The Good Atheist (21 page)

“No, Jack, that’s not entirely it and you know it.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is that you have been going soft in the head lately. Getting metaphysical notions. Entertaining thoughts of intellectual anarchy. I couldn’t watch what was happening to you any longer.”

“I see no harm in free thought.”

She directed an index finger at me. “You see. That’s my point. Free thought has been clearly defined and you are deviating from it. I had to do something.”

“At the risk of stating the obvious, I think that free thought ought to allow us to explore ideas and come to our own conclusions.”

“Fine, as long as it doesn’t include God.”

“So, in order to get back at me, you turned Paige in.”

She stood up, her angry words saturated with hurt. “You put me in this position, Jack. By bringing that girl in, you put me in a position where I was forced to make a terrible choice. You forced me into calling the Tolerance Police, putting us both at risk. Instead of being angry, you should thank me. If it wasn’t for me, they would have taken you away along with Paige.”

“What do I have to thank you for?”

“I made a deal with them,” she said quietly.

“What kind of deal?”

“In return for informing on Paige, they agreed not to arrest you. I assured them you are still a good atheist. Although your stupidity last night almost negated the deal, they agreed to keep their deal on the condition that you get counseling.”

That explained why I awoke on my back on the front porch, instead of in a jail cell. And why the Executrix came by to assess the level of counseling I needed, instead of arresting me. Just then something the Executrix had said as she was leaving penetrated my groggy head. Something about the rehab centers in the region about to be too full to bother with a borderline case like me.

I checked my pockets for my phone. It wasn’t there. “Selene, have you seen my phone?”

“I found it on the porch this morning. It must have fallen out of your pocket last night during your fight with the Inquisitor.”

“Where is it?”

She stood up, her face tight with anxiety. “What do you want with it?”

“I need to order a pizza. What do you think I want my phone for?”

“You’re in no shape to go driving. You need to get some rest.”

 I ignored her and stood up. It wasn’t so bad this time, and I made it to the front door, swung it open, and yelled: “Where is my phone?”

The phone recognized my voice and started playing a Led Zeppelin song ‘Climbing up Mount Probability’ - originally titled ‘Stairway to Heaven’ until it was renamed by the Pure Thought Commission. It kept playing until I found it on top of the fridge. I grabbed it and headed for the front door, as quickly as my aching body allowed.

Selene followed me through the house. “Where are you going?”

“I need to get within cell range and make some calls.”

“I want to come with you.”

I stopped in the threshold of the front door and turned around. “Sorry, dear. Not this time.”

She grabbed my forearm. “Don’t be angry with me. Can’t you see? I was trying to help you. You need help!”

I looked down at her hand on my arm, and then up into her eyes. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs help.”

Her hand slipped off my arm. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Why do you care?”

“Do you expect me to just sit around this old dump waiting?”

“Frankly, after what you’ve done I don’t care what you do now,” I said. Then I turned and left.

16

I picked up a carrier signal a few miles down the road, just outside of town. I told my phone to call Jorge first.

“Hello, this is Jorge…”

“Jorge, where are you?”

“…I’m sorry I can’t answer the phone right now…”

I waited for the beep. “Jorge, it’s Jack Callaghan. Listen, I hope I’ve reached you in time. Don’t come to the cottage for Paige.” Then I told him what happened, finishing with the Executrix’s cryptic words about the rehabs about to be too full. “I’ll leave it with you to decide what that means, but it’s not hard to guess.”

Then I disconnected and called Lucius. A cranky voice came on after a few rings. “Yes?”

“Lucius, this is Jack Callaghan.”

An audible sigh on the other end. “Look, Jack. I’ve told you everything I can about your father.”

“Lucius, I’m not calling for that. I’m calling to warn you.”

“About what?”

“The Tolerance Bureau may be coming by to ask you a few questions.” Then I gave him a quick rundown of my conversation with the Executrix. “They knew about my trip to Iowa last week to see you.”

There was silence from his end of the circuit.

“I’m sorry, Lucius.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not exactly hiding under a rock out here. It was only a matter of time.”

“What are you going to do?”

“As in what?”

“I don’t know. Run. Hide. Something.”

“You mean like go underground and get myself up to Canada or something?”

“Something.”

“Not likely. I’m too old for that. Besides, the weather sucks up there.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I’ll wait here and see if they show up looking for me. Then I’ll answer their questions like a good citizen.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“I’ll tell them what they want to hear. I doubt they’ll do anything. They’ve got their hands full rounding up the real believers. They don’t have time for guys like me.”

“But you’re unorthodox,” I said.

“They’ll never know how unorthodox I am. You don’t think I’m stupid enough to tell them what I really think, do you?”

I didn’t say anything. I came to the bridge into town and started across.

“Oh, I forgot. You are stupid enough,” Lucius said. “You probably couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”

“It’s one of my most endearing character flaws.”

“Well, character flaws like that will get you arrested in this country. Try to keep your mouth shut next time. It sounds like they’re planning something bad.”

I crossed the bridge and slowed down as I entered town. Green army trucks and black Tolerance interceptors lined both sides of the street. Inquisitors patrolled the sidewalk, while others stood at the corners.

“Jack, you still there?” I took the first right to get off the main street.

“Yeah, I’m still here. It looks like the bad thing is already happening.”

“Be careful. Try not to do anything too stupid.”

“Hey, you know me.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he said, then disconnected.

I drove two more blocks and came to a tree-lined street of tidy little brick homes. It might have looked like a Norman Rockwell painting, if it hadn’t been for all the army trucks.

Neighbors stood in small groups on the sidewalk and porches watching the show as Inquisitors ran across a lawn towards one of the houses.

I got off that street. “Route me to Jorge’s,” I said to the car.

A street map of Aylmer materialized on the heads-up display, and I followed the car’s directions. I didn’t have far to go. One of the nice things about small towns is that nothing is ever very far from where you are.

I’d almost reached Jorge’s house when a large black Tolerance interceptor blocked the street. It hovered a few feet off the ground, swaying a bit in the breeze. Inquisitors stood on the sidewalk. I came to a stop. About a dozen men and woman sitting in the back stared at me through the open back hatch. Some held suitcases. One young woman held a baby on her lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks. More people gathered at the corner and on front lawns.

I decided to stay put. I didn’t want to turn around and risk bringing attention to myself, or otherwise give the Inquisitors reason to think I might be trying to get away. So I sat tight and waited, and I did my best to look the part of a disinterested citizen who was just annoyed at the traffic inconvenience.

Two Inquisitors came out of the house next to me, holding a teen-aged boy between them. Another Inquisitor crossed the street with an old man in handcuffs from another house. They reached the back of the truck about the same time. The old man and the teenager climbed into the back and sat down with the others. Then the doors swung closed and hid them all from sight. The Inquisitors got into the front of the truck, and it moved away. It moved slowly down the street and turned at the next block. I waited until it was out of sight before starting the engine.

Jorge’s place was two blocks over. It looked calm, almost normal. No black trucks or Tolerance troopers, or crowds watching the excitement. I wondered if the Bureau had already swept this block and I was too late. I pulled into his driveway and got out.

The house system answered me when I asked for Jorge.

“I’m afraid he is not in at the moment, Mister Callaghan.”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not authorized to divulge any information concerning his activities.”

“It’s important that I reach him.”

“My apologies, but I’m not at liberty.”

Jorge wasn’t expecting me, so it wasn’t surprising he hadn’t left instructions with the house for me. There was no point in arguing with a piece of software. I left another message with the house. “Can you get that to him?”

“I will relay the message.”

My next move was Clive’s. I didn’t know Clive all that well, but he was a good friend of Jorge’s and he might now where he was. Failing that, my next stop would be Rosie’s. Lucy seemed to be the nexus of the town’s social network.

I didn’t have his cell number, but Clive lived on the edge of town. I reached his place in ten minutes. Several people were crossing the street towards Clive’s house as I pulled up to the curb and stopped. They joined a crowd already gathering on Clive’s front lawn.

The front door to Clive’s tidy little bungalow was wide open, swinging gently in the breeze. I got out of my car and approached the group on the lawn, fearing the worst. “What happened here?” I asked.

A middle-aged woman in sweats and house slippers looked at me. “What do you think? It’s the same thing that’s happening all over town.” She shook her head solemnly.

The others all started talking at the same time.

“Such a shame.”

“Who would have guessed?”

“And he seemed like such a nice, normal person.”

“They just took Janice and Alex an hour ago.”

“I saw them dragging Janice across the front lawn into the truck, kicking and screaming.”

“Clive had more dignity than that. Held his head up high the whole time.”

 “I had no idea he was a faith-head.”

“Kooks.”

“Yeah, kooks,” others chimed in.

“Religious crazies,” a woman said, spinning a finger around her ear. “When will we ever finally get rid of them?”

“The sooner the better,” an older man said with a scowl, punctuating his words by spitting on the grass.

“What makes you think Clive was crazy?” I asked.

“What kind of question is that? Of course they are crazy – believing in ghosts in the sky.”

“If that’s not crazy, I don’t know what is,” the woman in the sweatpants said.

“He didn’t seem crazy to me,” I said. Every head within hearing distance snapped my way. I never seem to learn when to keep my mouth shut.

“You’re not one of them, are you?” she said, taking a step back.

“No, I’m not. I just don’t think…” but it was too late for any kind of reasoning. A middle-aged guy cut me off. “You must be. Why else would you defend him?”

“Christian-lover,” one of them spat, and the crowd smelled blood.

“Oh my God,” another woman said while backing away from me. She pulled out a cellphone. “I don’t want to catch any of your religious memes.” Several of them pulled out cellphones in unison and began speaking into them.

It was time to go.

I hurried back to my car. Fortunately no one tried to stop me. I got in and drove away. The crowd on the lawn stayed where they were, every head turning to watch me as I passed by. Half of them were talking into cellphones. I wondered how many would think to get my license plate.

I still hoped to find Jorge quickly. I drove slowly across town towards Rosie’s. The same scene repeated itself on almost every block. Groups of neighbors milling around on front lawns and sidewalks. Big black trucks parked along the streets. Soldiers walking up to houses, or escorting handcuffed civilians towards the back of a truck.

A tall young woman with long blonde hair, in blue jeans and cotton shirt.

A middle-aged man in shorts and sandals.

A professional woman in a traditional blue skirt and blazer.

None of them looked dangerous, and all of them looked frightened.

A handcuffed grandmother looked like she had been arrested while baking. Her orange-striped apron was smeared with white powder. Maybe bomb recipes required all-purpose white flour.

Two blocks from downtown the streets were barricaded. End of the line. I pulled over to the curb and parked. I walked over another block until the police at the barricade were out of sight. I was no longer in a residential area. The buildings were all restaurants, shops, and century-old homes converted into lawyers’ and chiropractors’ offices.

I needed to get to Rosie’s. I found a narrow alley going in the right direction and followed it. The brick walls on either side were lined with garbage cans and unmarked doors. There was sunlight at the other end. One man in a business suit turned into the alley from the other end and ran towards me. He kept close to the wall and looked up. I followed his gaze up. The top of the alley was open to the sky. A large black Interceptor hovered into view, momentarily blocking the sky as it passed overhead.

The stranger passed, averting his eyes away from me, and scurried on by. I reached the end of the alley and stepped out from the shadows and into the sunlight on the sidewalk.

And into mayhem.

I was on Main Street, directly across the street from Rosie’s. Rashmir’s grocery was to my left. The buildings lining Main were all old three-story red brick, dating from the early twentieth century. It was like stepping onto an old movie set. Civilians from all walks of life stood on the sidewalk in front of the shops and offices looking up.