Henry: From the Other World
by D. W. Collins
Times, they feared, were changing for the worse. They were ripe for change but muddled in conflict and confusion. Their worst fears seemed to be coming true. Had God failed them? Most here on this day considered it a failure of their own. At least some of it. And that’s why they had come. The sky had opened up some, but it was just a tease. The people were waiting, hoping the weather would clear up. They feared rain and prayed it would go away. But, it wasn’t long until the inevitable wrenched down. It showered over them cold and pitilessly. Rain was not in the forecast, and many of them cursed the ‘demon’ scientists. They’re all evil, they chanted. Death to them for bringing hell on earth. “I lived a life of devotion to God. I’m not ready to face Purgatory just yet. To hell with the bringers of destruction,” one of them shouted to cheers. Night faded into early morning. It was 5:30 am Mountain Time. They feared the time was nearing, despite official denials. They were all there to watch the sky for a glimpse of what they had come to curse. They wrapped themselves in sleeping bags. They built fires and sang hymns. They held hands and prayed. Some local native Americans that came were observing, stoically, along the fenceline.
At 7:22 am, the sky had all but cleared. The warm, orange sun emerged over the mountains like a grandiose guardian. The ominous weather, that confounded meteorologists, had morphed East. Few in the media cared about that as more news vans found spots beside the highway. Countless protesters traveled from all over the world. Some brought their children for what they considered to be an invaluable life lesson. They pitched their tents and spread out their blankets. College students had arrived, some led by their professors. Most of them had to walk from the closest town, a few miles away. New Mexican land-owners made a fortune in parking fees. Liberal protesters scoffed at their greed. “Opportunistic bastards”, they were called.
There were long, wire fences on both sides of the road. Tall, dry, grass fields on the other sides. The line was drawn where the protesters could advance no further. Army soldiers and state police waited just on the other side. An M-1 Abrams tank was parked insultingly at the line. A slap in the face for those who came urging peaceful resolutions.
“Why on Earth would they bring a tank? Have they have totally lost their souls?” Mary said to her husband, John.
The couple had come to New Mexico from Minnesota. Bible-reading and church-going, practically since birth. Their pastor, Mr. Dawkins, life-long friends of John and Mary’s extended families, had urged his congregation to attend the protest. Mr. Dawkins’ wife, a principle at the only high school of their quaint town, managed for the approved-use of a school bus, since it was summer, and as long as the gas was paid for by donations. It didn’t take long to fill the bus with passengers, eager for salvation. The majority of the town were church-goers and followed Mr. Dawkins like ants. “We have to head off sin where ever it may emerge,” the zealous preacher told his congregation the previous Sunday. He had polished his ways of influence over the years. “The Bus to Our Salvation leaves tomorrow. Be here at 6:30 am.” When Dawkins’ congregation arrived in New Mexico, they were one of the first. Only a single state trooper served as a blockade. That was a vast miscalculation as the angry, motivated masses rolled in.
But, this confrontation wasn’t supposed to happen at all. The rumor of the “historic event”, leaked by an anonymous whistleblower, sent a shock throughout the intellegenstia and the streams of media in all its public and private form. Before this revelation, relations had deteriorated between the Superpowers. Rights had dwindled. Fear of major war spread. Even some of the most hawkish in government condemned the act these people came to protest. How did the government keep secret, this weapon of Armageddon?
The Dawkins’ congregation had a good view of the blockade. John and Mary sat in the bus praying with some of the others. Mr. Dawkins had left the bus to speak with the soldiers of the blockade. A colonel was present. They told Mr. Dawkins that there were only rumors and that he should return home. He asked if these were only rumors, why was the colonel there? It must have been pretty important, he said. Dawkins blessed their souls before leaving them. He spent some time speaking with other protestors before he would return to the bus. Mr. Dawkins had urged the congregation to rest after standing outside holding signs for hours on end.
When Mr. Dawkins returned to the bus he had some unsettling news. “Everyone. It has come to my attention after speaking with some well-informed people, that there is this rumor floating around.” He took a deep breath. “It has been said that China and Russia may be planning a pre-emptive, joint-strike just miles from here.” There were gasps. “There are strong indications that that they view the launch as an act of war and plan an attack. Of course, I’m sure the military is aware of this rumor, and they are doing everything they can to guard against this.”
John stood up. “This would mean we would be at war.”
Mary held him tight around his waist. “Sweetheart . . . “
Dawkins lowered his head and pressed his fist into the back of one of the seats.
“We would be at war, wouldn’t we?” John asked again, but already knew the answer.
“Oh, Lord,” Pamela Britton cried.
Dawkins raised his head, nodding. “Yes, John, that is right. . . We would be at war.” He turned to look out the windshield, then turned back at the solem faces of his congregation. “There are quite a few soldiers still here, so I doubt we have anything to worry about right now . . . if the rumor is true. Well . . . let us pray.”
* * *
It was 8:31 am. Another M-1 tank had rumbled to the front and stopped. The weary protesters were getting more nervous by the minute. Would their own government strike on innocent protesters? News had spread of the rumor of the potential foreign attack prompting a few groups to leave out of fear. But, none of the attendees who came, not to protest, but to marvel at the technological terror rumored to launch had left. Retired military arrived with signs deeming the coming launch a historic and important event. One’s sign read: “I trust the U.S.!” Even technology geeks who had never served came. They called themselves Nerds Who Dig Weapons of War and wore camouflage with U.S. flags sown to their shoulders. The ex-military visitors took offense, eyeing the smallish protesters as they gathered. They let them know how they felt with some harsh words.
The protest was becoming a spectacle of conflict, rather than message. News anchors jumped right on the pro-war faction of the gathering for interviews. “Give them no voice!” a peace-lover chanted. Others joined in and repeated: “Give them no voice! Give them no voice!” The pro-war people fired back with accusations of communism and anti-American sentiment. The hoopla gained the attention of the police and military holding the blockade, but they took no action. They seemed more inclined to hold the line rather than to keep peace among the protesters.
Just after 9 am, John and Mary stood outside the bus, arms hooked together. They had been together through everything since high school. And, they came together to fight for a life, further. The world had changed so much. Every ounce of their faith was tested as they spread the message of love during the contentious times. Their salvation, they felt, was at stake if they did not try.
The arrival of protesters was continuous. Some pushed their way to the front, eager for their voices to be heard. Eager for interviews. Others found places in the back, content to watch at a safe distance. John pointed to the incoming. “I feel good about this. This is a good day. They won’t launch,” he assured his wife, patting her forearm. “The world is full of good, god-fearing people.” Mary only nodded. Often, Mary had to bite her cynical lip. She took comfort in her husband’s religious zeal, though. His unquestioned belief in God. The marriage was most important to her and she would default to his religious optimism in matters concerning faith and existentialism. Of utmost importance, she believed in him.
A fight broke out between pro and anti-war protestors during a news interview. Some of the more militant pro-peace people had apparently arrived. No soldiers or police left the blockade. They just watched. Mr. Dawkins felt compelled to make peace. John and Mary watched him leave the side of the bus.
“You would think we could behave ourselves at a peace rally,” Mary said to John.
John agreed, “You would think. But, Mr. Dawkins has gone to help. Cooler heads will prevail. We’re lucky to have him here.”
* * *
Mary would check her phone for worried messages from family. They were especially worried about the new rumor. Her sister pleaded for her to come home. Mary would stay with her husband until the end. The congregation was conversing about the strange weather that was happening all over North America. The news reported: “Odd, spontaneous meteorological events . . .” happening that “. . . couldn’t be explained by any modern scientific knowledge.” Mr. Dawkins said he was sure it was “the work of God”. And, that “We are blessed to be on his side”. Dawkins quoted with reverent fervor: “Consider the blameless, observe the upright; a future awaits those who seek peace.”
9:42 a.m. and former third-party presidential candidate, Adam R. Blankenship, promenaded down the road toward the blockade. Many cheered his arrival. It was good to have a man of his importance to help the protest, protestors said. As Blankenship cut through the maw of the crowd, a “pro-American” protestor called ex-politician an “American-hatin’ commie” and spat near his feet. Adam stopped in front of the blockade. Faced the soldiers and the police. News anchors with their camera crews gathered about him. They showered him with questions at once.
“What do you think of the spaceship weapon, Adam?” was the first question he would answer.
“I think it’s a travesty of not only diplomacy but of civilization. This weapon, when orbiting the earth, can shower any country with nuclear weapons without mercy. It can destroy any satellite or any other spaceship in orbit. I think it’s just horrible.”
“Many people are calling it a weapon of peace. That this weapon would protect the United States from a ground nuclear attack from the Russians and Chinese. How do you respond to those people?” another reporter asked.
“The same way I would respond about any government program. It’s ripe for abuse. When giving government any power we shouldn’t be surprised when they abuse it. The proof is right here in the pudding. And of this greatest power of all, the power of nuclear obliteration, we should be utterly terrified. This unholy power, I believe, should be rescinded immediately. It should be put away to be remembered as some sick joke on humanity. But, the problem is we have too many damn fools believing the government is their friend. The government is not their friend. They haven’t been a friendly organization to anyone but their cronies, since I’ve been alive anyway.
“. . . But, to answer your question directly . . .” Adam took a deep breath. “My view is that this weapon will probably have the opposite of the intended effect. It will make the Russians and Chinese nervous. And, nervous people tend to take desperate measures. Hell, I’m nervous that damn thing will malfunction and kill everyone on Earth today.”
The questions poured over Adams for over half-an-hour, before he took up a sign that simply read: “Peace is Humanity”. He chanted the meme and other protesters joined him. Soon after, the chant could be heard for miles.
* * *
10:22 a.m. The clear sky darkened. Most of the protesters seemed to notice the change. Clouds were not in the sky so the sun was uncovered. It was odd. The sun seemed just as bright, but the sky around it was losing color and darkening ever so slightly. Like someone messing with a big Contrast knob somewhere. That’s what Mary thought, anyway. John paid no attention. He was deep in conversation with Mr. Dawkins and one other member inside the bus. She watched from outside through the bus’s driver’s side-view mirror. She could see John’s face, holding an odd expression. Her job was to hold their signs outside while he had something important to do with Mr. Dawkins. One thing she knew more than anything: her husband. And, John seemed unsettled. She knew the look. It wasn’t the launch. It was something else. Mr. Dawkins was gesturing with a hand while he spoke. Not like he did in his sermons, but like regular people do. The talk seemed personal, urgent. At one point, Dawkins pointed at John and the young man next to him. They both nodded. This made Mary very nervous and she didn’t know why.
When they had come off the bus, she noticed John still had the look. Vacant and distant. But she trusted her husband. If she needed to know, he would tell her. Mary asked simply, “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, dear.”
Mary felt a little better. “Have you noticed the sky? It’s looking weird.”
John just shook his head. He seemed to be elsewhere, still. She handed him his sign. They interlocked arms and John kissed his wife’s forehead. “I love you,” he said. “I always will.”
* * *
More soldiers had arrived in trucks. Mary was watching them, looking for doubt in their eyes. She thought about blind devotion. If that was really ever a good idea. The soldiers seemed to be watching the sky and talking among themselves about the strange anomaly. The contrast between the sky and the sun was even more pronounced.
Protesters were watching news about the sky on their phones. Mary was hearing murmurs about it. “Maybe it’s something the government is doing? Another secret program?” She remembered what Mr. Dawkins said about it. That it was God. She thought Dawkins sounded so sure about his statement. She thought, “Maybe? It’s possible.” With that thought, she felt closer to God. And, she felt sure God was on her side. The congregation had started on a hymn. People of other religious groups and denominations had joined them. There were quite a few protesters gathered around the Dawkins bus now. Mary thought there must be at least twice as many as when they started. But, John was not with her. Nor, was Mr. Dawkins. They had left together about ten minutes before, disappearing through the crowd. They were gone just after a rumor of an imminent launch. Something about a whistle blower that said something.
Maybe they went to talk to the news? Mary thought. You think he would tell me though.
There seemed to be a commotion among the soldiers. Some were looking behind them. Mary saw what she thought was a superior officer ordering soldiers to turn their attention to the protesters. She read his lips: “Do your job.” Nothing new was happening in the sky, so Mary thought it was something to do with the launch. She wished John was with her.
Adam was still out front giving interviews. Mary recognized him as some kind of freedom fighter, but she never really followed politics. She had heard he was infamous for some filibuster when he was in the Senate, so she wasn’t surprised to see him still engaging reporters. He was doing his part. Everyone was. Her part, she felt, was supporting her husband.
A commotion broke out somewhere behind her. There was yelling. Mary heard people shouting, “Don’t do it.”, and “Stop”. Then, she heard the engine. The vicious revving. It sounded to her like a small engine, like a Honda, not like a big truck. Her congregation stopped singing and rushed to the other side of the road to try to see what was going on. Mary got to the fence, looking down it. It shook, then a small, white car emerged near the back of the line of protesters, running across the grass field toward her. There was scattered cheering, suddenly. Mary looked around and saw others looking horrified, especially those of her own congregation . She thought about shouting something, but, then she remembered her husband wasn’t with her. Had he gone with Dawkins to try to stop this car? Was he okay?
The military appeared to jump into action. The colonel barked orders, then jumped into the passenger side of a jeep. Military vehicles started, billowing black smoke from their diesel engines. The car was passing where Mary was standing with the congregation. The small vehicle was a white Subaru all-wheel-drive car with Minnesota plates. A car she saw every Sunday and whenever her and John would go to dinner at Frosty King on Thursdays. Thursdays were Pastrami Burger Night. They always got the pastrami burger and strawberry shakes. And, Sammy would be in the kitchen, doing the dishes. Each and every Thursday night. Margaret Hillman grabbed Mary’s arm. “That’s Sammy’s car, isn’t ? What does he think he’s doing?” Mary didn’t have an answer for her. Her attention was fixed on the passengers. There were two. And, both, she thought, had dark hair.
It couldn’t be John, she thought. It couldn’t be. He would never leave me like this.
Military vehicles knocked over the fence in pursuit. One of the vehicles had a mounted machine gun. “Go, go, go,” the colonel ordered, furiously waving his arm. There was mayhem. The police stayed. A few officers crossed the line toward the protesters. One of the officers raised his bullhorn, “Urging everyone to get away from the fence and be calm. Do not follow. Stay away from your vehicles.”
Adam rushed into the crowd, yelling at everyone to stay back. “This is not the way to do this,” he pleaded with his arms raised. The camera crews were fixed on the escaping vehicle and the pursuing military. Mary watched for only a moment before she left her congregation and went to search for John. She called for him, but no one was listening. “John Welsh. Where are you? I need you here.” Mary repeated his name. “John . . .”
The protesters had gone quiet, watching the pursuit, when the automatic rifle fire was heard. Mary gasped and turned to look in that direction. “What?” is all she could say in desperation. The shots continued. Then, she heard the explosion far away. At that moment, she knew she would never see John again.
