Adopted Son (16 page)

A few hours after Senator Johnston’s revelations. The Miller Farm, outside of Tyler, TX

Tom was out in the field when they came for the boy. He hadn’t been watching the news that morning. He hadn’t seen the Senator’s revelation. He left at dawn to begin the daily harvest. He didn’t stay at home like Lorraine had that morning. He didn’t see the news report from Dayton. He didn’t hear about the rioting in Washington DC. He didn’t hear about the looting and out of control fires that were burning across Europe. He didn’t know what was occurring in Africa at that very moment (although the media hadn’t even heard about that yet). He was out in the field riding his big, green machine. The corn was being pulled from the stalk and loaded into the hopper. Tom rode with his companion, little Jim. He was teaching Jim what he needed to know to one day harvest his own field. Tom was worried that the child would have a hard time reaching the pedals, but there was always the hope for a growth spurt. Jim was having fun just bonding with Dad. He watched the dust fly as the stalks fell underneath the machine row by row. He watched the crickets jump for their lives as the noisy beast bared down upon them. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of some fireflies like he had seen the night before, not knowing yet that they only glow after dark. Tom, still unaware of the maelstrom of events of that morning turned to his child and smiled. He watched as Jim poked at a bug that had landed on the dash; astutely, scientifically observing its movements. Tom rubbed the boy’s head roughly, almost knocking the baseball cap off the round, slippery dome.

When he turned back to the field he noticed a puff of dust rising in the distance. It was hard to see the vehicles themselves approaching, but you always knew visitors were coming from miles away by the tell-tale clouds that their cars produced on these dusty roads. “Who do you think that could be Jimbo?” he asked the boy. “We’re not expecting visitors today.” The boy shrugged silently. “Maybe it’s your grandpa come to visit huh?” Tom turned the vehicle from the row of corn and drove towards the main dirt road that connected his crops to the farmhouse and silos. Tractors move much slower than cars though, and he was still a fair bit into the field when the trucks met up with him.

There were three trucks in total. Tom recognized one as belonging to his neighbor, Larry Watley. The other ones he didn’t recognize offhand. Each of the trucks had several people in back. They were approaching fast. The lead truck skidded to a stop on the dirt road just ahead of the tractor. The other trucks followed suit. Tom knew that something was wrong immediately. Men poured over the sides of the trucks, and they were all armed. Tom turned off the ignition to the tractor and reached around behind the seat to where he kept his shotgun. He hoped that the load hadn’t gotten wet since he last used it to scare off some crows. “You stay put Jim.” He said to his son in a serious tone. Then he stepped out of the seat and stood in the doorway of the tractor, several feet above the ground. At the same time, Tom’s neighbor Larry got out of his truck carrying a hunting rifle.

“Hey Larry,” said Tom, “Going hunting today? You should have let me know, I would have come along.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t come out properly on account of his nervousness.

“We’ve come for the boy Tom,” said Larry in a deadpan voice.

“What the hell you talking about Larry?”

“I said...” he raised the barrel of he rifle and put the butt against his hip, “...we’ve come for the boy. Now just hand him over and they’ll be no trouble. We ain’t got no quarrel with you Tom.” Jim wasn’t sure what was happening but he knew that it wasn’t good. He squirmed in his seat.

“I beg to differ there Larry. You’re pointing a gun at my child, I’d say we got a problem between us.”

“Didn’t you see the news this morning Tom? Ain’t you been listening to the radio? Senator Johnston broke the news this morning. That ain’t no kid you got there Tom, that’s some kind of alien invader. Johnston showed it on the TV this morning. They had a crashed spaceship hidden in Ohio. The Army’s been hiding it for years, doling out pieces to companies. That thing you got there is a menace Tom.” He waved the gun in Jim’s direction for emphasis. “And us boys are here to make sure that thing don’t go on no rampage. Now stand back.”

“Rampage? Jesus Larry, are you drunk again? Jim ain’t going on no rampage. Look at him, he’s barely out of diapers for chrissakes. He’s just a little boy Larry. Whatever the hell this ‘invasion force’ you’re talking about is, Jim here ain’t part of it. Isn’t that right Jim?” He looked over expecting a nod. Jim said nothing. “So now if you don’t mind...” he pumped the shotgun for emphasis, “kindly get the hell off my land.” He glowered at the men in the trucks.

“You don’t understand Tom. You ain’t seeing things clearly. I know that you and Lorraine tried for a baby for so long. You must of thought that thing was a miracle, even if it was ugly as sin. But you have to look long term Tom. He ain’t one of us, he’s one of them. Someday that boy’s real poppy is going to come looking for him, and when he does, guess whose side Jimmy-boy’s going to be on? They’re trying to get a foothold here, and we ain’t going to let ‘em. Ain’t that right boys?” A cheer of voices arose from the mob. “So now if you’d kindly back off, we’ll fix this problem and be on our way. Don’t make us take you down to Tom.”

The two men stared at each other from behind their respective weapons. They, like most men in this county, were quite familiar with firearms. Larry and Tom had gone hunting many times together. They were each well aware of how accurate a shot the other one was. A bead of sweat started its way down Tom’s temple. Jim sat in the truck, not fully comprehending what had been said, or appreciating the seriousness of the situation. He would have been much more scared if he had. The standoff was interrupted by the sound of another car coming down the dirt path. It was a Tyler County Sheriff’s Department car. It came to a halt just behind the trucks. Before the officer could get out, Lorraine jumped from the back seat and ran to the tractor. She climbed up the side and grabbed Jim, squeezing him tightly with tears in her eyes.

Officer Hamilton calmly walked up to the scene. He had his hand on his pistol but resisted drawing it. “What’s going on here boys? We got some trouble?” Craig Hamilton was well known to most of the people here. Tyler was a small town, and Craig had been involved in the community since he was a youth. In fact, Larry once was Craig’s scoutmaster. The officer looked at the old man with his hunting rifle. “Larry, what the hell you doing? Don’t make me shoot you, your wife’ll kill me.”

“Stay out of this Craig, we’re protecting humanity. We’ve got to get rid of that thing before it mutates into some monster or something.”

“Larry, you’re drunk again aren’t you? You boys go the hell home.” Tom maintained his death stare with Larry. He kept his shotgun aimed. “You all ain’t got no authority here, who the hell do you think you are, the national guard?” Larry didn’t speak.

Craig walked around between the two men. He grabbed the barrel of Larry’s gun and pushed it downwards. “Larry, like it or not, this is a free country. And there ain’t no laws against keeping aliens in your house. So you boys are out of luck. No one’s going to remove that boy from this farm without the law on their side, and so far, I don’t have no orders for that. I’ll give you a call as soon as they come through. In the meantime, get off Tom’s farm. Look at Lorraine; hell, you scared her half to death coming up here like a death squad. She didn’t know what the hell was going on.”

Despite the fact that Craig was one man, and was at least 20 years younger that Larry, he had a badge. Larry wasn’t the type of guy to fight authority. He always gave money to the FOP. He supported the death penalty. He wasn’t ready to shoot a cop. He lowered his rifle. “All right Craig. We’re leaving.” He said dejectedly. “But Tom, you watch your ass, ok buddy. I’m telling you as a friend, this thing is trouble. Someday we won’t have the power to stop that monster.” He turned back to the policeman. “You better hope that this thing gets dealt with before it gets too late.” As he walked back to the truck he passed near Lorraine, who was holding Jim in her arms. As small as the child was, he was getting to big to be picked up, and his legs hung limply and awkwardly as he tried to maintain his balance. “Sorry to frighten you Lorraine,” said Larry, “We was just trying to protect you after all. You folks give us a call if Jim there ever starts eating your brains.” He got back in the cab of the truck. The other men followed suit. They drove off in a cloud of dust, leaving the family and the cop standing in the road. They watched as the cloud of dust shrank into the distance.

“You’re lucky Lorraine called 911 Tom. You folks better be careful. Maybe it would be best if you thought about leaving. Getting somewhere safe. There’s got to be more tolerant places than Tyler County, you know.” Neither Tom nor Lorraine responded. “Well, call me if they ever come back. But don’t worry too much about all this. That Larry is more bark than bite.” He got back into his car and drove off. Tom felt a tug at his shirt. He looked down and saw his son beside him.

“I’m not a monster, am I Daddy?” Jim said innocently. Lorraine and Tom looked at each other silently.

That same morning. Underhill Avenue, Bronx, NY

“What are the first five books of the Old Testament?”

“Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy!” replied Franklin, hurrying to maintain Father Blythe’s pace.

“And who was Noah’s wife?” said the old priest without skipping a beat.

“Noah’s wife was named...” the child hesitated a second. “Sara!”

“Very good Franklin. You are a quick study. All those hours you’ve spent in your room with your nose in a book are paying off.”

“I just want to be like you Father.”

The two figures stopped on the street corner to wait for the traffic light to turn. “That’s very admirable of you Franklin, but I’d really prefer it if you spent more time playing and being a kid. You aren’t as friendly with the other children as you should be.”

“I don’t seem to get along with a lot of the other kids Father. I’d just prefer to be alone I guess.”

“I’ve seen you pal around with Joshua and Gerald.”

“Well, they’re a lot younger than me. They need a big brother. I’m just trying to help out.”

“Well Franklin, being a big brother is admirable, but you should make an effort to get to know some of the children closer to your age. The only way to grow as a person is to surround yourself with people who can teach you. As much as Joshua and Gerald need you, they are not going to provide you with any of the intellectual challenges that will help you develop.” The light turned green and they crossed the street.

“The kids my own age don’t seem to like me Father. I don’t really fit in with them. I’ve tried a little, but they sort of look at me funny. Joshua and Gerald and some of the new kids, they’re well... like me.”

“You mean because they also have HS.”

“Yes Father,” the boy said apprehensively.

Father Blythe put down his brown grocery bag and knelt to the child’s level. He looked directly into Franklin’s huge, black eyes. “We’ve already had this discussion Franklin. I know that having HS makes you look different, but inside you are all the same. It is going to be tough for you to fit in, I’m not saying that it won’t be. But you are going to have to make an effort. You can’t just give up on humanity. People, especially kids, can be cruel, and they don’t like things that seem different, things that they can’t understand. But you can’t let that stop you. You have to take the first step. You have to make them accept you. When you leave Holy Trinity Orphanage you are going to have to go out into the big world. And most of those people aren’t going to have HS. You can’t simply not deal with them. Do you understand?”

“Yes Father. I’ll try.”

“That’s a good boy. Ok, now lets get these vegetables home so we can think about what to make for dinner.”

A shadow begins to eclipse the two. Father Blythe looks up. Several men stand above him. He rises to greet them. They look angry, they look wild. “Good afternoon,” the Father says, attempting to infect them with his cheeriness. He smiles awkwardly. One of the group steps forward. He is carrying a baseball bat in his left hand. He wears a dark t-shirt with the words, ‘Real American’ printed across the front. Some strands of wild hair peek out from his green, knit cap.

“You’re that alien-lover,” the man says with a sneer. Father Blythe remains silent, but stares intently at the crowd, attempting to intimidate them with his position as a religious leader. His collar is clearly visible and he presents it like a shield.

“We don’t want no alien-lovers on our block,” says the man. His followers move to the right and left, in an attempt to surround the pair. Father Blythe puts his hand on Franklin’s shoulder and subtly pushes the boy behind him.

“Look son, I don’t know why you are so angry, but we have no quarrel with you. We’ll just go back the way we came. Sorry to be a bother.” He smiles nervously.

The man with the bat chuckles. “That ain’t good enough, ‘father.’ We got to teach you a lesson. You see, we don’t want no damn aliens on our street.” He raises his bat. Father Blythe puts himself in between the child and the man.

“Look at you, you want to beat a child? This is a child! God is watching you. He sees all that you do here today.” The man isn’t listening.

“You think God wants your half-breed alien scum, alien-lover? You think that we should teach that thing and feed it? What’s gonna happen when his Daddy comes looking for him. He’s gonna eat your face that’s what. We ain’t gonna let you protect that thing. None of them things that you got in that house of yours. We’re taking them all out. Starting with you.” The man brings the bat down. Father Blythe blocks the blow with his arm.

“Run Franklin!” he says to his young charge. Franklin, knowing danger when he sees it, takes off as fast as his spindly legs can carry him. Father Blythe gets in the way, trying to hold the men. The fall upon him like a pack of wolves. Franklin can hear the sounds of cracking bones, of club against flesh, as he runs off. Tears cloud his eyes. His hat falls off as he dashes. He stops and turns to pick it up, but thinks better of it as he sees some of the mob approaching him. He runs for his life, both hands on his head, hiding his baldness.