The Myriad Resistance (22 page)

“Oh, that feels good!” he said as he walked between Burt and me, clasping our shoulders.

“Would you like to meet my family, Mr. Lincoln?” I asked.

“It would be my pleasure!” he said, “And please, call me Abe.”

I found Barbara and the girls back at the cabin. Barbara made a fuss about the condition of the cabin as if she was receiving a visit from the former president at home. It is one of the things I love about her. She takes pride wherever she goes.

Abbs was star struck, as if she had received a personal visit from one of these modern singing groups.

I was shocked at Lincoln's reaction to Steff.

“Well hello, young lady!” Lincoln said. “I did not know this great fellow was your father!”

“You know each other?” I asked in shock.

It would seem that Steff's long disappearances were not only for a solitary walk in the woods to vent her frustrations. Steff had been visiting the mine as well.

“Absolutely, we've had several conversations about her grandfather. She's a lucky young lady to have such a grandpa,” he said with a jovial wink.

I could feel my insides sink into my shoes. What in the hell had she told him?

“You have?” I said, my voice quivering with nervousness. “What has she told you?”

Lincoln stroked his beard for a few moments as if he was trying to recall every detail of their conversations.

“Well, she said what a good man he is. He always tries to do the right thing even when people criticize him. She also said she misses him very much.”

“Is that all?” I asked, probably a little too strong.

The last thing I needed or wanted right now was for the Impals to find out who my father was, not when we were twenty-four hours from evacuating them. I didn't need to feel the shame I already felt pressed down on me by the distrustful gaze of each Impal.

“Pretty much,” he said, with a frown. “Why, did I miss something?”

“No,” I lied. “Nothing at all.”

I was glad Burt came in with us because he broke the tension.

“Mr. President, would you like to accompany me to my cabin, I know my wife would love to meet you,” he said.

“It would be a pleasure,” Lincoln said as he followed Burt to the door.

He turned and gave farewell pleasantries to everyone in the room, bowed, and then turned to follow Burt. It struck me what a kind and decent man Lincoln is. I must continue to fight the tendency to say
‘was'
in his case. Since the storm arrived,
‘was'
and
‘is'
have developed interchangeable meanings. An unexpected jolt of anger surged through me when I considered how Lincoln met his demise. I found myself cursing John Wilkes Booth because I could not comprehend how anyone could shoot this man in the head. He did it in front of his wife and then celebrated on the stage of Ford's Theater. “Sic semper tyrannis!” he shouted.
Thus always to tyrants.

An image passed through my mind's eye of a soldier standing over my father's bullet ridden body as he shouted the same proclamation. This brief vision scared the hell out of me. It didn't frighten me because of its horrifying imagery, but because it gave me a feeling of relief and satisfaction. I added my father to my silent curses. I cursed him for what he was doing and because of what he forced me to become. I was now a jaded son who might take some pleasure in his own father's death.

I only dwelled on this for a few moments because I had my own fatherly duties to address.

“Why have you been going to the mine without permission?” I asked, turning to face Steff.

“I wasn't aware I need permission,” she said with a flippant shrug.

I considered the motion belligerent and disrespectful. The frustration I managed to maintain over the last few weeks finally bubbled over.

“Listen young lady, you knew damn good and well you weren't supposed to go out there without permission or a chaperone!” I hissed.

Everyone's eyes widened. Temperamental outbursts were a rarity for me. When they came, everyone understood I meant business.

Steff stared at me, fear and resentment mixed in her eyes producing a deluge of tears.

“Do you understand?” I boomed.

She gave an almost imperceptible nod, never taking her eyes off me. Her gaze began to grow more defiant by the second as tears sheeted down her cheeks.

“Why the hell did you go down there?” I shouted.

“Were you just curious, honey?” Barbara interjected, trying to ease the tension.

Mothers have a way of being sweet and buddy-buddy to get what they want out of their child. However, if a child is approached too often with this technique, the parent is perceived as soft. Parental respect goes right out the window. This was not the time for a mother's coddling.

“I asked her a question, Barbara, and she needs to answer it!” I snapped. “No pussyfooting around!”

Barbara stepped back and gave me a scowl only I could see. She turned and stomped out the door, causing a rain of dust as it slammed shut in its rickety frame. Abbs sat down on her cot with her back to us. I know I saw a little satisfaction on her face. Sisters can be vindictive, especially when one of them has carried such a bad attitude.

I never stopped to consider why I was so upset. Was it the fact she could have put herself in a dangerous situation? No, Impals are not dangerous, at least the ones I met anyway. The transition from flesh to Impal seems to have a calming effect on even those who possessed some violent propensities.

No, there was only one real reason I was mad. It was because of her flagrant disobedience. That was why I was chastising her. The embarrassment and loss of trust I would endure with the Impals if the identity of my father were revealed was secondary.

“Why did you go down there?” I repeated, a little louder.

“I don't know!” she screamed, “to get away from you?”

She turned and bolted out the door, almost knocking Barbara down where she stood on the porch.

“Steff!” I shouted as she disappeared down the trail. It was too late; she was gone.

To Barbara's credit, she remained silent even though both of us knew I was wrong. Should Steff be held accountable for her actions?

Yes.

Should I have yelled and screamed at her?

I wanted to say yes because she had it coming for her attitude the past couple of weeks. Deep down, I knew the answer to that question was and always shall be … no.

“I'm sorry,” I said to Barbara.

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, am I?” she said.

Part of me felt like Steff got exactly what she deserved and perhaps she did. However, as a father, I handled the situation poorly. I set out through the woods in search of my rebellious daughter. I did not get far when I met Danny.

“Come by my cabin tonight about seven o'clock. We are going to go over our final plan for tomorrow,” he said.

“I didn't realize there was an initial plan,” I said. “Other than we are heading out tomorrow evening and would be near the ocean.”

“It's going to be me, you, Burt and Andrews at this meeting, oh yeah, and as the Impal liaison, Lincoln, will be joining us as well.” Danny said, not acknowledging my comment. He seemed to believe he was imparting some exclusive grand idea. It was only natural we should include at least one Impal in our plans, since it did affect them even more than us.

“Great,” I said. “I'll see you then. In the meantime, there is a little personal issue I need to address.”

Danny glanced at me sideways. He was no fool. He knew I was having issues with Steff. After all, he was the one who gave us money for Martian Burgers. He patted me on the shoulder and disappeared into the woods.

I found Steff about an hour later. She was sitting on a stump by the main road leading in to camp. As expected, she didn't acknowledge me when I approached her.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you,” I said through gritted teeth.

A part of me was coming closer to winning out. I wanted to throw her over my lap and wear her fanny out. I forgot that feeling in an instant when she gazed up at me with a pitiful expression. Tears streamed from her big green eyes. Her lip quivered so hard I thought the vibration might shatter my heart.

“I wanna go home, Daddy … I just wanna go home!” she wailed as she stood up and buried her face in my chest.

I was as powerless as a feather in a strong wind to be mad at her anymore. I hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head.

“We will soon, sweetheart. Soon,” I whispered.

“When?” she pressed, regarding me with hopeful, watery eyes.

“Soon,” I repeated. “This will all be over soon.”

Steff was immature, but she was not stupid. She knew what was going on in the world, at least to some degree, and she knew my promises to be as hollow as the stump she was sitting on. I don't know what she expected me to say …
sure honey, let's go home right now?
She was frustrated, and so was I. There wasn't a single thing we could do about it, aside from turning ourselves in. I actually entertained the idea for a brief moment, except we have come too far with too many counting on us to do something cowardly.

Steff pulled away from me and took off in a dead sprint towards our cabin. I considered chasing after her. I also considered borrowing one of the vehicles and giving my youngest child her wish. Isn't that what daddies are supposed to do? Instead, I sank down on the stump where she had been sitting. I pinched the bridge of my nose to quell the tears of frustration welling in my eyes. It was more than frustration, though.

The betrayal by my father hurt me worse than I let on. It cut deep like an old dull knife, reopening the wounds of my childhood that I believed healed long ago. Of course, my father would say I betrayed
him.
The thing that hurt so much is I think Steff believed it. After a few moments of resistance, the tears came and I did nothing to stop them. I let them run their course. At least Abbs and Barbara were supportive and I focused on that to get me through our task tomorrow.

We held our meeting at seven o'clock sharp in Danny's cabin. Danny, Burt, Andrews, Derek, Lincoln and I all attended. We assembled around a small wooden table in the center of the room. His cabin was quite a bit larger than the rat traps Burt and I lived in with our families, not to mention, quite a bit cleaner. I don't know if it was a result of Danny's cleaning skills or he called dibs on the building in the best shape. I think the most notable difference was that he had electricity. A small portable generator ran a light, a small refrigerator, a radio, and cell-phone charger off a mishmash of extension cords. While I envied his amenities, I gave him props for planning.

We were not very far into the meeting when we discovered just how dangerous and massive an undertaking this mission was going to be. Danny's friend, Chuck Connelly, would be bringing his tractor-trailer. He would park it in a field about a mile and a half down the road. We would take the Impals in SUV's to the truck and load them in the back under the cover of darkness.

“If we load the vehicles to capacity, it will take about six trips each,” Danny said.

“Okay, so then what are we going to do with them?” Andrews asked.

Danny sat back in his chair with a satisfied twinkle in his eye.

“You fellows ever hear of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel?” he asked.

CHAPTER 20

THE PLAN REVEALED

“A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.”

~George S. Patton

There was some recognition around the table. President Lincoln was perplexed.

“They built a tunnel under the Chesapeake Bay?” he asked with astonishment.

Indeed they did. I crossed this marvel of modern engineering many times and each time I found it both breathtaking and terrifying.

The Bridge-Tunnel project is a four-lane twenty-mile-long vehicular toll crossing of the lower Chesapeake Bay. The facility carries US 13, the main north-south highway on Virginia's Eastern Shore, and provides the only direct link between Virginia's Eastern Shore and south Hampton Roads, Virginia.

The crossing consists of a series of low-level trestles interrupted by two one-mile-long tunnels beneath the Thimble Shoals and Chesapeake navigation channels. The man-made islands, each a little over five acres in size, bookend each end of the two tunnels. There are also high-level bridges over two other navigation channels. I stopped at a gift shop on one of the islands and bought a book about the history and engineering. There was a lot of information floating around in my head, which I never in a million years considered would be put to practical use. Trivia aside, I was curious to find out how the Bridge-Tunnel would fit into our plan.

“Yes sir,” I said. “It is quite a sight.”

“So, we're taking the Impals across the Bridge-Tunnel?” Derek asked.

“Not exactly,” Danny said. “We are going to take them to it.”

“How?” Burt asked.

Danny explained that the military guarded both ends of the structure. It was impossible to get Impals across it, let alone a whole truck-load.

“They also patrol the coast as well on both sides of the bay,” Danny said. “It was guarded anyway before the storm due to all the military bases in the area. Patrols have tripled as of late.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“To keep Impals from escaping and keep them from getting in,” Danny said.

“In?” I asked.

“Yeah, there are a few countries dumping Impals on the shores of the United States instead of dealing with the issue themselves,” Danny said.

“Some things never change,” Andrews muttered.

“Okay, where does the bridge come in?” I asked. “You said something about us being in very tiny boats.”

Danny's smile broadened, making me even more uncomfortable.