

their text chat. As the participants typed in text from their computers, their avatars spoke their

thoughts for them, while a simultaneous text representation scrolled at the bottom of the screen.

Chad could see that even at this late hour, a small group of chatters was active.

Chad selected his nick, Bearhug32 and began typing, using no caps or punctuation, the

common usage of chatters.

bearhug32> hey guys

lovetoon> hi bearhug

Lovetoon was Candy Gray, who lived in Fargo, North Dakota.

Who else had logged in? Chad swiveled his head, scanning the right hand side of his 26-inch

flat-screen monitor to look at the short list of nicks there.

He spotted mostly familiar nicks. Squeaky. Kate35. Cutebonnie. Philhead. Drbob. Squeaky

was Gary Norris, a sarcastic jokester from Knoxville, Tennessee. Cutebonnie’s real name was

Bonnie Ryan, an overbearing woman from Edmond, Oklahoma. Chad knew Kate35 lived in a

small town near the Everglades in Florida, but other than that, he knew very little about her; she

was very secretive about her personal life, choosing not to reveal her real name or where she

actually lived.

18



Chad grimaced when he saw that Drbob was signed in. That man was a colossal pain in the

neck.

Drbob dominated the channel, delighting in sardonic put-downs and ripping other channel

participants apart with his searing observations. His tactics included name-calling, accusations of

lying and loudly (by typing in all caps) proclaiming others’ sheer stupidity.

Chad didn’t hate the man, but he heartily disliked him, as did many others on the channel.

The last member of the group, Philhead, was the only channel member Chad had met face to

face. Phil Gordon lived in Georgetown, about 20 miles from the Allen family.

Chad had gotten together with Phil on many occasions; the two had become good friends.

Phil regarded Jody as the daughter he never had, going out of his way to make her feel special.

Chad turned his attention to the conversation in progress.

philhead> hey chad. what’s up?

kate35> hi bearhug

drbob> i see the channel genius has graced us with his presence.

cutebonnie> oh shut up, bob. i’m tired of your yammering.

drbob> why don’t you do us all a favor and log off, cutebonnie?

bearhug32> simmer down, you guys. so what do you think about the latest news?

philhead> you mean the news about mexico and iran building a nuclear weapon in secret?

That morning, the news had broken that Iran had established a presence in Mexico, with the

two countries plotting to launch a nuclear warhead to the heart of Texas, the first step in bringing

America to its knees.

Fortunately, Homeland Security had intercepted the secret communications between Mexico

and Iran and averted possible catastrophe, but only after a tense 36 hours in which it looked as if

19



the alliance of Mexico and Iran would launch the warhead they had buried in a secret location

outside of Mexico City.

American military troops had swarmed into Mexico City, and now controlled Mexico.

Americans everywhere breathed a long sigh of relief, while the Iranian people rioted impotently

in their homeland, vowing to destroy the United States.

bearhug32> yeah. that was scary, wasn’t it?

lovetoon> it sure was. what scares me, though, is that next time we might not stop them in

time.

drbob> you boobs don’t know anything. the government is just using this whole thing as an

excuse to invade iran and annex mexico into the united states. ignore what you see in the media.

it’s complete fabrication,

cutebonnie> and you know this, how, bob?

drbob> any intelligent person can see that our president wants more power, more excuses to

assert himself. he’s a complete idiot who should be tried in a court and convicted of treason.

cutebonnie> plttttt. don’t listen to bob. he’s ranting as usual.

kate35> i don’t think it’s made up. iran hates us and wants to bomb us all.

philhead> well, it’s hard to separate the facts from the rumors, but something happened

here. we need to be on our guard. we need to be prepared for what might happen in the future.

squeaky> hah. for what? some crazy iranian running into my house with a bomb strapped to

his chest? i’d just offer him some sugar pops cereal for breakfast and he’d forget all about the

bomb. hehehe.

drbob> squeaky, you are a moron. everything is a joke to you.

squeaky> well, just because you’re a doctor doesn’t mean you know everything. so why

don’t you just go away.

cutebonnie> well, we should take this seriously. you know what i think we should do?

20



bearhug32> what’s that?

cutebonnie> have a plan for all us IRCers in case something bad really does happen. like

maybe meet somewhere as a group.

kate35> i think that’s a great idea.

drbob> oh, you don’t seriously think we need to do this? i’m telling you, this is a bunch of

crap put out by the president and his henchmen.

philhead> go on, bonnie.

cutebonnie> let’s make a pact. let’s all meet somewhere if something really, really bad

happens. we can all meet here at my house. i will email directions to my house. print it out and

keep it in a safe place.

drbob> oh brother. this is ridiculous.

drbob has left the channel

bearhug32> don’t mind him. let’s do it, bonnie. i hope we never have to use it, but it sure

can’t hurt to have a plan in place.

cutebonnie> i’ll have it to everyone by tomorrow, even that distasteful drbob

Five years had passed since the little group had made their pact. The deep drifts of memory

had obscured that particular IRC chat session. The Rumpled Man knew he had much work ahead.

He’d have to stimulate Bonnie’s brain to retrieve the memory, then she could use her Gift to

remind the others of the pact they had made.

21



Bonnie Ryan

Edmond, Oklahoma

Bonnie Ryan lay in her soft bed, a lightweight green quilt pulled up to her chin, thinking

about the ruins of her beloved garden. She loved her garden. Nothing made her feel better than to

be in her garden, feeling the rich, loamy soil between her fingers, scattering the tiny seeds that

she knew would eventually grow into a flower or a vegetable or a fruit.

Her garden was gone. It had saddened her to look at the ruins of her garden; while the

sickness had ravaged her, someone had trampled the garden. Bonnie thought perhaps hungry dogs

had perpetuated the deed, in search of food.

As if to make up for the loss of her garden, she had thrown herself into cleaning her house, a

complete reordering of the house from top to bottom.

Other years had seen similar crusades, but none compared to this one. This one was the

mother of all “Bonnie-zillas,” as her sons liked to call her determined attacks against untidiness

and any germs that might be lurking in dark corners.

Her need to keep a clean and organized household bordered on the compulsive. Her son

loved to tell the story of how he had been eating lunch, and made a side trip to the restroom.

When he came back, he discovered that Bonnie had thrown his sandwich in the trash and

poured his soft drink down the drain, wiping the table clean and obliterating all traces of his

lunch.

Bonnie’s obsessive habits, paired with a controlling personality, contributed heavily to the

dissolution of her marriage.

The night before he fled the stress trap of his life, her husband, Ron, had said, sighing,

“Bonnie, I do love you. But you are just too controlling and too obsessed with keeping everything

in this house in order. It’s driving me insane.”

22



Bonnie protested, “I am not controlling! There’s nothing wrong with keeping a clean and

orderly house.”

“Not controlling? Then why is every single bill that comes to this house in your name? Why

can’t I grow a mustache without you threatening to withhold ‘bed privileges’ if I so much as let a

single hair sprout on my lip? Why can’t I sleep late on Saturdays because you have a long list of

things for me to do? Bonnie, you are a controlling person and it has worn on me over the years.

I’ve had it with that crap.”

Bonnie shouted at Ron, “You leave this house and you’re not coming back! You better think

long and hard about that.”

Ron grimaced. “I’ve thought about it, believe me. The best thing is for me to leave. Seth and

Tim are going with me.” Seth and Tim were their two teen-aged sons.

The next day, Ron and their two sons left for Oregon. Ron had planned this move for a

while, securing a job and house in Oregon, enlisting Tim and Seth’s cooperation with the plan.

Remembering this, Bonnie felt a sharp pang of regret. Okay. Maybe she was a bit

controlling. If things didn’t go according to the “Bonnie plan,” she felt angry, irritable and

anxious.

Ron had left three months ago. Now this. This was so unfair. Why did all this have to happen

to her?

Bonnie knew she had overdone the cleaning; it was too soon after her sickness. Her body

ached. Even just shifting in the bed brought sharp twinges of pain. Her eyelids fluttered. She was

so tired…

Bonnie had many vivid dreams. Then one dream came that wasn’t a dream…

Bonnie walked into a darkened room. She saw a small cherry-red glow and smelled the

comforting, rich aroma of a lit pipe. A voice spoke out of the darkness.

23



“Hello, Bonnie.”

Bonnie strained to see who was speaking, but could see nothing more than the vague outline

of a seated figure.

“Who are you?”

“My name isn’t important right now. Come with me. We have much to do.”

She felt him lightly touch her. A tingling sensation buzzed in her head. Suddenly, a moving

image flooded her mind. She saw herself sitting in front of her computer, typing.

“Move closer, Bonnie.”

Bonnie obeyed. As she drew closer, she could see the words on the computer monitor. The

tendrils of memory stirred.

“Oh, that’s from five years ago, after Iraq and Mexico nearly bombed our country. We made

a pact to all meet again if something terrible happened. I’d forgotten about that.”

“The time is now. You must all meet. You must remind the others of this pact.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“You have a Gift. Use it.”

“A Gift?”

“Yes. You can walk into others’ dreams. Concentrate. Let your mind roam.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You can do it. Clear your mind of clutter.”

Bonnie still didn’t understand, but she felt the voice’s urgency. She stood stock-still, trying

to empty her mind. She felt silly.

“You’re doing fine. Keep trying.”

She renewed her efforts. Suddenly, she felt a whoosh in her mind. Images blurred in rapid

succession before finally coalescing.

Bonnie opened her eyes again. She stood in a room lit only by a pale glimmer of moonlight.

Two figures lay on a bed, huddled together.

24



“Reach into their dreams, Bonnie. Tell them that they must travel to your house.”

Bonnie took a step towards the bed. The moonlight fragmented and the bed’s outlines

blurred.

She saw a man and a young girl standing in front of her. The man had a reddish-brown beard

and light brown hair. He was not very tall and was compactly built. His mild brown eyes calmly

gazed at Bonnie. The girl had startlingly blue eyes and short brown hair the same shade as the

man. Thin and gangly, she looked to be in the early stages of puberty. She tightly grasped the

man’s hand.

The man looked oddly familiar, but Bonnie couldn’t place him. Realization suddenly

flooded into her. Why, that was Chad Allen. She recognized him from photos he had placed on

the IRC channel they both frequented.

The voice spoke again.

“That’s right, Bonnie. Speak to Chad. Tell him that he and his daughter must travel to your

house. Tomorrow. They need to leave tomorrow.”

Bonnie hesitatingly spoke.

“Chad?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“I’m Bonnie Ryan. From #Wayfarers. Remember me?”

“I do. What are you doing in my dream?” Chad turned his head to look at the young girl,

who looked quizzically at him.

“Chad. Remember the pact we made five years ago? When we said if something terrible

happened, we’d all meet at my house? It’s time. Come to my house in Edmond. Leave

tomorrow.”

Chad didn’t seem surprised. He considered what Bonnie had said and then turned to the

young girl.

25



“You heard what she said, Jody. Now I know what we’re supposed to do. We’re going to

Bonnie’s house tomorrow.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Bonnie raised a hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Be careful.”

Chad and Jody stared at her. Bonnie felt herself fading away. She heard the mysterious voice

speaking to her again.

“Come. We have more people to visit.”

That night, Bonnie slipped into the dreams of the other five people, reminding them of the

pact and that it was urgent that they come to her house in Edmond. Not two days from now. Not a

week from now. Tomorrow.

The Rumpled Man smiled in satisfaction. If all went well, tomorrow night, Chad Allen, Jody

Allen, Bonnie Ryan, Bob Rodgers, Gary Norris, Katie Jurenka and Phil Gordon would all be

gathered at Bonnie’s house, preparing for their long trek northward.

That left one more person to bring into the fold. None of the others knew this person. The

Rumpled Man ran his hands through his hair. This would be a difficult task, to bring this young

man to Bonnie’s house. He had to think this through.

26



27



Day 2—June 13th

Gary Norris

Knoxville, Tennessee

Gary Norris had been visited by Bonnie in his dreams. He woke up, Bonnie’s voice still

echoing in his head. He tried to go back to sleep, but sleep eluded him. His mind buzzed with the

possibilities. He stole a glance at his digital clock. 2:18 am.

He finally gave up, flinging the thin summer-weight covers off and clambering out of bed.

He was pretty sure he still had the directions Bonnie sent him somewhere on his computer.

The lit screen of his laptop provided the only light in the darkened room. Large, bold text

carefully spelled out directions to Bonnie’s house.

“Man, this is crazy. Some woman appears to me in a dream and I’m supposed to drive like a

thousand miles to her house?” Gary said out loud, talking to himself. He snorted. “Yeah, right. I

ain’t gonna do it. No way. No how.”

The Rumpled Man observed, only mildly alarmed. He felt confident he could change Gary’s

mind. He insistently pushed, probing Gary’s brain. Ah. There. There was the spot. Now if he

could manipulate it just so…

Gary felt an odd sensation in his head, like a small, annoying insect buzzing about. He

rubbed his head with his hands. Man, this was weird.

He turned his attention back to Bonnie’s directions. Maybe he should check this thing out.

Hell, did he have anything better to do? The whole sickness thing had weirded him out; he

needed to get off his ass and do something.

The Rumpled Man laughed. A small victory had been scored. Gary was on his way to

Edmond.

28



Now that Gary had made the decision; he was pumped. Why wait until morning? He could

be on the road in an hour.

He knew Knoxville was locked down tight with the martial law stuff. Homeland Security

agents and military forces closely monitored every exit and every entrance. Permission was

granted to few people.

The government maintained a stony silence, giving no reasons for the crackdown.

Speculation ran rampant, but no one really knew just what was going down.

A few brave, or perhaps just plain stupid citizens, bristling at restrictions on their personal

freedom, had made efforts to leave town. They were quickly apprehended by soldiers, who

swooped down and spirited them away.

Gary Norris empathized with the resistance movement; he went where he pleased and he did

not like anyone telling him different.

But even Gary, bullheaded as he was, couldn’t run a gauntlet of Homeland Security agents.

The place was crawling with agents and the military. Why Knoxville was so heavily guarded, he

had no idea, but he resented the government’s presence and set about thinking of ways to get

around the heavy security.

The idea came to him quickly. Not too far from his house was a dirt road that went nearly all

the way to the freeway. The road dead-ended in a field, but he knew if he crossed that field, he

would emerge on the service road that paralleled the freeway, about four miles west of Knoxville.

His sturdy Jeep could roar across the field just as easily as if it were on a paved road.

If he left right now, the plan might just work. Homeland Security agents regularly patrolled

the streets, but if he was careful, he might be able to slip past them and drive the half mile to the

dirt road undetected. He knew agents might unexpectedly swing through the area, but he was

prepared to take that chance.

29



Earlier, Gary had gassed up his car. Non-essential personnel were restricted to a quarter tank

of gas, but he had gotten around the new regulation by paying a couple of teen-agers to give him

their gas allotment.

All he had to do was wave some cash in front of their noses and it was a done deal. The

youngsters had purchased gas and then furtively siphoned gas from their car into Gary’s car.

He’d throw his stuff together right now. He was ready to rock and roll, man.

Gary shoved the last of his belongings into his little Jeep. Somewhere, dogs barked urgently

at each other. Other than the yapping dogs, the night was silent. Not unusual for the middle of the

night, but Gary had never experienced such an utter silence. It unnerved him; he felt as if the

blackness might swallow him, with no witness except the stars and the piece of a moon.

He shuddered.

Ah Gary, stop being such a weenie.

Just for the fun of it, he barked back at the dogs, hoping to confuse them and to lighten the

mood. This set the dogs into a frenzy and he laughed. He slammed the hatch shut.

He felt better. He felt ready to go. He remembered his mother telling him, “Gary, every

minute you stand there dawdlin’ is a minute you could have been doing something. Once a

minute is gone, it’s gone forever. You don’t get it back.”

The dogs had quieted now. Gary let out a howl just to stir them up again, grinning when a

chorus of dogs joined him.

He leaned his tall, lanky frame against the car, absent-mindedly twisting his fingers in his

blond ponytail. Gary’s long face became serious as he realized the magnitude of what he was

about to attempt. He nervously stroked his blond scrub of a mustache, then folded his lean body

into the car.

Gary checked the street one last time. Empty and quiet.

30



He carefully pulled out of the long, curving driveway. He drove slowly, without his lights

and coasted when he could. The houses he passed seemed so melancholy, so forlorn.

Before the plague, even late at night, if Gary drove past, he’d see warm yellow lights and

wide screen TVs flickering, their light creating bluish shadows in dark living rooms.

Now the houses squatted, dark and empty, with not even an echo of the lives that had once

existed inside their familiar confines.

He soon spotted the old dirt road. It ended in an empty lot next to two houses under

construction. Gary wondered if the houses would ever be finished now.

He slowly pulled onto the bumpy road, still driving without his lights. He needed to get to

the copse of trees just around the bend, then he’d be out of sight and could turn his headlights

back on.

The quarter-mile to the grouping of trees seemed to take an eternity to get to, but finally, he

spotted the spidery branches silhouetted against the black sky, barely visible in the moonlight

emitting from the fragile little piece of moon. He breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part was

behind him.

Gary continued on his way, soon reaching the broad expanse of the field he knew led to the

service road by the Interstate. The quarter moon had risen higher in the sky; thin clouds scudded

past it like fragile wisps of smoke.

The pack of dogs began baying again. They must have heard his car. Well, let ‘em bark, he’d

be out of here soon anyhow.

Distracted by the dogs, Gary didn’t see the huge mud puddle until it was too late. The Jeep

splashed into the middle of the puddle, promptly becoming stuck.

He floored the accelerator, hoping the sudden burst of speed would propel the car out of the

mire.

No go. He was gonna have to get out and push the damn thing.

31



Gary carefully placed the car’s gearshift into neutral and got out, muttering under his breath.

Crap. He hadn’t even gone two miles. Why was it so damnably hard to do this?

He leaned his shoulder against the Jeep’s back end and pushed. Uhhhhhh. The thing wasn’t

budging. Gonna have to push harder. In the background, the dogs’ barking continued, unabated.

What was that? He turned. The dogs sounded closer, much closer. The chorus of barks grew

to a deafening din.

He looked behind him and saw a huge black mass racing across the field towards him at top

speed.

Oh Lord. The dogs were coming straight at him. He needed to give the dogs something to

eat, something to distract them from eating him.

Gary scrabbled in his pocket for his keys. He yanked them out and shakily pushed the little

button that popped the back hatch, all too aware that the dogs were getting closer and closer. The

pack was moving fast ; if the pack of dogs swarmed him, it wasn’t gonna be a pretty sight.

He had a sudden, disturbing vision of the dogs tearing his throat open and greedily lapping

up the blood spurting out.

The back hatch flew open; Gary looked over his shoulder. The pack was nearly upon him.

Where was the food he had packed? Gary frantically felt around. Oh God, it was too late, he

could hear the dogs now, they were only a few feet from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shape racing in front of the pack. It tensed and then its

lithe form sprang into the air. Just as it launched itself toward him, Gary’s hands closed upon a

bag of potato chips. Gary frantically tore open the bag, potato chips flying through the air.

An ear-splitting yowl pierced the air as the form landed on Gary’s chest, claws digging

through his shirt into the skin. Gary, off balance, began falling. They both slammed into the

ground, hard.

32



Gary looked down. A cat clung to his chest, staring at him. Gary could feel little puffs of air

coming from its mouth. Its breath smelled peculiar. He threw up his arms, prepared to defend

himself against the cat’s claws going for his face.

However, the cat didn’t seem inclined to fight. It calmly sat, gazing at Gary, wide-eyed.

To the side, the pack of dogs ripped into the bag of potato chips that had fallen to the ground,

shoving their noses into it.

Gary could only see black silhouettes in the faint moonlit night, but he clearly heard the dogs

as they noisily devoured the potato chips. When the dogs finished, they all expectantly sat on

their haunches in front of Gary. There were five of them.

Gary still lay on the ground, the cat comfortably perched on his chest. He waved his arms in

the air. “Go home, dogs. No more potato chips. Get out of here.”

One of the dogs ambled over to Gary’s prone form and began gratefully licking Gary’s face

with his long tongue.

“Oh yeah. A few minutes ago, you and your buddies were ready to tear apart this poor cat.

Now you lose interest because of one lousy bag of potato chips. You are one fickle dog.”

The dog looked at him rather agreeably and licked Gary’s face again.

Gary sat up. He pried the cat’s claws from his shirt and placed it on the ground.

Brushing at the mud and dirt that covered his t-shirt and shorts, he again tried to get the dogs

to leave.

“Dogs, I still gotta get this car out of the mud. Go home,” Gary said. He looked at the cat.

“You, too, cat.”

The cat didn’t move. It disdainfully looked at Gary and began grooming itself. Gary stood

up, still brushing debris off his clothes.

The dogs inched toward the cat. Gary spied the motion and ran at the dogs, yelling at them.

The dogs turned and fled, barking hoarsely as they ran away.

33



The cat padded over to Gary, rubbing himself against his legs. Gary bent over and scratched

the cat’s ears. The cat flicked out a little pink tongue, licking his hand.

Startled at the sandpapery feel of the cat’s tongue, Gary stood up. The cat looked up at him.

Its eyes shined in the dim moonlight. The cat reached out a paw, batting Gary’s leg lightly.

Gary shook his head. “I don’t have anything for you, cat. Go home.”

The cat meowed loudly, but didn’t move. He nudged a stick on the ground towards Gary.

Gary stared. He’d never seen a cat do that before.

“What do you want me to do with that?” Gary asked the cat in an exasperated tone.

In response, the cat pushed the stick closer to Gary.

This was one weird cat. Did the cat actually want to play fetch?

“You want to play fetch?” Gary looked around for a place where he could throw the stick.

Maybe if he threw it far enough into the blackness, the cat wouldn’t be able to find the stick and

would go away.

Gary could make out the silhouette of a large clump of grass about twenty yards away. Gary

picked up the stick and threw it into the twisted tangle of grass. The cat streaked over to the spot

where the stick had landed. At first, he seemed puzzled, but soon let out a satisfied mewl, dug the

stick out of the thick snarl of grass and trotted back to Gary with the stick clamped firmly

between its teeth, looking rather proud of itself.

Gary rubbed his face with his hands. A cat fetching a stick? Now he’d seen everything.

“You like to play, huh?” Gary patted the cat on its head. He threw the stick again and again.

The cat didn’t tire of this game, each time bringing the stick back to Gary, but Gary’s arm quickly

became tired.

“Okay, cat. I’m tired now. You have to go home,” Gary said, heaving himself to his feet.

The cat didn’t budge. “Not gonna go home, huh? Okay, suit yourself. I got work to do here.”

After much exertion, grunting all the while, Gary finally pushed the Jeep out of the mud. The

cat quietly sat, watching him.

34



Exhausted from the effort, Gary slumped in his car to rest. The door was still ajar; the cat

leaped into the car, landing in Gary’s lap. He settled comfortably there. Gary stroked the cat’s fur.

After a few minutes, Gary pushed the cat off his lap, saying, “Okay, I gotta get going. Move

so I can shut the door.”

Instead of moving, the cat jumped off Gary’s lap onto the passenger seat.

“What? You wanna go with me?” Gary said, nudging the cat with his finger.

The cat cocked his head, seeming to implore Gary with his large green eyes.

Animals all over town had been orphaned when their masters died of the sickness. Gary

supposed this cat was one of them. Heck, it couldn’t hurt to let the cat go with him Be nice to

have a little company, even if it was only a cat.

“Okay, cat. You can come. But you behave. No usin’ my car as a litter box. You do that, and

out you go. And I gotta give you a name. Can’t just keep calling you ‘cat.’”

Gary thought for a few seconds and said the first name that popped into his head, which

happened to be his late father’s name.

“Stanley. I’m gonna call you Stanley,” Gary said.

The cat looked at him. He couldn’t tell Gary that his name had once been Lucas and that his

master had dumped him into a ditch when he became sick and his master thought he had died.

The emaciated cat had lain in the ditch for several days, waking up, weak and disoriented,

when several birds pecked at him. After he recovered, he had roamed the town, foraging on any

scraps and food he could find in overflowing trash bins and dumpsters.

While searching for food, the cat had the misfortune of stumbling upon a pack of hungry

dogs. The dogs had taken exception to the cat’s invading their territory and given chase.

Gary flicked the car’s dome light on. He examined Stanley in the weak light. The cat quietly

gazed back at him. Stanley was a rather handsome fella, actually, with his thick gray fur, lustrous

35



green eyes and placid expression. Gary wasn’t sure what breed the cat was. Some breed with

thick fur and long whiskers.

“Well, buddy, time’s a-wasting. Gonna be daylight before too long, so we better haul. Let’s

get after it.”

Gary continued on his way, his original plan altered by the presence of a cat.

They soon reached the service road and entered the freeway. Gary whooped as the Jeep

accelerated onto the highway.

“Yeah! We got past them gov’mint agents, eh? They think they’re so smart. Hah,” Gary

exulted.

Stanley arched his back and bared his teeth, seeming to smile, then lifting a paw in the air,

yowled, a high, screeching sound. He settled contentedly on the passenger seat.

Gary directed a steady stream of comments at the cat. Through it all, Stanley continuously

watched him, his eyes never leaving Gary’s face. Every now and then, he purred contentedly,

drawing a grin from Gary to grin. He liked this cat.

After the pair had been driving nearly an hour, Gary felt pangs of hunger stirring his belly.

Time for an early breakfast. Maybe some stale doughnuts that he had stashed in a ripped-up donut

box for just that purpose.

Gary glanced over at the cat.

“You hungry, fella?”

Stanley nodded his head up and down.

Gary frowned. Did that cat just answer his question? No way. He musta had a fly in his ear

or something.

“Do you like doughnuts?” Gary asked, holding up a chocolate frosted doughnut he had

retrieved from the box.

The cat nodded again, waving a paw in the air.

36



Gary blinked. Either this cat was answering his questions or Gary was having some sort of

bizarre hallucination.

“Are you a cat?” Gary asked.

Stanley enthusiastically nodded.

Gary tried another question. “Are you a man?”

The cat gave Gary a look, as if to say “Are you crazy?” then shook his head from side to

side.

Holy crap! This cat was answering his questions!

Gary tossed Stanley a couple of doughnuts, and as they companionably ate, he experimented

by asking the cat a series of questions.

Gary soon found out that the cat could only answer simple questions relating to his life as a

cat. If he posed a question to Stanley, such as “Do you like rap music?” the cat would stared at

him uncomprehendingly, unable to answer a question on a subject he had no knowledge of.

The cat fascinated Gary. What made Stanley like this? How was it even possible that a cat

could answer questions? He supposed in this world anything was possible now, but still…

Gary’s musings were cut short as his rear view mirror was filled with a blocky car, traveling

very fast, its dome light flashing. The car barreled down the freeway, rapidly closing the distance

between them.

Gary ignored the flashing lights and kept on driving.

A couple of minutes later, he saw that a car window was down and a hand holding a gun

waved out the window. Nothing was said, but the message was clear.

Man, this guy played rough.

Gary was unconcerned. They couldn’t do anything to him. He’d done nothing. He was still a

citizen of the United States, and by God, he had rights.

Gary slowly pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road.

The other car pulled in behind him, its bumper almost touching the rear end of the Jeep.

37



Looking at Stanley, Gary said, “Okay, boy, be quiet. No noise. And don’t answer questions.

Do you understand me?”

The cat nodded.

“Good boy.” Gary gently patted Stanley’s furry head.

Gary saw two forms walking towards him, In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if they were male

or female.

As the duo approached, Gary saw it was two black men walking at a steady gait towards his

car, both wearing suits.

The similarity ended there. One man was of average height, but broad-shouldered, his very

features screaming government. His face was smooth as glass, with carefully sculpted hair cut

very close, complemented by a perfectly proportioned chin. The man’s eyes displayed no

emotion, and neither did his mouth, which was set in a firm line.

The other man was about five inches taller than his partner was, lean almost to the point of

gauntness. Long, snaky dreadlocks corkscrewed from his head, touching the shoulders of his

carefully tailored suit. He had long sideburns that slashed nearly to his chin, startling green eyes

and an elongated chin that jutted out of his face.

Smoothness walked up to Gary’s Jeep, sharply rapping the window with his knuckles.

Gary lowered the window. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Norris.”

“Yeah, that’s me. You know my name, huh?”

“We’re Homeland Security agents. We have access to that kind of information.”

Behind Smoothness, Dreadlocks grinned and rolled his eyes.

“Is that so?” Gary said.

“Yes.” Smoothness said. “Mr. Norris. Can you explain why you are engaging in

unauthorized travel out of Knoxville?”

“I’m not. I’m on the road from North Carolina,” Gary replied.

38



Smoothness fixed Gary with an icy stare. “Mr. Norris, it is useless to try to deceive us. We

have an internal database of over 1500 terabytes. Based on your license plate number, we

instantly pulled up the necessary information on you. You live in Knoxville. You are violating

martial law by leaving the city.”

This guy really pissed Gary off.

“Well, yeah, last I heard, the government has to give us a good reason for imposing martial

law. I ain’t heard nothing about that.”

“Mr. Norris, you are incorrect. The government can impose martial law anytime it feels it is

necessary. We are not required to give a reason for such actions.”

Even the quick-witted Gary couldn’t think of a response to this line of reasoning. He fell

silent.

When Homeland Security began in 2002, it was a small agency, but in the last decade and a

half, it had mushroomed in size and importance to the point it was far larger than the FBI, CIA or

any other domestic intelligence agency.

Smoothness continued.

“Mr. Norris, please enlighten us as to the purpose of your unauthorized travel.”

Gary’s resolve returned with a sudden rush.

“You know, unless you are charging me with a crime, I don’t gotta tell you anything. It’s my

business where and why I travel.”

At this point, Dreadlocks leaned in very close to the window, flashing a toothy smile.

“Look, cowboy,” he said.

“Don’t call me cowboy.”

Dreadlocks ignored him. “Cowboy, do you have any idea of what we can do to you? Hey,

not saying anything’s gonna happen, but just imagine this: we take you away to a dark room. We

don’t let you sleep. We don’t feed you. We might even throw in a little waterboarding, just for

fun. You ever hear of waterboarding?”

39



Gary had heard of waterboarding, a special type of torture designed to make a captive feel as

if he were drowning. He closed his eyes, fear screaming in his brain.

“Cowboy, let’s get something straight here. We’re Homeland Security. We can question

anyone we friggin’ well please, whether you like it or not.” Dreadlocks leaned in closer, grinning

insanely. “I don’t wanna overuse a stale cliché here, but we do indeed have ways of making you

talk, and you would not like a single one of them. Unless you’re one of those nuts who gets off on

pain and torture, I am reasonably sure you will talk to us.”

Dreadlocks winked and grinned at Gary.

He thought the dude might be bluffing, but the look of wildness in Dreadlocks’ eyes

unnerved him. Gary caved, words gushing out in a torrent.

Gary was a loyal man, but not a brave one. He felt guilty for spilling the beans, but really,

what choice did he have? It was his ass on the line here. He talked.

He told the agents about the pact he and his friends had made five years earlier and about the

plan to gather at Bonnie’s house in the event of disaster. He handed over the sheet of directions to

Bonnie’s house. Stanley looked at him reproachfully. Gary felt even guiltier.

When Gary finished, Dreadlocks laughed and said, “Now you’re talking, man.”

Smoothness shot Dreadlocks a look. Dreadlocks looked embarrassed, stepping aside.

In a surprisingly gentle manner, Smoothness said, “Mr. Norris. Forgive our atrocious

manners, but we are pressed for time. Allow me to introduce ourselves.”

He pulled out his three-dimensional identification badge, showing it to Gary.

“I’m Agent Carpenter,” he said.

He nudged Dreadlocks.

“Oh yeah.” Dreadlocks retrieved his badge. “Name’s Ashton. Great to meet ya.”

He laughed again. Carpenter silenced him with a curt look.

Gary said, “Well, hey, you guys got first names? Since you know so much about me, how

‘bout giving up a little about yourself?”

40



Carpenter ignored him.

“Now, Mr. Norris, tell us. Do you have any unusual abilities?”

Stanley the cat had been sitting quietly during this whole exchange, but he suddenly looked

up and loudly yowled, startling Gary and the agents.

Carpenter said, “Mr. Norris, does your cat pose any danger?”

Gary looked incredulous. “Stanley? You worried about a cat? He’s harmless.”

Carpenter curtly said, “That may be so, but we may have to ask you to restrain him if he

makes any more threatening noises.”

Gary looked sternly at the cat. “Stanley, be quiet! Not a peep out of you!”

Stanley looked away from Gary.

Carpenter smiled a thin smile. “Now, Mr. Norris, let us continue our conversation. Tell us

about any unusual abilities you may have.”

Gary smiled broadly. “Well, okay. I can play the guitar pretty well and folks tell me I’m a

pretty good singer and a really funny guy, good with the jokes.”

“No, not like that. Can you do anything highly unusual, things that other people can’t do?”

Carpenter persisted.

Gary mused for a moment. “Well, I used to be able to fart the alphabet. I bet I could still do

it if I tried. Should I try to do it for you?”

Carpenter looked disgusted. Ashton tried to stifle a smile. Carpenter went on, “Never mind.

You must lead us to your friends. We must locate them and isolate them for their own safety.”

Gary didn’t like the sound of this at all, but he figured he had no choice, at least until he

figured out how to get himself out of this mess.

“Okay. I guess you got me by the short hairs, huh? Whaddya want me to do?”

Ashton interrupted. “Dude, all you gotta do is take us to your homies. If you don’t help us,

then we deal with you. Simple enough for you to comprehend, amigo?”

41



Carpenter hastily said, “What my partner means is that we expect you to cooperate as we

travel together to Edmond to intercept your friends. No one will come to any harm. This is for the

best.”

Gary shrugged. “I get it. You guys stay cool, okay? Let’s go.”

THE EIGHT -- Excerpt

Documents