2012waking Ofthe Prophets

2012: Waking of the Prophets
by Rose Elizabeth Hahn
Publishing Division
www.reevolutionmedia.com
This book is dedicated to my husband, who believed in it
from the beginning; to my mother, who believed in me from
the beginning; and to my son, who inspired me to believe in
infinite possibility.
Re:Evolution Media, LLC. Publishing Division

San Antonio, Texas USA
Copyright © Rose Elizabeth Hahn, 2008

All rights reserved
Cover Art: Illustration by Elen and Graphics by Melissa Webb
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

by any means, without the written permission of the publisher,
except where permitted by law.
ISBN-13 978-0-9817281-0-0
ISBN 0-9817281-0-3
Manufactured in the United States of America

What the caterpillar calls the end,
the rest of the world calls a butterfly.
~ Lao Tzu
1
December 9, 2012
There was a wet chill in the air the afternoon Judah Hardi-
son emerged from the thick emerald folds of Olympic National
Forest, the kind of chill that burrowed into one’s bones like a saw
and settled on one’s upper lip and lashes like a cold sweat. But he
was accustomed to such weather, dressed more than adequately for
it in tattered blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and makeshift fur coat. The
road onto which he stepped sat silent and empty, save for the
steamy fog that floated up from the asphalt into a spectral white
haze.
It had been almost two years since he and his family had
left, and if his mental calendar were correct, he was returning two
weeks before he should have even considered it. Observing this
fact once again sent a swell of guilt plunging through the pit of his
stomach and it nearly stopped him in his tracks. They would have
wanted him to wait. But there was nothing left for him on the
mountain, nothing but the howl of ghosts carried on the wind and
an insufferable loneliness that seemed to stretch out before him like
an eternity.
His eyes darted and squinted through the fog, searching for
any sign of other people – a moving car, a distant light, a stream of
smoke ascending into the air – something that would reconnect him
to the reality of his own humanity. Several miles down the road, he
found what he was looking for as an old Ford pick-up with one
1
headlamp rounded the corner and headed his way. His heart soared
at the sight of the truck, but the instincts he had come to rely on
kicked in and without thinking he leapt behind a bush just off the
road, hugging it closely. He watched the truck approach his perch at
a steady but slow pace, shifting his weight anxiously between his
haunches. A voice of doubt still nagged from the recesses of his
mind. Was he making the right decision? Couldn’t he wait just two
more weeks? Shaking his head to dislodge the voice’s grip, he let
loose a long, burdened sigh. No, he did not want a solitary fate, no
matter what the alternative might be.
With another long, deliberate breath, the truck approached
his perch. Darting into the street, he waved his hands in wide
arches over his head, sending the truck into a violent swerve to
avoid him followed by a screeching halt mere inches from the base
of a giant spruce. The driver scrambled out of his truck and ran
around the tail end to see what had nearly hit him.
“Are you crazy, boy?” he hollered, his hand clutching his
chest as he gasped for breath. “You almost killed me! What on
earth were you thinking?”
“I’m so sorry,” Judah replied. He moved toward the man
and offered his hand. “Forgive me, please. I didn’t mean to scare
you. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, fine.” He shooed Judah’s hand away irritably.
“I was trying to get you to stop; I need a ride to Quilcene.
You’re the first person I’ve seen…” Judah stopped himself mid-
sentence to fully consider his words, “in a long while.”
The driver studied Judah’s appearance with steel gray eyes,
suspicious of his shabby attire, unkempt hair and bushy beard. He
was himself an older man, with weathered skin and wisps of graying
black hair that jutted out from beneath his wool bomber hat. From
the looks of him and the shotgun mounted in the pickup window,
Judah guessed him to be a hunter.
“You out here for some hunting?”
“Hmm?” the man snorted, following Judah’s gaze to his
truck. The question seemed to soften his gruff exterior. “Nah, just
heading up to see one of the rangers, friend of mine, got a cabin up
the road here a bit. What are you doing out here, son? You look
like hell.”
2
“I know…that’s why I need a ride. I’d be much obliged if
you could.” Judah flashed his toothy grin, recalling how he had
once been told it was his most winning of attributes.
The man mulled the request a moment then waved him
toward the truck. “Ah hell, get on in here. I’m heading back to
Quilcene after this anyway. Sure wouldn’t want to make you walk
all that way. But you should watch how you jump into a road, son.
You’re gonna get somebody killed.”
Inside the truck it was toasty warm and the radio played an
old country-western tune through the static of the AM receiver.
Empty beer cans rattled on the floor and a faded hula dancer
shimmied on the dashboard, striking Judah as distinctly out of
character for the old man. There was a thick, musty odor that
permeated the cab, and while he could not place it precisely, it
reminded him of onions and cigarettes. Regardless, they were
moving much faster than his feet could have carried him, and it felt
delicious to be riding in a car again, with streaks of lush green
sweeping past him like strokes of a painter’s brush across his
window. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, and though
he ached to address them with the old man, to make some sort of
connection, he knew he would only sound crazy, so he kept his
silence. Instead, he turned to gaze at the passing greenery, bowed
his head respectfully and whispered, “Goodbye.” When they
arrived at a small log building with a thin trail of smoke rising from
its roof, the old man hopped out to retrieve a box from the truck
bed.
“You wanna come in with me?” he asked. “I’ll just be a few
minutes.”
Judah thought about the inhabitant of the cabin, recalling
how he had come to fear him over the past two years, and marveled
at his current predicament, an invited guest in his enemy’s home.
Perhaps “enemy” was too heavy a word to describe their relation-
ship, and more than likely the ranger was not yet aware the two of
them even shared a relationship, but all the same, Judah found it
safer to wait it out in the truck.
“Nah, if it won’t be long, I’d just as soon stay here,” he
replied, with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “My feet are
aching.” For emphasis, he began to unlace his boots and remove
them, revealing yellowed, threadbare socks. The old man raised his
brows at the sight, shrugged, and headed toward the cabin.
3
“Be back in a minute.”
Several minutes passed before the old man emerged, and
behind him trailed a stout balding ranger in a tidy green uniform.
The two men stood on the porch a moment, glancing in Judah’s
direction as they spoke, sending his stomach into a twist of nervous
knots. They had to be wary of his grizzly appearance, and try as he
might, he could not come up with one single decent explanation for
it. He was not practiced in the art of lying, and if he were to simply
tell the truth, they surely wouldn’t believe it. When they stepped off
the porch and headed his way, he cranked the stubborn handle in
his door to lower the window, leaned out and waved, figuring his
best shot was to be friendly and show no sign of apprehension.
“Hey, son, what did you say your name was again?” the old
man asked, coming up on the passenger window.
“Judah,” he answered, “Judah Hardison.”
“You say you’re from Quilcene? I don’t believe I’ve ever
seen you around there before. I’m from Quilcene myself, lived
there all my life. I know most everybody in town.”
Judah’s palms began to sweat, and he wiped them on his
jeans. “I’m going to Quilcene, but I’m from Concrete.” Details, he
thought, details give validity. “My parents have a place out there on
Fern Valley Road.”
“Uh-huh, so what are you doing out here? And what
business do you have in Quilcene?” The old man stroked the
whiskers on his face as he casually spoke, but his gray eyes had
narrowed again. The ranger craned his neck from side to side,
peering at Judah from different angles to get a better view. It
seemed the more he scrutinized, the more he disapproved.
“I’m going to see a friend,” he lied, then immediately
regretted it.
“Yeah? Who’s that? Might know ‘em myself, could give
you a lift over there.”
Judah’s head dropped back onto the seat in submission. He
had stupidly backed himself into a lie he could not get out of.
Maybe he should have just told the truth, he thought. A minute
passed in agonizing silence as he fumbled for a reasonable response.
The ranger moved cautiously toward the truck with his hand
cupped over his holster.
“Look, son, we don’t want any trouble, but I’m gonna have
to take you in to the sheriff’s office to make sure everything’s on
4
the up and up,” the ranger asserted in a shaky voice. “If your story
checks out, you’ll be free to leave, but these days we can’t be too
careful.”
Judah opened his mouth to object but resigned himself
instead with a sigh and a shrug. At this point, there was little he
could say to convince these men of his harmlessness. And in truth,
he had done nothing wrong. A visit to the sheriff’s office would
not be the end of him. It was still a ride to Quilcene, where he
could make the call he needed to make.
“I won’t give you any trouble,” he assured them. “Go
ahead and take me in if you want to. At least I’ll get to town.”
The ranger’s hand relaxed and his face exhibited signs of
relief at having escaped a potential conflict. He opened the truck
door and led Judah to the Jeep Cherokee parked in his driveway,
where he drew a set of handcuffs from his jacket pocket and placed
them on Judah’s wrists. “Sorry, but like I said, we can’t be too
careful these days.”
Judah slid into the back seat peaceably and rode the entire
way in silence, his thoughts drifting like a swift wind past the long
fronds of evergreens that lined the road up into the mountainous
range where he had last seen his mother and father. He could still
conjure a clear image of them, sitting side by side watching the sun
dip beneath the horizon in a spectacular streak of pinkish-orange,
his mother resting her head on his father’s broad shoulder as she
played tenderly with his fingers. They had turned to find him
watching and beckoned him over, enclosing him in a group hug. It
had always been that way with them, love expressed quietly, freely.
But then fatigue set in and, lulled by the gentle hum of the car and
the lazy way in which the ranger navigated the subtle curves of
Highway 101, he drifted into a heavy sleep.
When he awoke again, it was with a start as the ranger
jerked his parking break into place and then opened his door, the
fresh cold air hitting Judah’s face like a splash of ice water. The
ranger did not come around and open his door for him, but left him
locked in the car while he went into the Jefferson County Sheriff’s
Annex to illicit some assistance. As Judah surveyed his limited view
of the town, he noted cars coming and going, felt the slight rocking
of the Jeep when an eighteen-wheeler roared by. He smiled a broad
silly grin at this, to no one in particular, to the world in general,
suddenly overcome with joy at the sight of life continuing on as it
5
always had. Then, considering the cuffs that still restrained his
hands, it occurred to him he might want to be more careful than he
had been so far. People would not understand him, his family, or
the extremes of what they had done, and lack of understanding
could fuel many injustices.
The ranger returned with a burly man sporting a long han-
dlebar mustache dressed in a tan uniform that culminated in the
brass star-shaped badge on his left breast pocket, for which Judah
took him to be the sheriff. The man opened Judah’s door and
grabbed hold of his arm to assist him in exiting the vehicle, which
Judah accommodated without resistance.
“I’m Deputy Hadley, son,” he announced in the raspy voice
of a longtime smoker, followed by a quick but productive cough
and then a swallow. “Mack tells me you were out wandering
around in his territory. I’m sure you’ve got a reasonable explana-
tion…” Another longer, less productive cough. “Why don’t we go
inside where it’s a little warmer so you can tell me all about it?”
Seeing the extent of his duty had been accomplished, the
ranger called out, “I’m gonna head out, Jesse. I’m sure you can
handle this from here. But put in a word for me…it would be
much easier for me if I had my own wand. And out there, it only
makes sense.”
“I hear ya,” Deputy Hadley replied. “Nothing I can do
about it, but I hear ya.” He waved his hand behind his head as he
ushered Judah up the steps to the glass door and on into the
warmth of the building’s interior. There were several desks that
greeted them immediately, each with a small red basket placed at
the forefront, half-filled with Christmas candies and crumpled foil
wrappers. The walls were covered in dark wood paneling, casting a
gloomy spell on the room the window, overhead light and various
desk lamps could not overcome. Further down the hallway, a
wooden door stood ajar enough to see the metal bars of the office’s
holding cell behind it, the sight of which turned Judah’s stomach.
The deputy seated him at a desk, leaving his hands cuffed behind
his back, poured himself the last drops of coffee left in the pot on
the filing cabinet, and then joined Judah at the desk. He shuffled
around in the top drawer of his desk for a yellow legal pad. “Okay,
son, first thing’s first. What’s your name?”
“Judah Hardison.”
“Okay, and where are you from, Mr. Hardison?”
6
“Concrete, sir.” Though his formal manners had grown
rusty from disuse, he was careful to speak with respect. “Originally
I’m from Austin, Texas, but my family moved to Concrete a while
back.”
“Um-hmmm.” Deputy Hadley scribbled on his notepad.
“Texas boy, then. I’ve never made it down there. How is it?”
“Hot,” Judah replied with a laugh. It was in fact the one
thing he remembered most about his early years, the milder tem-
peratures of Washington having been the first feature to enamor
him with his new home.
“How old are you, son?”
“Just turned eighteen, four months ago today. I guess that
makes me a man now.” He flashed his smile again.
Deputy Hadley seemed to be warming up to Judah’s easy
character. He dropped his pen on the pad and leaned back in his
seat, emitting a creak from the chair as it struggled to support his
weight. He scrutinized Judah carefully, focusing his attention on
the mass of dreaded brown hair that fell from his scalp in wild
disarray to his shoulders. “Well, I don’t know about that, but it
certainly makes you an adult in the eyes of the law.” Another deep
cough, for which he wiped his mouth with a neatly folded handker-
chief retrieved from his pocket. “What’s the deal with your hair,
boy? You got something against haircuts?”
Judah tried to move his hands to his head in the first self-
conscious gesture he could remember making in years but met with
the painful reminder that his hands were still restrained behind him.
He had not looked in a mirror once in the past two years and had
no idea what he really looked like, though he gathered he was not
the least bit presentable, despite the fact he had given his face and
hands a good scrubbing earlier that morning. “I don’t have any-
thing against haircuts, sir. I just haven’t had one in a while, that’s
all.”
“And why is that?”
Judah shrugged, beginning to feel uncomfortable again. He
glanced at the door just a few feet away from his seat and forced
himself to swallow the urge to flee. Though the deputy’s weight
and poor health would have made it easy to elude him, there was
still the matter of his handcuffs.
“You’re a strange fellow, if you don’t mind my saying so,”
Deputy Hadley continued. “But, strange as you are, you seem
7
harmless. We should just get this all over with and swipe your
hand, don’t you think? Then you can tell me what you were doing
out there by Mack’s place and we can get you on your way. Let me
go get the wand.”
With that, the deputy heaved himself up from his chair and
disappeared into a back room. The mention of swiping his hand
struck Judah as odd, but he assumed he would be fingerprinted to
check for a criminal record. He began to breathe easier, secure in
the knowledge there was no record to be found. He had never so
much as received a speeding ticket. He thought about the phone
number his parents had given him to memorize and replayed it in
his mind for the umpteenth time. When he was freed to go, he
would ask to use the phone.
“Alright, son, here we are,” Deputy Hadley said as he
reentered the room, slapping a thin black cylindrical wand against
his upper thigh in no discernible rhythm. He reached behind
Judah’s back and unlocked the handcuffs, freeing Judah’s right hand
but leaving his left hand confined as he attached the remaining cuff
to the back of the chair. “Place your hand palm-up on the desk.”
Judah did as he was instructed, and Deputy Hadley waved
his wand a few inches above the outstretched hand. There was
nothing but silence. He inspected the wand and shook it in the air
as if that might fix it, then waved it again over his hand, still to no
avail. The deputy then grabbed hold of Judah’s hand and pinched
the fleshy fold of skin between his thumb and forefinger, stretching
it outward, and waved the wand once more over the now-thinned
skin. When there was still no sign of recognition from the wand, he
turned it on his own hand and swiped it, resulting in three quick
beeps and a flash of neon blue light from the tip of the wand. He
eyed the small black box hooked onto his belt, similar in size and
shape to a cellular phone, and read from its small LCD screen.
“Nope, it’s definitely working,” he announced, in answer to
his own silent question. “Boy, you got your N.I.C.?”
Judah simply gaped at him in bewilderment.
“Your N.I.C?” the deputy pressed, with a hint of impa-
tience. Judah’s continued silence and genuine expression of
confusion seemed only to anger him. “You act like you never heard
of it. You got any I.D. on you? A temporary card?”
Judah shook his head. “No, I don’t, but everything I’ve told
you is true. My parents have a place out on Fern Valley Road in
8
Concrete. 5361 Fern Valley Road. We moved there from Austin
about eight years ago. I don’t have my driver’s license on me
because I lost it, but I’m sure you have a record of it in your system
if you look it up.” He did not mention he had “lost” it in the mail
before he had ever even received it, that his parents and he had
been long gone by the time it would have reached their home. He
could only imagine what had become of it since.
“Driver’s license, huh?” Deputy Hadley opened the cuff he
had attached to the chair and reapplied it to Judah’s right hand with
force. “Sounds like you haven’t been in our country as long as
you’d like me to believe. Come on,” he huffed, jerking Judah from
his seat and shoving him toward the hallway that led to the holding
cell. “We’re gonna get this figured out, one way or the other. I’m
gonna make a few phone calls and get somebody down here who
can handle this sort of thing the right way. I shoulda known by the
looks of you something wasn’t right.”
He guided Judah down the narrow hallway, which was also
paneled with wood, though it was even drearier than the front
office because it had no windows or lamps, only the buzzing light
bulb in the ceiling with a brass chain hanging from its neck. The
barred cell opened outward like a door into the small passageway
they entered. The walls of this room were barren and painted a
grayish white, and as Deputy Hadley freed his wrists from the cuffs
and closed the cell door behind him, Judah felt suddenly and
inescapably claustrophobic.
“Deputy Hadley,” he called, his hands grasping the steel
bars in desperation. “Please, I’m no criminal. I can’t stay in here
like this. I can’t breathe in here. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I hope you’re right, son,” the deputy responded. “I hope
you haven’t done anything wrong. But this is outta my hands now.
No N.I.C. and it’s automatically out of my jurisdiction. Just get
yourself some rest and the right people will be here soon enough to
deal with you.” With that, he turned to leave and had made it
halfway down the hall when Judah called out again.
“What about my call?”
Deputy Hadley stopped and turned. “What call?”
“Don’t I get a phone call if I’m under arrest?”
“You aren’t under arrest,” the deputy replied, making his
way back to the cell. “You haven’t been accused of any crime. You
said yourself, you’re not a criminal.”
9
It made no sense to Judah. If he had not been accused of a
crime, how could he be held in a jail? He wondered if this deputy
was just messing with him, a backwoods renegade law enforcer
entertaining himself at the expense of a long-haired. It would not
be the first he had heard of such things, particularly in a town the
size of Quilcene, but there was the whole N.I.C. thing and the black
wand he knew nothing about. “Please, I just have to make one call.
What harm could it do? I’m begging you.”
Deputy Hadley seemed to soften at the catch in Judah’s
voice and the hint of tears in the eighteen-year-old boy’s eyes, rough
as he appeared. And there was an innocence, an undeniable puppy-
like quality to Judah’s large brownish-green eyes that made it
difficult to remain hardened. The deputy sighed in exaggerated
exasperation. “One phone call, that’s it. And it better not be
international.”
Cuffed to his seat again in the front office, Judah dialed the
number he had safeguarded in his memory for just such a time.
After three rings, he heard the voice of a young female on the other
line.
“Hello,” he began, “I need to speak with Thomas or Elea-
nor Calloway.”
“They’re not in right now,” the girl’s voice replied. “Can I
take a message?”
“Is this Marin Calloway?” He prayed that it was.
“Uh, yes it is. Who is this?”
“Oh, thank god.” He gasped with audible relief, conjuring
in his mind the last memory he owned of his childhood friend. It
had been New Year’s Eve. Their families were exchanging Christ-
mas gifts and setting off bottle rockets while the adults sipped
champagne. Marin was wearing her new pink dress, which she was
intolerably proud of, and her long blonde hair had been parted
perfectly down the middle and pulled back into two pigtails with
feathery pink holders. Everything had been so different then. He
wanted so badly to see her familiar face, to tell her all that had
happened since he’d last seen her. A tear gathered at the corner of
his eye and he swiped it away, returning his focus to the task at
hand. “Marin, it’s Judah Hardison. I need to speak with your
parents as soon as possible. Do you know when they’ll be back?”
“Judah Hardison?” Her voice registered shock and disbe-
lief. “There’s no way. It can’t be. Where are you?”
10
“I’m in a little town called Quilcene, a few hours’ drive from
Seattle,” he explained, rushing to provide as much information as
he could before the deputy ended the call. “I’m being held in the
Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office here in Quilcene, something to do
with the N.I.C. My parents told me I could call for help, and it
looks like I’m really going to need it.”
“Slow down, Judah. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you
in jail? And where are you exactly? I’m getting a pen so I can write
it down.”
He took a deep breath and calmed himself, then spoke as
slowly and clearly as he could manage, giving her his exact location,
and glancing at a business card on the desk, providing the phone
number to the Sheriff’s office so that her parents could call as soon
as they returned home. At the very least, they would be able to
verify his story.
“Okay, I got it,” she assured him. “And don’t worry, Judah.
My parents will figure this out for you.” She hesitated a moment
before continuing. “It’s really good to hear from you.”
There was a click and then a dial tone, and Judah looked up
to find the deputy’s pudgy finger pressed onto the receiver.
“Time’s up,” he declared matter-of-factly, then extended his arm in
a sweeping gesture to point Judah toward his cell. As they made
their way down the hallway again, he asked, “I’m curious…why
didn’t you call your folks you say you got livin’ over in Concrete?
Seems they’d be in a much better place to help you out here.”
“My parents…passed away… two months ago.” The words
barely escaped his mouth, trapped in his throat as though his
tongue had turned to stone. It was the first time he had verbalized
them and he had not anticipated how difficult it would be. Deputy
Hadley said nothing in response, and Judah was not sure if this was
out of respect or awkwardness or plain disbelief. In any case, he
thought it better to not be forced to talk about it.
He returned to his cell and was left alone to await the Cal-
loways’ call or the arrival of Deputy Hadley’s “people”, whichever
came first. In the meantime, he removed his fur covering and his
boots and socks. The cold linoleum tile felt invigorating to his feet,
as he had begun to sweat beneath his warm attire in the well-heated
facility. He sat on the floor with legs crossed and began to breathe
deeply and slowly, eyes closed. Before long his meditation had
removed him from his cell and reinstated him on the mountainside,
11
with fresh mossy scents, watery blue skies, and the solemn hoots of
a spotted owl interspersed with the busy chatter of winter wrens.
There, in the sanctity of his mind, time stood still and he was still
free.
He was not sure how much time had passed when another
deputy appeared at the door of his cell with food, clanging a set of
keys noisily against the bars to draw him from his deep meditation.
Everything seemed darker then, and he assumed at least a couple of
hours had passed. He rose to take the offering that had been
slipped through the slit of the cell and rested on the small tray for
him.
“Thank you,” he acknowledged, suddenly realizing how
hungry he had become. He had not eaten since that morning, and
even that had been a slim portion of raspberries and dried salmon.
The cold-cut sandwich, granny smith apple, and cup of water
looked like a feast. The deputy pulled up a chair to watch him eat,
and seeming to notice Judah’s enthusiastic appetite, waited until he
had finished his last bite before initiating a conversation.
“Good stuff, huh?” he asked, nodding toward the empty
plate.
“Delicious,” Judah agreed. “I really appreciate it. I hadn’t
eaten since this morning. I guess you could tell.” He passed the
plate and cup back through the opening, and the deputy placed it
on the floor. “Where’s Deputy Hadley?”
“He’s gone home for the day,” the deputy answered. “I’m
Deputy Foster, but you can call me George, seeing as how it’s just
you and me here. We don’t usually have someone here all night,
but seeing as how we got a prisoner, and an unusual one at that, I
volunteered to stay through the night and keep an eye on you.”
“I see. Well, George, I’m glad you did. It’ll be nice to have
some company. What time is it anyway? I sort of lost track of time
in here.”
“Yeah, you looked like you lost track of your mind in there.
What was that you were doing?”
Judah smiled, imagining what he must have looked like to
George, sitting perfectly still in his bare feet with his dreads and his
beard and his holey jeans, oblivious to the world around him.
When he entered that deep of a meditative trance, there was little
that could disturb him. “I was meditating. It’s a good way to pass
the time, especially in a place like this.”
12
“You a Muslim?” George asked.
Judah thought it a strange question. “Why would you as-
sume I’m a Muslim?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you were facing Mecca or
something, the whole meditation thing, and the way you look; you
could be a Muslim.”
“I believe Mecca is east of here, but then I’m not entirely
sure what direction would be east in this cell,” Judah replied. “But
you know, all religions engage in some form of meditation, even
Jesus did. It’s just a type of prayer, only you listen to God rather
than speak to him.” He was alarmed at the deputy’s quick assess-
ment of him as a Muslim and had not forgotten the general sense of
intolerance for Muslims that had pervaded the country after the
attacks on the World Trade Center years before.
“So you’re not a Muslim?”
Judah shook his head. “No, I am not.”
“That’s good to know,” he replied. Then as if a thought
had just occurred to him, he rose from his seat and hurried out of
the room, returning moments later with a Jefferson County Sheriff’s
t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. “I thought you might be up
for a change of clothing.” He motioned toward Judah’s dirty attire.
“Thanks.” Judah took the clothing and changed into it ap-
preciatively, enjoying the sensation of the soft, freshly scented
cotton against his skin. Afterwards, he decided to see if he could
pry a little information from the deputy. “Do you have any idea
why I’m being held here, or when I might be able to get out?”
“Yeah, it’s simple.” George rocked back on the rear legs of
his chair, reached into his pocket and loaded his bottom lip with a
wad of tobacco. “Hadley says you don’t have your N.I.C. Anytime
someone doesn’t have their N.I.C., they have to be checked out real
careful by the Homeland Security’s Department of Citizenry. Right
now, they’re running you’re information through the N.D.B.A.C.
That’s the National Database of American Citizenry, case you didn’t
know. They’ll probably be sending someone out to talk with you in
the next couple days. What’s the matter with you anyway? You got
amnesia?”
“No, I uh,” Judah stammered a bit, unsure of what he
should share with this man. He had vague memories of conversa-
tions he had overhead between his parents, shortly before they had
left, incredulous whispers about rumors of the microchip that
13
would replace all other forms of identification. But even they had
not believed the rumors would materialize. “I’ve been out of the
loop for a while. I’m a little confused by all this. What is the N.I.C.
exactly?”
George eyed him as if he were a visitor from another planet,
spit a string of brown saliva into the empty cup at his feet, and said,
“You keep asking questions like that and you’ll end up in the Valley
for sure. The N.I.C., man…the National Identification Card. You
sure you haven’t taken a hit to the head? You look a little like a
terrorist, with that crazy hair and all, but you seem like a nice kid. I
think you better get your story straight, and real quick-like, if you
know what I mean. You don’t wanna end up in the Valley. It’s a
hard road getting out of there.”
Judah was afraid to ask, but he had to know. “What’s the
Valley?”
George scrutinized him again, seeming to second-guess his
conversation with the young man, but he must have determined
him essentially harmless because he continued. “The Valley is the
internment camp in Nevada, Death Valley to be exact. It’s for the
homegrown terrorists been popping up over the past couple years –
traitors. It’s a hell of a lot harder to get out of there than it is to get
in there, so you best start watching what you say. You best have a
good explanation for why you don’t got your N.I.C.” He spit into
his cup again, the act of speaking having excited his glands. “Only
reason I’m telling you all this is I got a good sense of people, a good
judge of character, and I can tell right off you’re a gentle soul. You
wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t know what you’re story is, but I know
you’re no terrorist.”
“You’re right about that,” Judah assured him, thankful for
the information but still hesitant to accept the deputy’s subtle
invitation to explain himself. “Thank you, really.”
“You play cards?” George asked, and upon Judah’s affirm-
ing nod, retreated to the front office and returned with a deck of
playing cards. “What’s your game?”
Using paperclips as chips they played various hands of
poker long into the night, supplemented by coffee, the bitterness
with which Judah had to slowly reacquaint himself, and the rather
dry pastries left over from the morning’s run to the bakery across
the street. Though George seemed to have developed a sense of
trust with Judah, he let him out of his cell only once to use the
14
bathroom and the rest of the night the two of them passed cards
and paper clips between the bars of the cell. When Judah finally
drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of Death Valley. He had passed
through there as a child with his parents on a road trip from Las
Vegas to California. At the time he had seen huge rock hills with
their tops blown off in an effort to mine for gold, but in his dream
the hills were transformed through the mysteries of his subcon-
scious mind into ancient Mayan pyramids, with etchings and glyphs
he could understand but not explain. And then he was chained to
one of them, driven by an unseen taskmaster to drill endlessly into
its core with a pick ax beneath the smoldering heat of the desert
sun. For what, he cried out, for what is this madness? Tossing and
turning on his cot through the remaining hours of the night, the
answers never came.
2
December 10, 2012
Judah awoke late the next morning, still tired from the
previous day’s trek, the ensuing adventures with the law and the
long night of poker, but the growing commotion of deputies at
work in the next room made it impossible to sleep any longer. He
heard intermittent spurts of laughter and muffled chatter emitting
from the front office but could make little sense of the bits and
pieces of conversation he overheard. It seemed they were going on
with business as usual, and considering the late time, he wondered if
they had forgotten about him.
“Excuse me,” he called, careful to control his volume and
tone so he would not come across as demanding, even though the
last two cups of coffee from the night before were now pressing
urgently against his bladder. When no one responded, he called out
again, this time a little louder. There was a shuffle and then the
click-clack of boots on the linoleum floor and the jingle of keys
against the deputy’s hip as he made his way to the back room.
15
“What do you need?” It was Deputy Hadley again, his
mustache freshly twisted into curls at the sides of his mouth,
reminding Judah of a farcical cartoon character.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
Deputy Hadley unlocked the cell and led him to the bath-
room, then advised him to wash up before he was served his
morning meal. He seemed less interested in Judah that day, as if he
had already washed his hands of him, having handed authority over
to the federal government. He had only to meet Judah’s basic
needs until they could come to retrieve him and do whatever it is
they did with the few remaining “unidentifieds” in the country.
After using the toilet, Judah washed his hands and face with
soap and water, then studied his reflection in the small mirror that
hung above the sink. It was the first time he had looked at himself
in nearly two years. He had been too preoccupied the night before
to bother, but that morning was different. If the Department of
Citizenry arrived, he would be meeting with people who would
determine his fate, people who wielded the power to send him to
Death Valley. He had to make a good impression. What he saw in
the mirror he barely recognized. His hair had grown to his shoul-
ders, matted into chunks and twists that resembled Rastafarian
dreads. His face was covered with a thick, longish beard, and his
skin had darkened several shades into a deep bronze tan that quite
possibly belied his Anglo descent. The only recognizable features
that remained were his brownish, olive green eyes and his full
reddened lips. He searched the small cabinet beneath the sink for
toiletries but found only three rolls of toilet paper. Regrettably,
there was nothing he could do to improve his appearance.
Back in his cell, he was provided with a light breakfast of
another apple, two pieces of toast and a cup of coffee, all of which
he savored, delighting in the relatively new assortment of flavors
they provided. As he finished his meal, Deputy Hadley returned to
inform him they had received a call from his friends in Texas, who
had asked that he be allowed to call them, and since they had also
offered to accept charges for the call, he saw no reason to deny the
request. Once again, Judah sat at Deputy Hadley’s desk with phone
in hand, only this time two other deputies occupied their desks
across the room and observed his every move, listened to his every
word as if he were a circus animal on exhibit for their private
16
entertainment. He tried hard to pretend he was alone. Thomas
Calloway answered the phone on its fourth ring.
“Mr. Calloway,” Judah began, “It’s Judah Hardison.”
“Yes, Judah! It’s good to hear from you,” Thomas ex-
claimed. “We’ve been worried sick about you. I stayed home from
work today to make sure I didn’t miss your call.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.” Judah turned his body
to face the wall, resigning his audience to a view of his back. “I
guess you know I’m in a bit of trouble up here.”
“Yes, Marin explained what you told her. I would imagine
you are, being gone for so long. I’m sure they’re wondering why
you don’t have your identification, and it’s my understanding the
law isn’t looking too lightly on that right now. There was another
terrorist attack just a couple of months ago. It’s been crazy, just
crazy.”
“I don’t know what to do, Mr. Calloway,” Judah admitted,
his voice lowered now to nearly a whisper. “My parents told me…”
“I know,” Thomas interrupted. “We promised them we
would always look out for you, and don’t you worry; we can fix this.
I spoke with that Deputy Hadley this morning. He seems to be the
one in charge up there. He told me he had called in the Depart-
ment of Citizenry and said they’ll be out there to see you tomorrow.
I’ve got some of your papers here in a safe, your birth certificate
and social security card. Your parents gave them to me before they
left. I think they could be of good use to you. I can’t make it up
there myself because of work, and neither can Eleanor, but Marin
has volunteered to make the flight, then drive you back here. We
would fly you back down, but you can’t fly without your N.I.C., and
it takes a week to get it after you’ve applied. So unless you want to
wait it out for a week up there, I think this is what will work best.”
Judah’s body slumped into the back of his chair, overcome
with the relief that flooded his heart and then rushed through his
veins like a rapid river. “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Calloway.”
He paused for a moment, mindful of the tears now gathering at the
back of his throat and unwilling to further entertain his unwelcome
audience. When he had composed himself sufficiently, he contin-
ued. “Are you sure, though? About Marin? I feel bad asking her
to do that.”
“Don’t feel bad,” Thomas assured him. “She volunteered
to go. She’s looking forward to seeing that part of the country and
17
to seeing an old friend. And she’s a great student; she can afford a
couple days away from college right now. It’ll be an extended
weekend for her. It’s important you get down here with the people
who know you.”
“Okay, then I guess it’s settled,” Judah conceded. “I’ll pay
you back for your kindness anyway I can.”
“Nonsense, you owe us nothing,” Thomas insisted.
“Marin’s flight leaves first thing in the morning. She’ll rent a car in
Seattle and should be in Quilcene by early afternoon. You take care
of yourself in the meantime. Don’t give them anything to use
against you.”
“I will,” Judah promised. “And thank you again.”
He was about to say goodbye when Thomas added, “Judah,
I’m not sure I want to ask, or if you are even in a position to
answer, but…where are your parents?”
Judah hesitated a moment, searching for the right way to
break the news, but there was no easy way to say it. “My parents
passed away, Mr. Calloway, two months ago.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “I
guess I figured as much.” Thomas released a long tired sigh that
seemed more an effort to mask his own emotions than anything
else. “I’m very sorry to hear that…we loved your parents very
much.”
“I know,” Judah said. “They knew.” And then, because he
could think of nothing else to say, “Thank you.”
“You know you’re like family to us down here. We love
you, too.” Thomas’ voice broke, and he paused another moment.
“I’m gonna go now, but we’ll see you soon. Everything’s gonna be
fine.”
As Judah returned the phone to its cradle, his stomach
swirled in a nauseous mixture of fear and despair. The sorrow he
had detected in Mr. Calloway’s voice was somewhat comforting,
and even though it seemed selfish to want company in his grief, he
could not help himself. The Calloways were all he had left now, but
they were hundreds of miles away and who knew how long it was
going to take to get him out of jail? And what if he didn’t get out
of jail? What if he ended up in the prison at Death Valley? He
cursed himself silently for giving in to fear, at the ranger’s house
when he could not bring himself to speak, and now as he cringed at
the thought of returning to his cell. Don’t energize your fear with worry;
18
it will only attract like a magnet the very thing you are afraid of. Remember-
ing the advice his mother had given him on several fretful occa-
sions, it felt as though she were standing right beside him, encour-
aging him from some ghostly realm. But of course she was not, and
he knew from now on he was going to have to learn to summon his
own courage.
Turning to face his small audience, he noticed they had
shifted their eyes from him. He stood and walked back to his cell
with Deputy Hadley in tow, and as the cell locked again behind him,
he was left with the challenge of entertaining himself for the next
thirty-six hours. He could meditate as he had done the day before,
but that would occupy only a few hours at most. Beyond that he
would be left painfully aware of his confinement, of the stark
disparity between the bountiful appreciation of time that had so
recently characterized his existence and the agonizing anticipation
of time that now plagued him. He decided he had no choice but to
make the best of it. Recalling his old companion Bob Dylan, the
songs with which he had first learned to play the guitar, he began
beating a rhythm on the metal frame of his cot, accentuated with
timely stomps of his feet upon the floor, and sang the lyrics to old
favorites like “Tangled Up In Blue”, “Like a Rolling Stone”, and
“Blowin’ In The Wind”.
Around lunchtime, Deputy Hadley’s wife stopped by to
bring him lunch. Judah could hear the shrill reverberations of her
voice as she prattled and busied herself around the front office,
then worked her way to the room that contained his cell, curious to
see who had been caught doing something wrong in their small
town. She was a stout woman, with a large belly held carefully in
place by a snug-fitting cotton turtleneck, from which the folds of
flesh beneath her chin protruded. Her hair was a shocking color of
red and had been set in curls around her pasty face, then held in
place with hairspray sufficient to last a week. Upon seeing Judah,
she gasped and took two steps backward.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed. “Oh, my-my! What on earth!”
“Hello,” Judah replied, with a wave and a meek smile.
When she said nothing, simply stared in disbelief, he decided to give
her a little show. Feeling restlessly silly and once again like a
freakish circus attraction, he figured he had nothing to lose. He
danced a little jig, then bent dramatically on one knee with head
19
bowed and hand extended before him, to which she offered a
begrudging snort.
“Well,” she said, breathily, with the same shrillness of voice
he had heard from the other room. “What do we have here? You
don’t look like you’re from around here.”
Judah stood again, pleased to have broken the ice and, as
much as he hated to admit it, glad to have someone to talk to. “No
ma’m, I’m not from around here. I’m from Austin, Texas and more
recently from Concrete. I take it you’re from Quilcene?”
“Born and raised,” she trilled. She eyed him with curiosity,
surprised by his attempts at polite conversation. “What does Jesse
have a boy like you in here for?”
“Just a little matter of identification,” he replied. “Seems
that can get you arrested these days.”
At this, she raised her thin, penciled eyebrows. “Yes, well,
we can’t have terrorists running lose in our country, now can we?
If that’s all you’ve done, I’m sure you can get that taken care of and
be on your way. Where are your parents?”
“They passed away, ma’m, two months ago.” It bothered
him it was getting easier to say that.
Yielding to her maternal instincts, her face thawed into a
soft ball of pity and she looked as though the only thing stopping
her from pressing his nappy head onto her cushioned bosom and
stroking it was the metal bars that separated them. Deputy Hadley
hustled into the room then, wiping a smudge of mayonnaise from
his mustache with his handkerchief. “Now Beverly, you know you
shouldn’t be back here messing with the prisoners,” he scolded.
“Come eat your lunch and leave the boy alone.” He took hold of
her arm and turned to guide her out of the room, but she would not
budge.
“And what is this young man having for lunch?”
“Charlie’s getting his lunch together right now,” Deputy
Hadley assured her. “That’s none of your concern anyhow. Don’t
you have a hair appointment to go to today?”
She raised her hands to her head, patted the sculpted curls
and scowled. “I just had my hair done yesterday, Jesse. Now, I
think this boy needs a good meal. Seems to me the ladies at the
church could do a good deed and bring him some good food.”
Then she covered her mouth with her pudgy hand and leaned in to
20
whisper to her husband in an unsuccessful attempt to conceal her
words. “He’s just lost his parents.”
Deputy Hadley rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on her
arm, yanking her toward the doorway. As they walked down the
hall, Judah overheard the remnants of their conversation.
“That boy could very well be a terrorist. For god’s sake,
look at him, Beverly! He looks like a damn savage.”
“But he might not be, and I don’t see the harm in bringing
some baked goods for him. It’s the Christian thing to do.”
“Beverly, I’m only gonna say this once so listen good. That
boy is suspected of being a terrorist and DHS is on their way to see
him. I don’t want you talking to a single soul about him.”
Their voices trailed off then and Judah was left to his own
devices, amused by the interaction he had witnessed and now
hungered by the mention of his lunch, for which he admonished
himself, loath to entertain himself with the consumption of food.
Nevertheless, when his lunch did arrive, he ate it heartily. The rest
of the day passed uneventfully for him. When he had finished his
daily meditation and his voice had grown coarse from singing and
his hands numb from drumming, he managed to convince Deputy
Hadley to let him read the newspaper.
The front page spoke of U.S. concerns over increasing pres-
sure on behalf of Brazil, Russia, India, and China, who collectively
constituted the BRIC Alliance, for the American government to
discontinue any efforts toward interference with the Venezuelan
government. Several U.S. senators expressed their dismay at these
international interventions and described Venezuela’s leadership as
a communist-leaning regime bent on suppressing the rights of its
people. They suggested these countries were more concerned with
their own oil interests than allowing the people of Venezuela to
thrive in a free, democratic society.
Another story on the front page alluded to a potential con-
nection between the Venezuelan government and the recent
terrorist attack on an oil refinery in the Gulf of Mexico. It identi-
fied two American citizens, members of an environmental organiza-
tion called the Earth Liberation League, as the actual perpetrators
of the attack, but suggested the existence of a Venezuelan financial
and strategic connection. A large banner headline ran along the
bottom half of the page, connecting the approaching end-date of
the Mayan calendar to the previous two stories: 2012 Panic Height-
21
ened After Terrorist Explosions. He put the paper down, finding it too
depressing to stomach, and lay on his cot instead, staring at the
ceiling until he fell into a deep sleep.
December 11, 2012
What he did not know, and would not discover until days
later, was Deputy Hadley’s wife had not followed her husband’s
strict instruction to keep quiet about his presence at the Sheriff’s
Annex. Being a woman of considerable stature at the Quilcene
First Baptist Church, she found it her duty to share such important
information with a few of her closest church friends that night at
their weekly game of Bunko, and though she advised them of the
need for discretion in the matter, they too felt it their duty to
inform a few of their friends. The prospect of a terrorist being held
in the confines of their small-town sheriff’s office was frightening,
and their imaginations, stoked by the recent attacks in the Gulf, led
them to speculate on which targets this terrorist might be eyeing in
their own insignificant community. Within hours, the town was
abuzz with theories ranging from a plan to undermine the Alaskan
Way Viaduct and the seawall in Seattle to a dreaded shift toward
soft targets located in their own hometown, like the Quilcene High
and Elementary School.
It seemed everyone who knew about Judah’s presence also
understood they were not supposed to know about it. Conse-
quently, when Deputy Hadley was greeted first thing the following
morning with three townswomen bearing muffins and chocolate
chip cookies for the sheriff’s office, he accepted the gifts and
visitors unsuspectingly. The ladies made small talk with the depu-
ties in the office and worked their way one at a time to the back
room to catch a glimpse of the mysterious inmate, then praised the
deputies for their diligent work and thanked them for working to
keep their town safe. When an hour later, two more women
stopped by bearing gifts of fresh donuts and coffee, he began to
wonder what had ignited the sudden interest in the town’s police
work, but still did not connect it to his wife’s gift for gab. It was
just after noon, when the front office was filled with inquisitive
citizens bustling about the small facility that he realized word must
have gotten out. He determined to put an end to the commotion
22
before the Department of Citizenry officials arrived and cupped his
hands over his mouth to shout above the ruckus.
“Alright, folks! We’re very grateful to have all of you here
today to keep us company, but we’ve got work to do here, so I’m
gonna have to ask you all to leave now.”
The voices quieted to a dull rumble as the group wondered
amongst themselves if they should leave or stay and demand some
real answers, then rose steadily again to a frenzied roar. Deputy
Hadley began ushering the townspeople one by one toward the
door, and it was during this preoccupation that Stella Sparks was
able to slip into the back room where Judah sat in a patient medita-
tive state on the floor of his cell.
“Psst…excuse me” she whispered. “I’m sorry to interrupt,
but could I have just a few words with you?”
Judah opened his eyes and turned to her, surprised by the
request. None of the other visitors who had worked their way to
his cell had dared speak a word to him, but rather contented
themselves with ogling him from the safe distance of the doorway,
as they would a lion in a zoo. Stella Sparks looked decidedly
different from the other visitors as well, different from anyone he
had thus far encountered in the town of Quilcene. She had long
brunette hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck with a simple
rubber band, sophisticated rectangular glasses that framed intense
gray-blue eyes, and she was dressed in stiffly pressed slacks, a low v-
neck sweater, and shiny dress boots. He estimated her to be an out-
of-towner like himself, most likely from Seattle. Nodding his
answer, he moved to the edge of the cell.
“Thank you,” she said. “My name is Stella Sparks. I’m a
reporter for an online publication, The American Guardian. Maybe
you’ve heard of it?” When his face registered no recognition, she
continued. “I heard about you through the grapevine, so to speak.
I’ve got a friend who lives here in Quilcene, and she called me late
last night to let me know the sheriff’s office here was holding a
suspected American terrorist. I drove out first thing this morning,
not really knowing if I would be able to get an interview, but it
seems the deputies out there have a little crowd control problem,
and I thought I’d just slip back here to see if I could get a few
questions in.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Judah offered with a smile. He
extended his hand through the bars and she took it graciously. “My
23
name is Judah Hardison, that’s J-u-d-a-h H-a-r-d-i-s-o-n, and I am
most definitely not a terrorist.”
“So then, why are you being held here?” She had pulled out
her small notepad and was scribbling frantically on it as she spoke.
“Because I don’t have the proper identification.”
“I see, the N.I.C. then.” She nodded her head knowingly
with brows arched and lips pursed, leaving him with the impression
she might be sympathetic to his plight. “Are you an American
citizen?”
“Yes. I was born in Austin, Texas August 9, 1994. My
family moved up here when I was ten and my parents bought a
place in Concrete. We’ve been living off-the-grid ever since, solar
and wind power, no phones, no television, so I guess you could say
we’ve been out of the loop.”
Stella finished jotting her notes and chewed on the end of
her pen for a moment, thinking. “So, you don’t have your N.I.C.
because you’ve never heard of it?”
“That’s right,” he affirmed. “This is all just a big misunder-
standing. I’ve been told the Department of Citizenry is coming to
see me today, and a family friend should be on her way as we speak
with my birth certificate and social security card. It should all be
cleared up then.”
Stella didn’t look like she was too sure of that. “Where are
your parents?”
Judah cringed, knowing this time his words would be set in
stone for the world to read as the official record of his parents’
demise. No flattering obituary, no funeral announcement inviting
friends and loved ones to remember them, just a blurb in an online
story about a supposed terrorist.
“They passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She paused just long enough to
demonstrate the sensitive approach to journalism she considered to
be her trademark. “If you don’t mind my asking, when and how
did it happen?”
It was the first time anyone had bothered to ask; he had not
realized how ill-prepared he was to answer. “I’d rather not talk
about it,” was all he could muster, and she let that slide, knowing
she had too little time to spend it prying stubborn details from him.
“And this family friend you mentioned, could I get in
contact with her for a little background information?”
24
“Yes, of course, you should. She can verify everything I’ve
told you. Her name is Marin Calloway; her family and mine go way
back. I’ve got her phone number, 512-280-7711. They’re in
Austin.”
By then the clamor from the crowd in the front office had
died down significantly and they now heard the sound of footsteps
in the hallway. Stella stuffed her notepad into her purse and drew a
thin, sleek cell phone from her pocket, which she hastily flipped
open and aimed at Judah, snapping a picture of him seconds before
Deputy Hadley entered the room.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” he demanded.
“Hello, Officer,” Stella greeted with an offering of her hand,
a gesture Deputy Hadley ignored. “My name is Stella Sparks. I’m
with The American Guardian. I was hoping to ask you a few
questions regarding your prisoner here, for a little story I’m doing
on the new phenomenon of homegrown terrorism.” She shifted
her body so that her back now faced the cell, slipped her hand
discreetly into her pocket, and passed a business card to Judah, who
retrieved it quickly and folded it in the palm of his hand.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Deputy Hadley hollered, his
patience now completely unraveled. “Who the hell gave you
permission to talk with my prisoner? I’ve got half a mind to arrest
you, lady.”
“Under what charges, Officer?” Her voice challenged him,
but her body moved closer to the door, positioning her for a quick
escape. While she knew he could not arrest her, he could in fact
confiscate her notebook. She was hoping he would be as careless in
his handling of her as he had been in his discretion about his
prisoner.
“Get the hell out of my sight before I find something to
charge you with,” he commanded, “and don’t come back here
neither.” With that, she rushed down the hallway and out the door
without so much as a second glance at Judah. Deputy Hadley
turned to his prisoner. “How long was she in here talking to you,
and what did you tell her?”
“Nothing, sir,” he lied. “We didn’t have time to talk about
much of anything.”
The deputy scrutinized him carefully and then, having de-
termined whatever damage had been done could not be undone,
turned and left the room with a huff. Judah relaxed and exhaled
25
long and slow. Things had become much more complicated than
he had ever imagined they might. If only he had followed his gut
instinct on the road the day before, had remained hidden behind
that bush and let the old pick-up truck pass him by, perhaps he
would be back at his home in Concrete, sifting through old books
and picking his guitar, or already in Austin with the Calloways,
reminiscing with Marin on the back porch beneath the sprawling
live oaks that endeared him to the Texas landscape. Instead he was
trapped behind bars, subject to the charges of terrorism being slung
at him by the anxious, misinformed citizens of Quilcene. But there
were far too many “if only’s” for him to consider, threads of
opportunity that had been snipped along the way, not just by him,
by his parents, by the breadth of humanity, threads that could have
weaved an entirely different existence for mankind. “If only”, he
knew, was a dangerous and wasteful frame of mind. He had to
focus on the present and what he could do to alter his current
predicament, concentrate on the threads of opportunity that lay
before him now so he might choose them wisely.
He unfolded the business card he had concealed in the palm
of his hand. It was a simple white card with raised navy blue
lettering that provided the title of Stella’s publication, her name,
phone number, and email address, and along the bottom in bolded
italics, a quote: The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying
itself – Albert Camus. He smiled at this, admiring the idealism that
must have driven its selection for such prominent display. Before
slipping it into his pocket, he studied the phone number and
committed it to memory, sensing it might be useful to him at some
point in the future.
3
A gentleman from the Department of Citizenry arrived at
three o’clock that afternoon. Judah could hear the commotion as
Deputy Hadley spoke in a loud but unconvincing authoritative
voice, expressing his pleasure at being able to assist in such an
important case. There was a low, dignified response which he
26
could not make out and then a shuffle of feet as they moved into
another room and closed the door. Nearly thirty minutes passed
before Deputy Hadley appeared and opened Judah’s cell.
“The suit’s here,” he reported gruffly, patting Judah on the
shoulder as he ushered him toward another back room. “You’re in
their hands now, son. I hope your story holds up because they
mean business.”
Judah tried to ignore the ominous tone, but when he
entered the small darkened room, its bleak interior heightened his
sense of apprehension. Other than a square wooden table and two
wooden chairs, one of which was occupied by a strapping man of
about thirty years, the room was disarmingly empty. Judah took a
seat at the remaining chair as Deputy Hadley left the room and
closed the door behind him. The “suit” offered a garish smile,
belying the icy stare of his grey eyes. He was dressed impressively
in a sharp black suit and red tie, his jet black hair slicked efficiently
against his head, and Judah surmised he would not be likely to keep
an open mind about his own shabby appearance. He determined to
keep his answers as brief as possible, to provide the least amount of
information he needed to validate his status as an American citizen
to this man. Clearly many things had changed in the years that had
passed since his family’s flight and he knew his ignorance placed
him at a significant disadvantage.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardison,” the man began, never
taking his eyes from Judah’s, not even to blink. “That is your name,
isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Judah Hardison, it seems, born August 9, 1994, is that
correct?” He was flipping through several pages contained in a
manila folder that lay before him on the table.
“That’s correct.”
“I apologize; I don’t know where my manners are today.
I’ve been traveling quite a bit, haven’t even had time for lunch yet.
My name is Earl Jensen; I’m an officer with the Department of
Citizenry.” He offered his hand, and as Judah accepted it he closed
it tightly, holding the vice grip long enough to command acquies-
cence.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Judah was keenly aware he had
entered into a game of wit with Officer Jensen, one in which his
very freedom was at stake, and all he could rely on was his instinct
27
and deferential etiquette. When Officer Jensen released his hand,
he took care to show no sign of discomfort or unease and returned
his hand to the table without so much as a glance at it, ignoring the
throb of blood as it rushed back to his fingertips.
“I understand you do not have legal identification. You
know it’s considered a crime to fail to provide law enforcement
officials with proper identification when asked. On that charge
alone you could face significant fines or even jail time.”
“No, sir, I was not aware of that.”
“Well, whether or not you were aware of it, it is a crime
nonetheless. Ignorance of the law is by no means a legal defense.”
Officer Jensen paused to let his words resonate, surveying Judah’s
face for a reaction; there was none. “I am, of course, not so
concerned with this little breach of the law, and surely would not
have traveled to this little podunk town for a common misde-
meanor. I am a federal officer and have little time to waste on such
trivial matters.” He waited again, allowing an opening for Judah’s
response, but Judah maintained his stoic silence. “You can imagine,
I’m sure then, that my being here must constitute a much more
serious inquiry into your situation.” This time when he stopped, he
settled into an even stare with Judah and awaited his response.
“Yes, I can see this has grown into something far more
serious than I had expected, although I don’t understand how or
why.”
“Well, Mr. Hardison, put yourself in my shoes for a mo-
ment. My job is to make certain anyone entering this country is
either an American citizen or is properly screened and documented
to ensure the safety of the American people from terrorist attacks.
It is a job I take very seriously. When Deputy Hadley informed our
office he had a young man who first, looked like he could be a
terrorist, second, was brought in from a remote location in a border
state, and third, not only did not have proper identification but
seemed completely unaware of our nation’s means of identification,
well…you can imagine it raised legitimate concerns about your
motives. Do you follow me here?” Judah nodded. “You’re gonna
have to help me understand. Tell me what you’re doing here, what
you were doing out in Olympic National Park and what business
you have here in Quilcene.”
“I can only tell you what I’ve already told Deputy Hadley,”
Judah replied. “I am an American citizen. I was born in Austin,
28
Texas, and my home is now in Concrete, Washington, where my
parents have a place. Our home is sort of off the grid, you know,
no television or internet. We do have a radio, but we rarely ever
listen to it; we prefer to make our own music. Anyway, I guess
somehow we missed the whole identification chip thing because I
knew nothing about it until Deputy Hadley tried to swipe my hand.
A friend of the family is on her way here as we speak with proof of
my citizenship. She has my social security card and my birth
certificate. She should be here any minute now, and she can clear
this all up for you. This is really all a big mistake, sir, a terrible
mistake. I am not a terrorist. I would never even think of hurting
any one.” It was a futile plea for understanding, he knew, and it did
nothing to ease Officer Jensen’s steely gaze.
“Yes, well, that sounds great, except that every person in the
United States was provided with information pertaining to the
National Identification Card well over a year ago through the
United States mail. You do receive mail at your home, I assume?
Surely you’re not that far off the grid.” Judah squirmed a little in
his seat and the tickle of sweat formed along his hairline. “And of
course, the reason our government switched to the use of im-
planted identification chips in the first place is that birth certificates
and social security cards are both documents that can be relatively
easily forged, which is something that in this day and age we just
can’t tolerate.”
Judah was trapped then. His hope that Marin’s arrival with
his documents would put an end to his ordeal had been shattered,
and his fate now truly lay in the hands of the pokerfaced officer
drumming his manicured fingers on the table across from him.
“What am I supposed to do then? I mean, how am I supposed to
prove my identity, if you won’t accept the only forms of identifica-
tion I have?”
Officer Jensen flashed his disingenuous smile again, leaning
forward in anticipation. Breaking Judah had been much easier than
he had anticipated. “There’s really only one thing you can do, and
even that might not keep you out of trouble.”
“What’s that,” Judah took the bait.
“Tell me the truth, everything you know, everything I
should know, as someone charged with protecting the citizens of
this country. Our government looks graciously on people who
cooperate. You’re still young, barely a man, easily impressionable;
29
we can understand that. But what we can’t understand and have no
tolerance for is withholding information that could prevent future
acts of terrorism.”
“But I already told you, I’m not a terrorist,” Judah objected.
“What can I tell you about future acts of terrorism if I have no
knowledge whatsoever of them?”
Officer Jensen dropped his pen forcefully onto the table,
leaned back to tilt his chair onto its hind legs, and released an
impatient sigh. “Tell me what you do know then. Tell me about
your parents,” he glanced at his notes, “Jenna and Raymond
Hardison.”
Judah was alarmed at the mention of his parents by name
and wondered what interest the officer could have in them. “My
parents? What do you need to know about my parents? Surely you
don’t suspect them of being terrorists.”
“Humor me,” Jensen replied with a sneer.
Judah searched for a proper answer. If there was one thing
his parents had been able to cement in his mind, it was a distrust of
the government and consequently a desire to avoid its scrutiny by
whatever means possible. And, explaining what he and his parents
were doing out in the mountains might solidify Officer Jensen’s
suspicions that he was indeed a fanatical threat. But he recalled his
parents had often rallied the notion that “the truth will set us free”
and in his case, it seemed it might do so in a most literal way.
“How far back do you want me to go?”
“As far as you like; I’ve got nowhere else to be today.”
Officer Jensen smirked triumphantly and pressed the record button
on his digital recording device.
“Well, let me just start by saying I am not a terrorist and
have absolutely no knowledge of any terrorist plots or acts, and
neither did my parents.”
“You say ‘did’; what do you mean by that?”
“My parents are deceased.”
“There is no record of their deaths on file anywhere,”
Jensen pressed. “How can that be?”
“Well, I’ll get to that…eventually, but I think I should start
a little further back than that so you can understand, if you don’t
mind.”
Jensen motioned with a flip of his hand for Judah to
proceed.
30
“I was born in Austin, Texas, just like I told you. My
parents were very young, high school sweethearts just starting
college together, so I was an accident. But in their eyes, my concep-
tion was part of the universal plan for them. They buckled down
and did what it took to finish school. My mother graduated cum
laude with a degree in political science while my father became a
chiropractor. Working together, they built my father’s clinic into a
million-dollar practice within six years. They had done well for
themselves, but over time they tired of it all, tired of the games with
insurance companies, tired of having all their efforts focused on the
accumulation of wealth. And all along they had been searching for
the ‘truth’, as they put it, the universal truth. They wanted to find a
way of life that would be peaceful and content, harmonious. One
day they sold everything we owned and moved us up to Concrete,
Washington, to a home on thirty acres they had had constructed of
rammed earth. It was completely self-sufficient, powered by solar
panels and wind turbines. My mother started a garden, and we
bought a cow and some chickens, and my father and I hunted and
fished for salmon in the lakes and rivers near our farm.
It was a shock to my system, to say the least, probably a lot
like I had been a shock to their systems at one time. I had been
raised on television and video games and internet, and the idea of
living in the middle of nowhere with no means of electronic
entertainment was weird, to say the least. But I have to say after a
month or two, I really began to enjoy our new life. My parents had
more time to give me and we enjoyed each other’s company, really
talked and laughed together. And worked together, for everything
we needed. My parents had a good amount of money put away, but
they were really trying to live self-sufficiently. Sometimes my father
would treat people from around Concrete who knew he was a
chiropractor and came to him for help, and they usually traded their
own goods for services. It was, as my parents had desired, a
peaceful way of life.”
“So what happened to them?” Jensen questioned, growing
impatient with the frivolous details of the Hardison family’s farm
life.
“I’m getting there,” Judah assured him, but he hesitated,
unsure of how to proceed, how to explain the next move his family
had made. “It’s a little difficult to explain what happened without
31
giving you some background information. Have you ever heard of
twenty-twelve?”
Officer Jensen perked up in his chair at the mention of this,
then seeming to think better of it, relaxed back into his seat and
responded casually, “I might have, but why don’t you go on and
explain it to me.”
“Well, twenty-twelve is the year 2012, when the Mayan
calendar predicts the world as we know it will come to an end, on
December 21, 2012 to be exact. It’s been interpreted by different
people to mean different things, basically that either the world will
come to an end or the world will enter into a new age of enlighten-
ment and experience a grand awakening.”
“Um-hmm, and which scenario did your parents believe
in?”
“Both,” Judah replied. “In their view, it could go either
way, and while they hoped of course the age of enlightenment
would occur, they never discounted the possibility that the end of
the world could happen. See, they were raised devout Christians;
they knew the Bible very well, including the prophecies of the Book
of Revelations.”
“But what Christian believes in the prophecies of the Mayan
calendar? That’s ludicrous.”
“Well, they really weren’t Christians. They were raised as
Christians, but that was just the beginning for them. There were
many other religions they studied and found truths in. When I was
old enough to start learning about religion, they taught me about all
the world religions, Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, Hindu-
ism, and even the aspects of science that touch on spiritual truths.
They were all pieces of the puzzle, and all offered universal truths,
many of them offering different versions of the same truths. So,
the Mayan calendar was not so far removed from the realm of
possibility for them, and even seemed to coincide with the Bible’s
predictions of an end time.”
At this, Officer Jenson scoffed. “So you’re telling me your
parents were basically crackpots; is that what you’re saying?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all,” Judah retorted. He had
always been deeply sensitive to criticism of his parents. It was, he
supposed, an inherent trait, given they had so often chosen to grind
against the grain. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the Mayans
were a very advanced civilization, and their calendar is the most
32
precise ever to have existed, far more precise than our own modern
calendar. They were able to predict astrological events far into the
future, including the winter solstice of this year. And their calendar
surpassed others in that it also incorporated a spiritual aspect,
attempting to align people’s lives with the cosmos. But my parents
were also concerned with end time predictions from other cultures,
and it was in fact the volcanoes that erupted the day after Christmas
two years ago that led them to decide it was time for us to leave.
Volcanoes are one of the last signs depicted in the Bible. It was
unheard of…Mount Ranier’s lahar on the same day as Mount
Vesuvius’ catastrophic eruption, some eight hundred dead here in
Washington and something like ten thousand dead in Naples. My
parents had always said when the volcanoes came, that was when
we would leave, and that day there were two, almost simultaneously.
It was a scary sign.”
“Okay, so the world may be coming to an end a couple of
weeks from now. Believe me, you and your parents are not the only
quacks preaching this sort of garbage,” Officer Jensen sighed.
“But, where did you and your parents go?”
“Olympic National Park.”
Judah watched as Officer Jensen’s face fluctuated between
confusion and disbelief, and then settled into consternation.
“Surely you don’t expect me to believe you and your parents have
been living in Olympic National Park for the past two years. That’s
impossible!”
“Oh, it’s very possible,” Judah assured him. “I’m living
proof of it.”
“But how? How did you survive? How did you go unno-
ticed by the park rangers and the visitors? It’s just not possible.”
“We had been preparing for it for a couple of years, going
up into the mountains every once in a while, at first for only a few
days, then for a couple of weeks, and then for a full month. We
had mastered the art of surviving in the wilderness long before the
volcanoes erupted. We knew how to build our own shelters, how
to live nomadically, hunting and fishing and gathering berries and
nuts, making our own tools and weapons, for hunting of course. In
my cell, I have a fur covering made from the hide of a black bear.
Much of our knowledge came from our earlier preparations, but
once we were out there and our survival was at stake, we acquired
33
innate knowledge, tapped into our latent instincts. We found
solutions to whatever problems arose.”
“So what happened to your parents?”
“They both died, like I said, while we were out there,” he
mumbled, glancing up to the ceiling as he willed away the tears that
threatened to overflow. How foolish it sounded, he thought,
running to the mountains to avoid the end of the world only to die
before the end even came. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he
continued. “They fell from the side of a mountain. My mother died
instantly and my father was badly wounded. He must have devel-
oped an infection in the wound because he got real sick a few days
later. They were deeply connected to each other; they had always
said if one of them died, the other would be quick to follow. I
don’t think he had the will to fight anymore.”
Judah paused a moment and Officer Jensen waited patiently
for him to continue. “I stayed in the wilderness a couple of months
after that, trying to figure out what I should do. I traveled several
days to the point where I met up with the park ranger, and he
brought me here to the sheriff’s office. I was trying to get to
Quilcene to make a phone call, to contact our family friends in
Austin, the Calloway family. My parents had left Mr. Calloway in
charge of their various trusts, to keep the property taxes paid on our
property and to leave a nest egg for me if I ever needed it. His
daughter is the one who is coming here today with my papers. She
should really be here by now, any minute I’m sure, and she can back
up pretty much everything I’ve told you…I’m not a terrorist, and
neither were my parents. We were pacifists; I’m still a pacifist,
never hurt anyone in my life.”
Officer Jensen flipped through the various documents in his
folder, biting the inside of his lower lip, then looked again at Judah,
searching for any sign of duress, anything that might indicate he was
not telling the truth, because his story had been difficult to swallow
and would be even more difficult to explain to his higher-ups. An
entire family choosing to live in the wilderness like native tribes-
men, foregoing the comforts and ease of the twenty-first century in
favor of a nearly impossible way of life, was far removed from his
frame of reference. Yet, based on the information he had been able
to gather about the Hardison family through various public records,
he saw nothing that could contradict the story. He closed the
folder and decided to press Judah a little further.
34
“That’s a tidy little story you’ve got there. It explains the
extended lapse in public records for your family during the past two
years, and it explains your lack of identification. You’ve got a nice,
neat explanation for everything.” Judah nodded and lifted the
palms of his hands in a gesture of compliance, but Officer Jensen
pressed on. “I do find it curious you forgot to mention your
parent’s political activities. It makes me wonder if you might be
hiding something else behind your little story.”
Judah’s heart sunk, his sense of relief evaporated. “What do
you mean? What does that have to do with what we’re talking
about?”
“It has everything to do with what we’re talking about.
You’ve just told me your parents were radical enough to take their
child and move into the mountains of a national park, illegally I
might add, and live there like animals for two years. Now, I have
here a detailed record of their political affiliations and activities over
the years. There are donations to organizations supporting im-
peachment of a former president, groups that renounced our
government’s anti-terrorist efforts internationally. They were
actively involved in the coordination of several anti-government
protests. In short, they have a history of supporting movements
against the acts of their own government, which can certainly be
viewed as actions that enable terrorist organizations. You say you
and your parents were not terrorists and would never hurt any one,
but supporting such causes indirectly supports terrorism. Now, I
know there’s more to your story than what you’re telling me. I
know either you have other less benign intentions than what your
accounting has admitted, or you are aware of other such activities
through the network of anti-government allies connected to your
parents. Your only hope here is to come clean of everything you
know.”
“Listen, you’ve got it all wrong,” Judah insisted. Since when
had speaking your mind about political ideals become a terrorist act,
he wondered. Was that right not at the heart of any democracy?
“My parents were working to dismantle the damage of terrorism in
this country, not enable it. They could see the atmosphere of fear
that had gripped the minds of many Americans after the attacks on
the World Trade Center was destructive, disempowering, and could
lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy of never-ending violence. All they
were trying to do was shift the general mindset to one that could
35
enable peaceful resolution. To tell you the truth, from what I’ve
been able to gather the past couple days, it seems they were right.
Not only is there more violence, but the basic rights of an American
citizen can now be threatened simply because of the way he looks
or thinks or because he doesn’t have a microchip implanted in his
hand.” Judah looked the officer straight in the eyes, not sure if he
had crossed some invisible line of propriety, but he refused to
believe the ideal of American liberty had been so thoroughly
defeated.
Officer Jensen raised his eyebrows in a show of disapproval,
but Judah’s words had clearly given him cause to pause. After all, it
was true he had nothing concrete to indict Judah with, only the
suspicion rooted deep within his gut that the young man sitting
across the table from him was indeed a radical and therefore a
danger. He decided he should consult his supervisor in Washing-
ton, D.C. and excused himself from the room. Judah was left to
stare at the blank wall, with the incessant tick of the clock taunting
him as it filled the now silent room, marking each second that
passed.
The seconds grew into minutes and then a full hour had
passed without Officer Jensen’s return. Judah began to wonder if
he had left the Sheriff’s office all together, if Deputy Hadley had
merely forgotten to return him to his cell. He stood and opened
the door just a crack, then poked his head into the hallway to see if
he could catch a glimpse of either man. The hallway was empty,
but he heard voices in low conversation, first the alternating deep
baritones of the two officers, then the decidedly higher pitch of a
female voice. His heart soared at the prospect Marin had arrived.
Even if the forms of identification she had delivered were not
adequate, the presence of another citizen in witness to his incarcera-
tion and innocence would make it much harder for Officer Jensen
to simply sweep him under a rug in the prisons of Death Valley.
The two male voices grew louder and more commanding, and then
Marin’s voice grew louder and more demanding, loud enough for
him to pick up bits and pieces of the exchange.
“What crime…committed?”
“…identification…fine…the very least.”
“How much…I’ll pay it.”
“…not that easy…we have procedures…”
36
Judah strained to hear more of the conversation and
decided, with heart racing, to step into the hallway and position
himself closer to the front office. He settled into a stance about
halfway down the hall, poised to make a run for the interrogation
room at the slightest sound of a footstep. From this perch, he
could hear every word spoken.
“You should know my parents have been contacted by a
reporter from the American Guardian. She knows all about Judah’s
incarceration here and she is writing a story on it. In fact, she said
she would be publishing it by late this afternoon. You can’t keep an
American citizen in jail for no reason; the American people are
going to know about it.” Judah marveled at the strength in Marin’s
voice, in the face of two officers of the law who could just as soon
throw her into the cell with him if they wanted to.
“Well, that’s good to know, Ms. Calloway, but we don’t
require the consent of the media or news blogs to do our job in
protecting the American people.” It was Officer Jensen’s voice,
and he sounded distinctly annoyed. “Now I will review the docu-
ments you have provided along with other information I have
available and will determine how to handle Mr. Hardison without
further input from you.”
“That’s fine,” Marin replied haughtily. “I’ll just wait over
here while you do that.”
The shuffle of footsteps signaled Judah to retreat to the
interrogation room, but he was encouraged by the exchange he had
overheard. With so many people now involved in his cause, Officer
Jensen would have a much higher standard of proof to meet if he
wanted to ship him off to Death Valley. He waited in the room
another thirty minutes before Officer Jensen returned and took his
seat across the table again.
“Well, Mr. Hardison, your friend has arrived with your
official documents,” he began. “Given we do have record of your
American citizenship on file, and we now have your original
documents in our possession, I think we can safely concede you are
who you say you are.”
“Thank you, sir,” Judah gushed, relief flooding his body.
“This has really been just a terrible misunderstanding.”
“Well, not so fast there,” Jensen warned. “We have positive
identification of your citizenship, but we still do not have definitive
answers as to your motives. As you may or may not be aware,
37
domestic terrorism has become an increasing focus of our efforts
lately. We just had a domestic attack two months ago, in fact, so
you’re not entirely in the clear yet.”
“But I’ve done nothing, nothing at all.”
“Yes, well, we have no proof of that, but then again, we also
have no proof you are working with any terrorist organization, so it
would appear we are at a point of having to rely on plain good
judgment. And you know what my instinct tells me about you?”
Judah shook his head. “My gut tells me you’re trouble with a
capital ‘T’. All this hogwash about 2012 and the end of the world.
All we need is another radical out on the street stirring up commo-
tion. If I had it my way, I’d throw you in jail before waiting to find
out if my gut instinct is right or wrong. But, my supervisor thinks it
would be best to let you go on your way, with proper identification,
and wait to see what you do with your freedom. So, that’s what I’m
going to do here, but you will get your proper identification imme-
diately. I have contacted our office in Seattle and they will be
expecting you first thing tomorrow morning.” He pulled a business
card from the inner pocket of his jacket and scrawled a name on the
back of it. “Ask for her; she’ll take care of your temporary I.D.
Your friend has told me you will be going back to Texas with her,
so you will report for your permanent identification there within a
week. She has provided me with contact information, and believe
me, I will be in contact.”
Judah could hardly believe his ears; it looked as though his
ordeal were truly about to end. “Thank you, sir, thank you. I really
can’t thank you enough.” He took Jensen’s hand in his own two
hands and shook it heartily. “I promise you, you will not regret this
decision. I’m a law-abiding citizen. You can forget about me. I
won’t cause any trouble whatsoever.”
“Oh, be sure, Mr. Hardison, I will not forget about you.
We’ll be meeting again, soon.” His words carried the weight of a
threat, but Judah disregarded them, certain the officer was merely
posturing to save face after all his hardened questioning and
accusations. For the moment, he was simply thrilled to be free to
leave and turned his thoughts anxiously to the vision of Marin
waiting for him in the front office.
After signing paperwork and receiving a copy of his citation
for lack of identification, the fine for which was assessed at two
hundred and fifty dollars and paid by Marin, he gathered his
38
belongings and hurried down the hallway to finally reunite with his
childhood friend. He found her standing at the entrance, staring
out the glass door. When she turned to face him, his heart leapt
into his throat. She had grown into a stunning young woman. Her
long blonde hair still fell in a cascade of loose curls at her shoulders,
her chocolate-brown eyes still beguiled behind the curtain of long,
curling lashes, and her wide smile still formed a dimple just above
her right cheekbone. Only she was much taller, and the lines of her
figure formed a slender yet curvy silhouette beneath her clothing.
“Oh my god!” she squealed upon seeing him, then ran to
him and threw her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe it. Thank
god you’re alright.”
He returned the hug wholeheartedly, relishing in the
warmth that radiated from her embrace, and though he had never
been prone to tears, his eyes watered accordingly. “It’s so good to
see you, Marin. Thank you for coming.”
They made their way outside, arms wrapped around each
other’s waists, and Marin clicked the alarm of the maroon Pontiac
Grand Am she had rented upon her arrival in Seattle. As they
climbed inside and Marin slowly steered the car back onto the
interstate, Judah glanced back at the Quilcene sheriff’s annex. He
shuddered to think what might have become of him had Marin not
arrived when she did, had she not fought so fearlessly for him. He
might be leaving the facility in an unmarked sedan headed for the
deserts of Arizona, never to be seen again, rather than savoring the
sweet zest of freedom narrowly regained.
“Really, I can’t thank you enough for what you did in
there,” he reiterated. “I heard you talking with them, standing up
for me the way you did. That was very brave of you.”
Marin laughed. “You heard that? I was freaking out, to tell
you the truth. Never been so scared in my life, but I just said
whatever I could think of. I knew if they didn’t let you go right
then, it would be a long time before I saw you again, if I ever did.
These days, all it takes is suspicion and you can be taken away for a
long time. You have to be really careful about what you say and do,
what internet sites you frequent, what books you check out at the
library. It’s all in a database now.” She stole a glance at him and
reached across the seat to squeeze his hand. “But you’re all good
now. It’s time to go home.”
39
He smiled and returned the squeeze but his stomach
quivered at the mention of “home”. It had been a long time since
he had possessed a real concept for that word, and at the present
moment anywhere in the world could just as soon be home to him.
While his parents’ house was still technically his, he had not seen it
in two years, and without the two of them, it would hardly feel like
home. In Austin, he had the Calloway family and perhaps a few
other remnants of his childhood friends, but his grandparents had
passed away shortly after his family had moved to Concrete, and
they had been the only extended family he had ever known. While
he was glad to be returning to a safe, familiar place with people who
cared about him, it hardly felt like he was headed home.
“So, tell me everything,” Marin pried, returning her hand to
the steering wheel. “We’ve got a couple hours to fill here; tell me
everything that’s happened since I last saw you.”
“You first,” Judah countered. He had tired of relaying his
story, with all its oddities and paranoid undertones. He wanted to
hear what his life could have been like had his parents simply stayed
on the path that had stretched so comfortably before them, like
every other suburban family he had known as a child.
“Well, let’s see…I guess most of it’s pretty standard stuff. I
graduated from South View High. I was on the tennis team all
four years, and I graduated in the top ten percent. I’m going to UT
now, freshman year, majoring in Biology. I want to go to med
school, but I’m starting to think about that a little more now. I’m
not so sure I want to spend the next eight-to-ten years of my life in
school…God, when I put it that way, it kinda sounds like a prison
sentence, doesn’t it?”
Judah smirked. “Yeah, it does, but it might be worth it. I
know my dad loved being a chiropractor, being able to make a
difference in people’s lives.”
The mention of his father filled the car with an awkward
silence. Marin studied his face for a sign, wondering if she should
broach the subject of his parents’ deaths just yet, but he simply
stared ahead at the road as it sped beneath them, giving no indica-
tion of his emotional state. She decided it was better to err on the
side of caution and gabbed on about her own life. “Well, I figure I
have plenty of time to make up my mind for sure. For now, I’m
just taking my basics and enjoying the fact that I’m in college. It’s
hard sometimes, and I worry a lot about my GPA. There’s steep
40
competition getting into med school, so there’s no room for error.
But it’s also a lot of fun. I’ll have to take you to a few parties.”
“Sounds fun; I’d love to.” He tried to imagine what it
would be like, him at a party with so many other kids his age. He
had no idea what music was in style; he had seen no recent movies,
and because he had completed his schooling at home, he had not
attended regular school classes in eight years. He would have very
little in common with her friends. Still, he knew he would accom-
pany her wherever she invited him to go because he’d been strug-
gling to keep his eyes off her from the moment he’d first seen her
in the sheriff’s office. Even now, his eyes drifted to her hands as
they gripped the steering wheel and his heart fluttered at the thin
delicate lines of her fingers and the tiny points of her knuckles. He
wished she would take hold of his hand again, but she did not, and
recalling the agreement that had long existed between their two
families that the two of them would not date, he decided it was
probably best.
“So, I told you about me; now it’s your turn.”
“Alright,” he conceded, and then proceeded to fill her in on
all the details of his recent years, from his life on the farm to his
family’s flight into the wilderness. Speaking the words aloud, he
had to acknowledge it sounded bizarre, but strange as it was, it was
his story. He would have to get used to telling it. “After my
parents died, I stayed out there for a couple months, not really sure
what I should do, but I finally decided I had to come back. Just to
connect with people again, you know?”
“God, Judah,” Marin sighed, tears welling up in her eyes. “I
don’t know what to say…it’s so terrible. I’m so sorry.” She
reached over and tugged his hand gently, electrifying the hairs along
his forearm.
“It’s okay; I’m fine,” he assured her.
“What do you mean, ‘you’re fine’? You don’t have to act
tough with me. I’ve seen you cry before, you know.”
“No, really, I’m fine. I’ve learned a lot of things over these
years, and I know death is as natural as life. It was their time; I have
to accept that. I miss them, of course, but I can’t dwell on it. It’s
not good to dwell on death, or any loss for that matter.”
She eyed him strangely. “That’s an interesting way of
looking at it. You’re a lot stronger than I would be.” He shrugged.
“So…do you believe it’s the end of the world?” She shivered a little
41
as the question escaped her mouth. “I mean, I’ve heard people talk
about 2012, but I’ve never given it much thought. I guess I didn’t
really want to think it could be a possibility.”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I really don’t. I mean, how
the hell could I? How the hell could any body?”
After a sustained silence, Marin changed the subject. “Tell
me what it was like, living out in the wilderness like that. I can’t
even imagine.”
He chuckled and threw his head back onto the head rest,
turning his gaze to the ceiling. “Wow, I don’t know how to answer
that. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Okay, tell me where you lived, what you ate, what you did
all day. Tell me anything you can think of.”
“Well, we lived in a dug-out shelter, which is basically a big
pit dug in the ground with a thatched ceiling over the entry hole
that looks like ground cover to anyone standing on the outside. It
was a pretty good-sized hole, about six feet wide and maybe seven
or eight feet long. Its opening was right between two large boulders
so no one was likely to ever notice it. I say we lived there, but we
really lived in the forest and mountain areas. The dug-out was just
where we slept. It was the best way to keep from being discovered
by park rangers or park visitors. We stuck mainly to the really
isolated, less traveled areas, especially during daylight. We hunted
small animals and fished for salmon, bass and trout, and we caught
shellfish. Mom found fruits and nuts and berries for us. When we
came across a fallen tree, we were able to use its wood for all kinds
of things, mainly tools and weapons.
So I did my share of all these things, and that’s pretty much
how I spent my days. We had plenty of time to hang together,
watch the stars, sing songs and play our instruments. Dad had to
bring his harmonica along, and I brought mine as well. Mom would
sing or beat-out a rhythm with sticks or rocks. We swam in the
summer and sat around the fire in the winter, telling stories and
talking about anything and everything. I can’t describe to you the
bliss of sitting beneath a perfect night sky, where you can really see
the stars, and all you can hear is insects and birds rising and falling
in symphony around you. Or the sublimity of meditating to a
majestic sunrise when you have nowhere you have to be, nothing
you have to think about in that moment other than the moment
itself.” His voice had grown wistful and he closed his eyes to try
42
and conjure the feeling again, but his mind kept slipping back to the
memory of his ordeal in Quilcene, the ache in his heart for the two
people he had been closest to in the world, and the recognition that
nothing would ever be the same for him again, 2012 or not.
“That’s just crazy, that you could survive like that. I can’t
imagine it. I could never do it.” She shook her head emphatically.
“Sure you could,” he insisted. “You just don’t know it
because you’ve never tried anything like that. Humans are very
adaptable, if they choose to be.” Then, a thought suddenly occur-
ring to him, he perked upright in his seat and said, “Tell me some-
thing, what’s going on with all this NIC stuff and Death Valley? It
seems an awful lot has changed since I left. You need to fill me in.”
“Well, let’s see,” she thought aloud. “You know, now that I
think about it, a lot really has changed. I don’t know how aware
you were of current events before you left, but there was a big
economic crisis several years back. The deficits had reached a
record high and there was a lot of unrest about the oil situation and
the never-ending conflicts in the Middle East – Iraq, Syria, Iran.
It’s like, we were supposed to be going in there for oil, right? I
mean, that’s what every one said, but the gas prices just kept going
up, and the fighting never really ended. There’s always something
on the news about it. Anyway, all of that caused a pretty big stock
market crash, and they shut down the exchanges to minimize the
damage, but it hasn’t really recovered. We’ve been discussing a lot
of this in my poli-sci class. The government rolled back a bunch of
labor union rights to try and keep companies from sending their
jobs overseas, which seems initially to be having a good effect, but
who knows in the long run. People can only survive on so little
here in America. I don’t see how we can compete with third-world
countries.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t know. It’s been kinda
weird. A lot of people are out of work or working at jobs you
would never have expected. You remember Lanie Coleman? She
was in our third grade class?”
Judah nodded in reply, though it was only the name that
rang a bell; he could conjure no mental image of her. “Her dad
used to have a pretty decent job at Dell, remember? They had a
really nice house and all. Junior year, he lost his job and they were
like flat broke. They lost pretty much everything. He ended up
getting a job at Best Buy in the computer department and her mom
43
had to go back to work. I think she got a job at a book store or
something. Anyway, it was pretty freaky for all of us.”
“Damn, that’s rough,” he sympathized. “How’s Lanie
doing now?”
“She’s alright, I guess. She’s going to Austin Community
College on student loans and she works at a little coffee shop
downtown. She kinda stopped talking to all of us after graduation,
so I don’t know too much. I felt sorry for her; it was terribly
embarrassing.”
“Humph,” he grunted. He had always imagined all the kids
he had left behind had gone on to live perfectly normal lives with
their perfectly ordinary parents, and he now realized the small-
minded foolishness of this. There was no such thing as happily
ever after, and if there were, he wondered if anyone would really
want it anyway. It would be like riding a roller coaster that once it
cranked its way up to the top, never again surged to the bottom,
and what kind of roller coaster would that be? “I guess we all have
our problems to deal with in life. I’m glad to hear she’s doing
okay.”
Marin shot him another quizzical glance, puzzled by the
calm wisdom he seemed to exude. It was a far cry from the some-
what self-centered, demanding young boy she had once known.
“That’s so true,” she agreed.
“So tell me how all this N.I.C. stuff started. Do you have a
chip implanted in your hand?”
“Umm-hmmm.” She offered her right hand for inspection.
“Squeeze the skin between my thumb and forefinger. You can feel
it if you roll it around a bit.” He pulled the loose skin out until it
was flat and rolled it until he felt a hard ball-shaped object, no
bigger than a bee-bee. “I got it put in a little over a year ago. I had
to; everybody did. It was after the subway attack in New York City.
You might have heard about that before you left. It caused a big
panic all over the country and within a couple months the govern-
ment announced the new identification system. Apparently they’d
been researching and developing it for a while. A year after the
attack, just about every one had their chip in. It’s not that bad,
really. There’s no more problem with identity theft, and you can
use it to pay for just about anything. No more need to carry credit
cards or even money really.”
44
While it sounded practical enough to Judah, he couldn’t
help remembering what his parents had warned him on numerous
occasions – whatever you do, never accept a chip in your hand or
forehead. While they had not been committed to Christianity by
any means, they had considered such a chip to be the mark of the
beast mentioned in the Bible and had vowed never to accept it,
instructing him to do the same. Judah had always considered their
nominal Christian provisions to be a cover-your-ass policy, a
residue of childhood superstitions, but a heavy weight sunk deep
within his stomach at the thought of receiving the chip. He won-
dered if he would in fact be able to go through with it. Perhaps he
too wanted to cover his ass.
“Does it bother you,” Marin probed cautiously, not wanting
to offend him, “what your parents did, dragging you out there like
that?”
It was a good question, one Judah had not even begun to
contemplate. “I haven’t really thought about it, but as a general rule
I don’t believe in regrets. I think everything happens for a reason.
It has to.”
She did not press the issue and he did not volunteer any
further consideration. Instead, she turned on the stereo and they
listened to the afro beat rhythms of Fela Kuti transform the car into
a smoky Nigerian jazz bar. He was glad to see she had not aban-
doned the eclectic taste in music they had both inherited from their
parents. With lifted spirits, he opened the window to embrace the
chilled air that filtered through the car, and when his body could no
longer confine itself, his arms broke out in free-spirited dance. She
laughed and began tapping the beat on the steering wheel, shrug-
ging her shoulders from side to side. Before long they were both
howling out the windows in unrestrained elation.
The act of spontaneous celebration captured for Judah the
feeling he had been unable to retrieve only moments before as he
had attempted to revisit the bliss he had experienced on the moun-
tain. It dawned on him that since his reentry into the civilized
world, he had been plagued by an overwhelming sense of fear and
that most of what he had said and done had been driven by this
burden. He recalled a favorite saying of his father’s, fear is paralysis of
the soul. The only way to overcome it was to face it. He thought
about the long trip that lay ahead of him and contented himself
with images of every imaginable landscape he would experience
45
along the way, thought about the strange faces he would encounter
in the place he had once called home and anticipated the joy of
communion with other people. He envisioned the micro-chip
being inserted into his right hand and accepted that if it were meant
to be, he would receive it. Immediately, he was reunited with the
serenity that had accompanied him on the mountain.
4
December 12, 2012
Judah awoke to the glare of the morning sun through the

hotel window the next morning. They had arrived in Seattle around
eight, found a room at the Best Western, and grabbed a quick
dinner at a nearby restaurant, where he had relished a reunion with
several old favorites – the greasy flavor of thin-sliced pizza, the salty
softness of French fries, and the tickle of coke running down the
back of his throat. He might have eaten the whole pizza if his
stomach had cooperated, but as it was, he could barely manage to
down a full slice. After dinner, they had retreated to their room to
get a good night’s sleep and start the next morning early, as they
had a long drive ahead of them and still needed to stop at the
Department of Citizenry office to get his temporary I.D. card.
While Judah showered, luxuriating in the stream of hot
water that peeled away layers of grime from his body, Marin ran
across the street to a store and purchased a set of new clothes and
various toiletries for him. When she returned, he was still in the
shower and the entire room had filled with steam. She opened the
bathroom door, laid his clothing on the toilet and reminded him
they needed to get on the road as soon as possible. He apologized
and immediately shut-off the shower, then climbed out onto the
cold tile and began to dry himself with the crisp white towel the
hotel had provided. It was rough and stuck to his skin as he moved
it across his body, but he could not remember the last time he had
felt so clean. Seeing the clothes on the toilet, he called a thank-you
through the door and proceeded to don the plaid boxers, Levi
46
jeans, and striped shirt she had selected for him, impressed by the
precision of their fit.
She took her own shower then, and he brushed his teeth
with the minty toothpaste she had left on the counter for him,
delighting in the slick surface of his teeth as he swept his tongue
across them. While he and his parents had brought several
toothbrushes each for their stay in the wilderness, they had realized
the impracticality of toothpaste and had been forced to brush with
only water. As he finished grooming, he checked his reflection in
the mirror, and this time he found his appearance much less
offensive. His hair and beard were still quite rugged, but his new
clothing and overall cleanliness made him feel and look like a new
man.
Their appointment with the Department of Citizenry passed
with remarkable ease, and Judah could not help but chuckle at the
absurdity of the situation, having had his whole life thrown into
upheaval over such a simple process. Officer Jensen had already
provided the clerk with all his pertinent information, including his
new place of residence, the Calloway’s home in Austin. All that was
left to do was to take a picture and provide a fingerprint scan. After
being advised he would need to report to the Department of
Citizenry offices in Austin in exactly one week to receive his
permanent identification chip, he was handed a temporary card and
released to go. Stepping from the building out into the morning air
again, he released a long sigh of exhilaration. It felt good to be a
legitimate citizen again.
With a thirty-five hour drive ahead of them, they decided
they would push straight through to the evening and find a place to
stay somewhere in Idaho, then start early the next morning and
drive through to Colorado where they would stop again and round
out the trip the following day, hoping to arrive in Austin by late
Monday night. The drive began in silence as Marin maneuvered
them through the congested Seattle traffic onto Interstate 90
heading east for Ellensburg. The sky was grey and overcast and a
mist began to fall, the dreariness of which stood in stark compari-
son to the previous day’s sunny disposition. Nevertheless, the
anticipation that always accompanies the beginning of a trip flick-
ered in the backs of their minds, and when the sun greeted them as
they came into Issiquah, the excitement from the day before
returned in full force.
47
After a stop for lunch in Easton, they continued to Ellens-
burg where they headed east on Interstate 82 for a couple hours,
crossing the border into Oregon briefly and then jumping to
Interstate 84 to cross over into Idaho. This path set them back an
extra thirty minutes, as each border they crossed held its own
checkpoint, and given Judah’s temporary identification and ques-
tionable appearance, the officers scrutinized them carefully, employ-
ing dogs to sniff the perimeter of the car for firearms and drugs.
This time the interface with law enforcement did not even quicken
Judah’s pulse. He had already come to realize this increased
government supervision was the way of the land. It had become
the security blanket many Americans tugged at as they were faced
with the growing fear of terrorist attacks. Still, the scene set his
mind adrift in contemplation of the strange relationship that
seemed to exist between fear and freedom, how in order for the
one to flourish it seemed the other must be whittled away.
The interstate turned in a more southerly direction in the
late afternoon and consequently when the sun began to dip beneath
the horizon, a giant rosy peach bursting in streaks of orange and
pink across the sky, Judah had a clear view of the spectacle from his
passenger window. “Stop the car,” he exclaimed.
“What do you mean? Why?” Marin tapped the breaks
tentatively. “Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine,” he assured her, “but I want you to pull-over,
just right up here.” He pointed to a fast-approaching rest stop on
the side of the highway, and she had to slam on her breaks to make
the turn-off, spitting chunks of loose gravel from beneath the tires
as they skidded to a stop. The car behind them honked in protest
as it passed. Judah sprung from the car and climbed onto the
covered picnic table some fifty feet from the roadside, crossing his
legs beneath him as he faced the descending sun.
“What on earth are you doing?” Marin demanded as she
approached him. “I thought you had to go to the bathroom or
something. What’s going on?”
He turned to her with his finger over his lips and smiled.
“Shhh…it’s okay. I’m just paying my respects.” Then he turned
again toward the sun.
“Judah, honestly, this is crazy,” she continued, ignoring his
request. “You almost got us killed with that stunt. I wouldn’t have
48
pulled over like that if I had known it wasn’t an emergency. But to
look at the sunset? Come on.”
He turned again and took both her hands in his, tugging at
them gently to beckon her to join him. “I’m sorry. It was stupid
and impulsive of me, I know. I won’t do anything like that again, I
promise. Just come sit up here and enjoy this moment with me.”
She sighed to illustrate her discontent but stepped up onto
the table anyway. As she settled into her seat and focused her
attention on the horizon, she had to admit the sight was indeed
dramatic. A pageant of birds swooped in the forefront, fluctuating
between coordinated formations as though they were dancing an
intricate waltz. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I try to remember to appreciate the sun every morning and
every evening, when it begs for our attention.”
“Like a sun god, huh? I guess that’s why the early civiliza-
tions worshipped the sun. It must have seemed so powerful to
them.”
“It is powerful. It could burn the earth out of existence in a
second, but it doesn’t. It sustains us, marks the passage of each day
for us, and just like this, it paints the sky for us, a new masterpiece
every morning and every night, far more beautiful than anything
Rembrandt or Michelangelo or any of the others could create, and
yet it’s free. All it requires of us is our attention.”
They sat in quiet reverence until the last specks of pink sunk
below the horizon, oblivious to the incessant swish of cars that
passed nearby on the highway. When they stood, Marin bent to
stretch her legs, the long hours on the road having cramped her
hamstrings. “We should stop and get a room soon,” she suggested.
He agreed, and they drove another thirty minutes to the town of
Burley, where they found a room again in a Best Western and ate a
hearty meal at the hotel restaurant before crashing in their separate
beds.
December 13, 2012
The next morning Judah awoke before sunrise, eager to ac-

quaint himself with the new day. He left Marin asleep in the room
and headed to the back of the building where the sun would be
rising, and finding a cement bench in an enclave of neatly trimmed
boxwoods, he sat in meditation for a full hour luxuriating in the
49
gentle chill of the morning air as it passed through his lungs. When
the sun had roused from its sleepy wink and shone wide-eyed
before him, he bowed his head and felt the swell of gratitude in his
heart, then stood and returned to the room. Marin was already
awake, gathering her toiletries for the shower.
“Where’d you go?” she asked.
“I was greeting the morning.” When she stopped what she
was doing to shoot him a bewildered look, he explained, “I was
doing my morning meditation with the sunrise. It’s sort of like
getting my Wheaties, only better.”
“Um-hmm.” She could not help but notice something had
changed in his general demeanor and even his face. There was a
glow, a calming sense of peace there she had not seen in anyone
before, and certainly not in her childhood friend. “You know,
Judah, you keep surprising me, doing the complete opposite of
what I would expect and acting like it’s totally expected. You’ve
changed a lot since I last saw you.”
He was not sure what to make of her comment, whether
she was pleased or annoyed by him. “Yeah, I have changed. You
have too.”
“Oh really? How’s that?”
“Well, you’re taller for one,” he began cautiously. “And
you’re wittier and braver than I ever would have imagined you.”
“And what else?” she pressed, tilting her head to the side
and placing her hand on her hip daringly.
“And,” he measured his words carefully, looked straight
into her chocolate eyes then blinked back to the floor. “And you’re
prettier.” When he raised his eyes to face her again, a visible blush
had crept across her cheeks, and he wondered if he should have
restrained himself.
“Thank you,” she stammered, raising a self-conscious hand
to her hair, not sure how to receive the compliment. “That’s very
nice of you to say.” She surveyed his appearance and searched for
an adequate way to return the praise. “You look
much…stronger…and…”
Judah burst into laughter at her efforts.
“What?” she asked, indignant.
“It’s okay. I know I look like hell. You don’t have to try to
tell me I look good.”
50
She relaxed into a smile then. “Just wake me up next time
you ‘greet the morning’, okay? It sounds nice; I’d like to try it.”
He promised to do so and they readied themselves for the
day’s drive, which would be even longer than the day before. It was
a good ten hour drive, down through Utah and then across through
Wyoming just to reach the Colorado border. When they finally
pulled into Pueblo at nine-thirty that night they were beat, their
bottoms sore from the relentless vibration of the road and their
bones and joints restless and achy from lack of movement. They
got a room at the Comfort Inn and Judah suggested they go for a
walk to stretch their legs. They inquired at the front desk for a
good place to take a stroll, and given the late hour, the clerk di-
rected them to the downtown river walk, where the Arkansas River
flowed through the heart of the city. It was only a short drive from
the hotel and they would be able to find a bite to eat there.
They settled with their dinner on a patch of trim grass
alongside the river, listening to the gurgles and slaps of water
against the man-made banks as they ate. After dinner, Judah lay
back on the grass with his hands behind his head, and Marin joined
him, resting her head in the cradle of his shoulder. They gazed for
a long while at the wide expanse of black sky, admiring the stars
that shone defiantly above the city’s own halo of lights. It had been
far too long, Judah realized, since he had felt the warmth of human
touch, and feeling Marin’s presence so close to him, his skin ached
for it. Seeming to sense his need, she rolled onto her side and
wrapped her arms around him, embracing him in an affectionate
hug and stroking his neck and shoulders delicately. Like a sponge,
he soaked in the ointment of her touch as long as he could, until the
lights along the river dimmed and they were forced to return to
their hotel.
The next day, when Judah arose before sunrise for his
morning meditation, he nudged Marin gently to wake her. She
rolled out of bed with hair disheveled and threw on some jeans and
a sweater. They found a spot in an empty field next to the hotel
with a perfect view of the eastern horizon, not a single tree to block
their line of vision. The air was filled with the calm of a still-
sleeping city and the sky was a purplish-grey, laboring to give birth
to the morning. As the sun crept up, the purples turned to pinks
and then gave way to a pure white that radiated like the gates of
heaven, tracing electric lines around the few clouds that pocked the
51
sky. He closed his eyes and began to concentrate on each breath he
took, and she followed along with him, matching her breath to his.
When the sun had fully risen, they walked back to the hotel in
silence, Judah filled with the familiar glee that accompanied every
sunrise meditation, Marin speechless at the calm contentment that
had overcome her.
That day was the longest drive of the trip, a full fourteen
hours to reach Austin, but it was the homestretch and that made it
easier for them to face it. Once they were on the road, Marin called
her parents to let them know where she was and when they should
expect her home, and they were pleased to hear the trip had gone
so smoothly. They alerted her to the fact that Stella Sparks’ article
had been published two days before on the American Guardian
news site. Several of the major networks had since picked up on
the headline, and over night Judah’s story had become a sensation
throughout the country. Somehow, several reporters had traced his
story back to the Calloways, and Thomas had already deflected
three phone calls requesting an interview. Judah groaned inwardly
upon hearing this news. He had hoped his arrival in Austin would
somehow signify the end to his recent hassles and a return to
normalcy. Now, it seemed as though his ordeal might just be
beginning.
When they finally rolled onto the cul-de-sac of the
Calloway’s modest split-level home, it was just after eleven, and
Judah noted thankfully there were no reporters in sight. They
stepped out of the car with jellied legs and throbbing backs, but the
relief at having arrived home numbed their bodies to the pain.
White lights hung like icicles from the roof of the house, and a
display of twinkling red, yellow, and blue lights in the window
attested to the warm greeting of a Christmas tree awaiting them
inside.
Thomas and Eleanor had waited up for them and greeted
them at the door with an air of relief. They seemed eager to hear all
about the trip and to reconnect with the young man they now
barely recognized as Judah, but he and Marin were exhausted and
quickly excused themselves to their beds. As Judah made his way
to the guest room they had prepared for him, he was struck by a
flood of memories – the curving stairway he and Marin had
crouched on to spy on their parents’ conversations; the quilt
cupboard at the end of the hallway Marin had always hidden in
52
when they played hide and seek, no matter how many times he
found her there; the tub in the guest bathroom they had insisted
housed a company of ghosts and would approach with a tiptoe,
then pull back the shower curtain and scream at the tops of their
lungs, running from the room only to return moments later for
another thrill. He laughed inwardly at the memory and felt a tug of
nostalgia in his chest. Recalling he had never been to the Calloway
home without his parents, it felt sadly foreign to him as he lay in his
bed beneath the fluffy down comforter staring at the ceiling. Still,
he had made it back to the only “family” he had left and the
immense burden of loneliness he had faced the last two months on
the mountain was beginning to lift. Whatever his fate and the fate
of the world, at least he would not have to face it alone.
December 14, 2012
The next morning he slept well past sunrise, drawn from his
sleep in increments of foggy recognition of the sounds that filtered
through the house. His body lay motionless in bed for another
thirty minutes, his muscles having succumbed to the forces of
gravity like giant balls of putty. When he finally made his way
downstairs, Marin was just preparing to leave for her morning
classes, but she promised to return that afternoon and suggested
they catch a movie. Though Thomas had already left for work,
Eleanor had set aside the entire day to spend with him and she
motioned for him to take a seat at the table with her. Over break-
fast, she shared stories of her friendship with his mother and
begged for as many details about their life in Washington as he
could remember. All the while she gazed wistfully at him, as
though she were cherishing the traces of her old friend she found
evidenced in his face.
“I’m so glad you made it back here, Judah.” She stood and
walked to his seat, reaching from behind to enclose him in a hug.
“Let’s go get you a haircut and a shave. What do you say? Let’s
find that handsome boy beneath this mess.”
“That’s a great idea,” he agreed, tugging at his dreads.
“Anything I can do to make myself less conspicuous right now is a
great idea.”
He showered and dressed in the same clothes Marin had
bought him two days before, sniffing the pits of his shirt to make
53
sure he did not smell offensive. Finding them relatively odorless,
he joined Eleanor where she waited for him at the bottom of the
stairs, and they drove to a downtown barber shop. As they entered,
a bell clattered noisily from above the door, drawing the attention
of every one in the room. One of the barbers, an aged man of
about seventy years, approached them with a smile.
“What can we do for you?” His question was directed at
Eleanor, but his eyes drifted distractedly back and forth to Judah’s
mass of knotted hair.
“Well, I think you’ve got your work cut out for you today,”
she answered, patting Judah’s head.
“Yep, sure looks like I do,” the barber replied with a playful
wink. “Come on then, let’s see what we can do.” He led Judah to
his swivel chair to inspect the dreads. After a few moments, he
determined it would be best to simply cut the hair down to the
manageable roots and began styling it into a sleek Caesar-style cut
that neatly framed Judah’s face. When he came to the beard, he
pointed out that shaving it entirely would leave Judah with a
grimace for a tan line and instead suggested they neaten it up with a
trim. Judah agreed and the barber finished his work, polishing him
off with a splash of aftershave.
At the counter, Judah shuddered to see the barber scan El-
eanor’s hand for payment with a device similar to the one Deputy
Hadley had used in the Quilcene jail. The transaction seemed
surreal, like something out of a futuristic movie, and yet it was
unfolding before his eyes that very moment as naturally as a cash
exchange. Rubbing his own right hand, his stomach turned at the
thought of his soon approaching date with the Department of
Citizenry.
The barber was eying him curiously, glancing back and forth
between him and the newspaper that lay open across the counter,
until finally he declared decisively, “It’s you, isn’t it?” and then
clapping his hands together with one powerful pop, “Hot damn, it
is! You’re the wilderness boy I was just reading about!” He
laughed heartily, seemingly tickled by the thought of having tidied
up the media’s monkey boy. Then, recalling the details of the
article, he added, “It’s a damn shame…about your parents. Don’t
seem right, someone’s gotta die to wake people up to the plight of
our environment.”
54
Judah’s face twisted into an expression of confusion.
“What do you mean? What’s it got to do with the environment?”
It was the barber’s turn to look confused then, as he alter-
nated his sights again between Judah and the article. “Says here
your parents went out into the wilderness to take a stand against
modern technology’s harms to the environment. Says they wanted
to show how we could survive without all this.” He made a swoop-
ing gesture with his hands to indicate their surroundings. “Isn’t it
true?”
Judah did not respond. Following Eleanor out of the shop,
he wondered where the newspaper could have gotten that idea.
“What was that guy talking about, Eleanor? Why is the news saying
my parents died for the environment?”
“I don’t know, sweetie,” she replied. “Sometimes when
they don’t know all the answers, they just fill in the blanks for
themselves, I guess. Your parents were very much involved in
environmental efforts before they moved away. Maybe they just
assumed.”
“What did you and Thomas tell that reporter, Stella Sparks,
when she called?”
“As little as possible, I assure you Judah. But we did tell her
your parents had passed on while the three of you were in the
mountains. She was already aware they had died, and to be honest,
we didn’t know what you had already told her. She told us you had
asked her to call us, so we gave her the basic facts of your situation.
Who you were, why you were in jail, why you didn’t have your
N.I.C. Really, her article was pretty factual. It’s been the others
since then, the ones who have tried to sensationalize your story;
they’re the ones drawing their own conclusions.”
Judah nodded, but the knots in his stomach tightened. He
didn’t want the media spreading lies about his parents. He didn’t
even want them telling the truth about his parents. He wished the
commotion would just all go away. Noticing the change in his
demeanor, Eleanor wrapped her arm around his shoulder and
suggested they go shopping. While he had never enjoyed the act of
shopping itself, he knew he would need some new clothing, so he
agreed to stop by the Goodwill store where he was able to find
several pairs of Levis, a few t-shirts and sweaters, and a pair of navy
sneakers with a decent amount of tread left on them.
55
Late that afternoon, when Marin returned from her errands,
she was astonished by the transformation that had occurred in the
short time she had been away. “I can’t believe it!” she gasped,
running her hands across the still slick surface of his head. “You
look fantastic! Gorgeous! My friends are gonna fall all over
themselves!” Judah chuckled at her enthusiasm, realizing how
anxious he had been to reunite with her.
“We have to go out and celebrate now,” she declared. She
made a few calls and then announced they would be meeting up
with a few of her friends before heading out to a bar on Sixth
Street. Eleanor advised them to be careful as they hurried out the
door, reminding Marin she still had classes to attend the next day.
Marin’s Volkswagen Passat was cluttered with textbooks,
shoes and articles of clothing, and she had to clear a space for Judah
to sit in the passenger seat. Embarrassed, she apologized for the
condition of her car. “You’re gonna find out that beneath my neat
appearance, I’m really a wreck. It drives my mother crazy.”
He shrugged indifferently. For him, the mess gave the car
more character than the stark Grand Am that had carried them
cross-country. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “It doesn’t
drive me crazy.” As they pulled onto the interstate several minutes
later, he noticed Marin’s attention had been drawn to something in
the rearview mirror. Curious, he turned to get a look at what had
so preoccupied her.
“Don’t do that!” she hissed. “They’ll see you.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“I think we’re being followed,” she whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” His voice had lowered to
match hers, though he wasn’t sure why.
“I don’t know. I’m just a little freaked out,” she said, her
volume returning to normal. “I noticed that white Lincoln back
there sitting at the end of our street when we left, and it’s been
behind us ever since.”
He turned his head again, despite her warnings against it,
and caught sight of the car. “It’s just a coincidence,” he suggested.
“Why would anyone be following us?”
“Maybe,” she said, eyes still shifting nervously between the
road and the mirror. “Let’s just see.” She put on her blinker and
pulled onto the next exit ramp, two exits before she had planned.
“I’m gonna take a back way, and if they go that way too, then
56
they’re definitely following us. No one would go this way unless
there was a big traffic pileup.”
Sure enough, the Lincoln followed her every turn, and when
a buffer of two cars was not available, it lagged behind them a good
three car lengths anyway. “Oh my god,” she fretted. “They are
following us. Who do you think it is?”
Judah immediately thought of Jensen and his promise to
stay in contact, but he also remembered Marin’s parents had
received calls from reporters anxious to get a handle on his story. It
could just as easily be one of them. “It’s probably one of those
reporters who called your parents.”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” She pulled into the gravel driveway
of an old clapboard home with peeling white paint and a chain-link
fence that enclosed an overgrown yard. The Lincoln continued
down the road, its taillights vanishing around a bend, and Judah put
his hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
“Don’t let it get to you. It’s just some nosy reporter looking
for a story. We’re fine.”
As they approached the house, Judah could hear the faint
sound of tribal drums rolling from within, and he detected the
distinctive smell of Nag Champa heavy in the air. It was a familiar
scent, one he had grown up with, and it made the house immedi-
ately inviting to him. Marin’s friend greeted them at the door,
kissed her on the cheek and extended his hand to Judah as she
introduced them.
“His name is Joshua Evans, but for some reason every one
just calls him Rico,” she explained.
Rico offered them a seat on the couch, and they sunk down
onto its low cushions as he took a seat on the floor. He pulled a
tray from beneath the coffee table and a pack of papers from the
pocket of his vintage Guayabera shirt then proceeded to delicately
roll a thin joint. Judah watched his every move, intrigued by his
casual, eccentric style. He seemed to exude creative energy, and the
combination of his stirring blue eyes, strategic goatee, lanky frame
and hipster beret gave him the air of a poet. Judah wondered if he
and Marin were dating.
When Rico had completed the task of rolling the joint with
a lick of the paper and a final twist, he lit it, inhaled deeply then
passed it to Marin. She accepted it and took her own puff before
offering it to Judah, who hesitated slightly. He was not sure what to
57
do, having never been confronted with such a choice, but there was
little time to contemplate his decision and he did not see the harm
in at least trying it, so he took the joint and raised it to his lips,
drawing on its tip long and hard. As the smoke filled his lungs, he
felt an overwhelming impulse to cough, to spew it from his mouth,
but he restrained himself, following the others’ lead and instead fell
into convulsive spasms of his chest as it tried to force the smoke
from his lungs. Finally, when he could hold it in no longer, he burst
into a fit of coughing, and Marin and Rico laughed and nodded
their heads.
“If you don’t cough, you don’t get-off,” Rico observed in a
strained voice, holding the smoke of his second drag as he spoke.
“That’s what I always say.”
The joint passed among them several more rounds before
they extinguished it, and by then Judah was beginning to feel its fog
creep across his mind. It felt strange to lose control of his faculties,
and though Marin and Rico carried on in animated conversation,
their voices seemed distant to him, as though he were watching
their performance through a television screen. He excused himself
and made his way down the hallway to the tiny bathroom, splashing
his face with cold water several times in the sink. It helped focus
his mind slightly, but he still felt the unsettling gnaw of paranoia as
his senses reacted wildly to the sights and sounds around him and
his mind spun with a swirl of rapid thoughts. When he left the
bathroom, he had every intention of asking Marin to take him
home, but he found her waiting for him in the hallway with an
eager smile.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I feel weird. I’m not sure I should have
smoked all that.”
“It’s okay,” she assured him, touching his arm. “Just relax
and give it a few minutes. You’ll be fine.”
Her assurances comforted him, and he determined to gain
control of his response as they took a seat again on the sofa. Rico
had returned to thumping out a string of rhythms on the bongos,
and the music put Judah’s mind at ease. He closed his eyes to let
his mind roam, absent of controlled thought, and within moments
he felt an airiness descend upon him. When he opened his eyes
again, he spotted a guitar leaning in the corner and rose to claim it.
Listening for a few moments to the bongo’s beats, he found the
58
opening for his guitar and joined in with his own improvised
melody. Rico smiled and bobbed his head appreciatively, and Marin
listened in amazement as their instruments converged in spontane-
ous harmony, fluctuating back and forth between moments of
expanding congruity and retracting asymmetry like a musical tide
pool. They played for a good fifteen minutes before they were
interrupted by the arrival of two more guests.
“Alright, man,” Rico exclaimed, offering Judah his hand in a
high-five gesture. “That was tight as shit! Marin didn’t tell me you
could play.”
Judah smiled modestly and returned the guitar to its perch.
He had to admit he had thoroughly enjoyed getting his fingers on a
guitar again, feeling the vibrations of the strings against them and
hearing the resounding echoes in the belly of the instrument. He
longed momentarily for his own guitar, which likely still sat in its
own perch against the corner of his bedroom in Concrete, where he
had grudgingly left it behind two years before. The two newcomers
exchanged introductions and Rico quickly rolled another joint for
them all to share. After they had finished it, the group decided to
head down to Sixth Street where their favorite local band was
playing.
It was a smooth Latin groove that filtered through the club,
immersing the crowd in seductive dance and comfortable conversa-
tion. Through the haze of Judah’s altered state, the many faces
merged into a smoky backdrop and became an urban mural of
swanky, slouching intellectuals. Marin took his hand and led him
onto the dance floor, swinging her hips in a circular motion to the
quick, driving beats of the percussions, and he joined her, not
caring if he looked awkward or clumsy. His mind was preoccupied
with every sway of her hips, the subtle bounce beneath her top, and
the mischievous smile that accompanied her frequent upward
glances.
When the band excused themselves for a short break, Marin
suggested they leave, as she had an early class the next day. They
said their goodbyes and Judah accepted Rico’s emphatic invitation
to return for another jam session. They made their way through the
dwindling crowd out onto the street, welcoming the onslaught of
fresh air that greeted them. As they turned toward the parking lot,
Judah nearly ran into a man who was standing on the corner with a
small cardboard sign, wearing denim overalls and a pair of rubber
59
flip-flops. He glanced down at the sign as he backed away from the
man, apologizing for the near collision; it read: The End Is Upon Us.
Prepare. The words sent an eerie shiver down his spine, and when
he looked up again, the man was peering into his eyes with a fierce
expression.
“I know you,” he declared. “You know what I’m talking
about!” His voice rose with frenzied inflection. “Tell them they
must prepare. Tell your girl, the end is near! We shall know the
fury of the earth. Tell them!”
Judah backed further away from him, and Marin’s glance al-
ternated nervously between the two of them. “Do you know this
man?” she asked in a hushed voice, crossing her arms around her
waist. Judah shook his head but could not break the stare the man’s
hysterical blue eyes had engaged him in.
The man lunged for him, grabbing hold of his shoulders
with the stench of alcohol heavy on his breath. “Those of us who
know, we have no need to fear. Tell her!” Then he turned his
attention to the next group of people who emerged from the club
and followed them down the sidewalk a few feet shouting warnings
of dire prophecy. Judah took the opportunity to grab hold of
Marin’s arm and steer her from the corner toward their car.
“What the hell was up with that guy?” she asked with a per-
plexed snort. “I swear, we get so many crazies like that around here.
What do they think they’re really accomplishing anyway?”
“I don’t know, Marin. All I know is I don’t need to hear
any more about the end of the world. If there’s one thing I know,
it’s that nobody knows when the end will come, and all this hype
about the signs of the end days is a bunch of crap. The end of my
world will come when I die and that’s all I need to know.” It was
the first time he had voiced an opinion about the ideas that had
triggered his family’s flight, and he was surprised at the rush of
adrenaline now pulsing through his veins. Marin threaded her
fingers between his in an attempt to console him.
The drive home passed in silence, with only faint sounds of
music playing in the background. Judah’s thoughts fluctuated
between replays of the man’s troubling words and nagging remind-
ers of the Lincoln and Jensen, while Marin struggled with whether
she should broach the subject of what had transpired on the street.
When they arrived at the house, she walked him to the front door
60
and they stood beneath the porch light for a few moments, neither
of them yet ready to say goodbye.
“You know, it’s okay to admit you’re angry with your par-
ents for what happened,” she began cautiously. “I’ve been angry
with my parents many times, and they’ve been angry with me.
That’s part of being family. It doesn’t mean you don’t love them.”
He sighed deeply and glanced up at the stars to consider her
words before responding. “I know you want me to be angry, or
think that I should be. I’m sure a lot of people do, but I can’t say
that I am. I’m not angry.”
“Really?” she pressed. “Are you really not angry or are you
just afraid to admit you’re angry? There’s a big difference.”
“You’ll never be able to understand, Marin. They did what
they thought was best. My parents loved me and would never have
done anything to hurt me. They were trying to protect me.”
“Protect you from what? Life?”
He turned his gaze to her then, standing beside him with
concern in her eyes. He wanted to explain it all to her, to make her
understand all that had happened, all that had changed for him in
the wilderness, but the sight of her in the frame of her childhood
home dressed in carefully styled clothing with scented hair and
manicured nails made him think better of it. It was as if she were
from an entirely different planet. How could he possibly explain it
to her? Instead, he reached for the door handle and began to turn
it.
“Wait,” she pleaded, placing her hand over his grip. “Don’t
go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. We don’t have to talk
about it now, or ever if you don’t want to.” She slid her hand up to
his cheek and stretched onto her toes to reach his mouth with her
own. He was startled by the sensation of her lips against his own
but responded instinctively, returning the kiss with vigor. When
she pulled away, his head reeled. From the moment he had laid
eyes on her he had imagined what it would feel like to kiss her.
“I can’t believe I just kissed you!” The words blurted from
his mouth before he could think to restrain himself.
She giggled appreciatively. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s just, you’re so beautiful, and…”
He traced her face with his finger, sweeping a stray curl from her
cheek. “I’m very lucky, that’s all.”
61
They exchanged another brief kiss before Marin broke free
from the embrace and backed away toward the driveway. “I’ll come
get you after classes tomorrow, okay?” She kissed two fingers and
waved them blithely in his direction, then turned and skipped to her
car.
Later, as Judah lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he replayed
the night’s events in his mind, lingering long on the crescendo at
the Calloway’s doorstep. He thought about what Marin had said
about his parents, and though he did not feel anger toward them, he
did wonder if they had really considered the impact their choices
would have on him. If they had thought about what would become
of him if the two of them did not survive the wilderness. If they
had thought about where he might find his first kiss out in the
mountains of Olympic National Park. If they had deliberated the
possibility he might end up completely alone in the world.
And he thought of the man on the corner, the conviction of
his words, the passion in his eyes. He hated to acknowledge the
train of thought that connected the crazed man to his parents.
They had not been insane; this he knew very well, but many people
would believe that they were. In truth, when he considered the
extremes of their choices objectively, he had to admit there was
good reason to assume as much, if one were looking in from the
outside. But it was impossible to constrain himself to an objective
perspective. He was too involved, had witnessed too much, and
after all he was their son. This alone bound him to the subjective
point of view. In his mind, he had to draw a line between the
ravings of a madman on the street and the search for truth that had
driven his parents. It was this delineation that allowed him to drift
to sleep.
A thick fog rolled across a bald plateau like an ocean wave,

swelling and surging as if to swallow the form that loomed from within its
center. Judah strained to identify the shape and immediately the fog
thinned, curling into a wispy trail that resembled a finger coaxing his
vision. It pointed to a massive pyramid, much like the one he had seen in
his dream in the Quilcene jail, only as the fog evaporated, he could see the
surrounding terrain was nothing like Death Valley. Lush green treetops
abounded around the perimeter of the plateau and the scene was remarka-
bly absent of task masters or workers with pick axes. He did not feel
62
smothered or helpless as he had in his previous dream but rather mesmer-
ized by the promise of something grand, something bigger than himself that
seemed to linger in the air, palpable as it raised the hairs along the back
of his neck and arms.
At the base of the pyramid, he knelt and bowed his head, placing
his forehead on the hard, cold stone of the first step, filled with a reverence
he could not understand. He became aware of the fact that this monu-
ment was not just a pyramid. It was a sacred temple, and instantly he
was transported to the top of the pyramid where he stood with his feet,
now bare, saturated in a puddle of blood. “What does this mean?” he
cried to the morning sky, confused and somewhat frightened as his voice
echoed across the valley. Seemingly in reply, a shadow began to slither up
the side of the pyramid toward him and reaching the top, took flight in the
air, swooping in large concentric circles above him like a vulture. The
shadow’s dance came to an abrupt stop inches from his face as it shifted
into the fleshy form of a plumed serpent. He fell to his knees with the
sudden recognition of the great Mayan deity, Kulkulkan, or Quetzalcoatl
as he was also known. Judah had read of him in the Mayan texts his
parents had studied, and the visage of the yellowed serpent-head sur-
rounded by bright red, blue and purple feathers was unmistakable. God
of creation, fertility, knowledge and wisdom, and guide in the conception of
the monumental Mayan calendar.
Upon this recognition, Judah was consumed with a desire to dem-
onstrate his veneration, the vigor of which he had never before experienced.
He could find no rational explanation for the urge; it was as if he were
being controlled by some outside force. ‘You are so small, so insignificant,’
a vapory voice in his head whispered. ‘Your flesh is a denigration of the
gods. The gods must be appeased.’ As though in a trance, he nodded his
head and submitted to the voice’s coaxing, willing to sacrifice whatever the
great Kulkulkan demanded of him. This thought of subservience directed
his next movement, and suddenly, driven by a force outside himself, his
right hand plunged into his chest, bursting through flesh and bone to
tighten its grip around his pulsing heart. He watched in a fit of ecstasy as
his hand offered up his heart, still beating, dripping with warm blood, to
Kulkulkan. But to his utter dismay, Kulkulkan rejected the offering,
recoiling with a fearsome hiss and then striking at Judah’s forehead. The
bite awakened Judah from his trance. Glancing down in horror to
63
witness the hole in his chest, he was stunned to find his wound unopened,
fully whole again.
“You fool,” Kulkulkan hissed. “You impotent slave to myth.
How easily you are deceived. How easily you desecrate sacred creation.
How spellbound you are with the stories that flood your memory.
Live…” he hissed again, this time with an extended vibration of his
forked tongue Judah could feel like a feather tickling the inside of his
belly. The fluttering in his stomach grew to encompass the full length of
his spine, all the way up to the crown of his head, until he felt his mind
might explode, spraying his thoughts like particles of dust across the
universe. “LIVE!”
Kulkulkan’s command seemed to rip through the cobwebs

of Judah’s dream state and he awakened with a start, disoriented
and sweating profusely.
5
December 15, 2012
The public is rarely aware of the political and bureaucratic

maneuverings that bubble and boil beneath the surface of any given
government action, the various ingredients having been stirred
together in that giant pot in Washington to determine the final
recipe for action. Rather they witness the presentation of the
prepared dish when it has been made palatable for the public and is
served to them on fine silver platters, better known as the media.
In this way, they are somewhat like guests at a foreign dinner table,
presented with courses of unfamiliar food. The only choice they
have is to trust their hosts and eat each course with blind faith, or
to discriminate based on appearance and past experience, tasting
only the items that seem non-offensive while either rejecting the
rest or at least probing for further information before determining
which foods to partake in. With either option, there are risks. If
they choose to accept each dish with blind faith, they run the risk of
64
getting sick, of post-dining regrets, but if they refuse certain dishes,
they might offend their host and the other less-discriminating
guests.
So it was the next morning when Judah awoke and the tele-
vision was already on. Eleanor sat on the edge of the living room
sofa in her terry cloth robe, coffee mug cradled between nervous
hands, while Thomas wrapped the lengths of his tie around each
other mindlessly, eyes glued to the screen. They did not even lift
their gaze to him as he entered the room and made his way silently
to the sofa, curious to see what had so captivated the two of them.
A newscaster was explaining the president’s demand that
morning that Venezuelan President Enrique Caldón release Ehsan
Al-Fulani, a Saudi terrorist suspected of masterminding several
recent terror attacks in the United States and believed to be residing
in Venezuela under the protective wing of President Caldón. This
gave him relatively easy access to American soil and American
citizens wishing to take terroristic stands against the policies of their
own government. The newscaster cut to a previously recorded
White House press release in which the Secretary of Defense was
announcing the United States would consider military action if Al-
Fulani was not delivered to American custody to face trial for his
involvement in recent terror attacks. He further emphasized the
American policy of deeming countries that harbor terrorists as
enemies of the United States. But President Caldón was not likely
to release Al-Fulani, the news stated. This fact was taken for
granted, as recent history between the two countries was not one of
cooperation. Caldón had already denied Al-Fulani was in his
country. The decision to take military action therefore had already
been made, and the American public was now left with the task of
finding a way to masticate the dish that had been placed before
them.
The tension that filled the Calloway living room seemed a
thin slice of the general gloom that had no doubt permeated the
entire country, so thickly Judah could feel its rub against the hairs of
his arms like the static-cling of a sweater fresh from the dryer. It
reminded him of the notorious morning of September 11th, when
his parents had sat watching countless replays of the airliners as
they plowed into the World Trade Center. How he had known
without them having to say it, America would never be the same.
65
Before the three of them had the opportunity to digest and
discuss the disturbing news, they were startled by the flash of
Judah’s image across the screen. It was the picture Stella Sparks
had taken discreetly in the Quilcene Sheriff’s Office, his dreads and
beard presenting a ragged impression from behind the bars. The
gentle calm in his green eyes gave the picture its only redeeming
quality. Judah’s stomach plummeted at the sight of himself on the
television, and he leaned in toward the set to concentrate on what
they were saying about him.
“Many of you have been following this story since it appeared on
an Internet news site several days ago. This young man, Judah Hardison
of Austin, Texas, recently emerged from the depths of Olympic National
Forest in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state. Originally
suspected of being a domestic terrorist, it turns out he had been living in
the mountains with his parents, Jenna and Raymond Hardison, for just
under two years. It’s an incredible story, and one that has generated much
interest throughout the country. Already we’ve seen a wave of commentary
surfacing from environmental groups around the country, attracted to what
they consider to be the political side of the story. While the young man
himself has been unavailable for interview so far, we have with us today
Willow Grey, a spokesperson from the Green Light Movement, an
environmental activist organization centered in Austin, Texas. Tell us
what you know about the Hardison family, Willow.”
Willow Grey appeared on the screen. Dressed in a serious navy
blue suit with a string of delicate pearls around her neck and perfectly
applied stage make-up, she looked as though she could be a newscaster
herself. A long, defiant braid of wiry grey hair draped over her right
shoulder offered the only clue to her liberal leanings. “I worked personally
with Jenna and Raymond Hardison for many years on various campaigns
for the environment,” she began in a soothing, though somewhat nasal
voice. “They were very dedicated to the cause, so much so that they
eventually decided to turn their own personal lives into a living, breathing
example of how viable the environmental solutions we were championing
could be. They moved onto a farm that was completely self-sufficient, with
solar and wind power. Their home was constructed of rammed earth,
which is a green building technique that leaves virtually no environmental
66
footprint. We used pictures of their farm on our web site as an example
of the possibilities conscious home builders might want to consider.”
“Willow, what do you think it was, if you don’t mind my inter-
rupting, that led them to flee to the wilderness, then? We’ve heard reports
they were concerned with 2012 and the end of the world, but we’ve also
heard they wanted to send a strong message about modern technology’s
effect on the environment. You knew them very well it seems; what’s your
opinion?
Willow covered her mouth as she cleared her throat. “I can’t say
I know that for sure, Tom. They did not discuss their plans with me.
But I will say this, they were committed enough to their cause to move
from the comforts of their suburban lifestyle here in Austin to the more
demanding life on a farm. It would make perfect sense to me to see them
taking that cause one step further and giving up everything altogether.”
“You say it would make perfect sense, but they did die out there.
They didn’t survive. Don’t you think that sort of defeated the whole
purpose? What sort of example does that set?” The newscaster shot
Willow a challenging smirk, as if he’d been waiting the whole interview to
unleash that question.
“You’re right, they did not survive to tell their story,” she con-
ceded. “But their son did. I’d like to point out two key facts here, though.
First of all, we don’t know how they died, whether it was of natural
causes or some accident, which can happen to any one no matter where or
how they’re living. We can’t assume they died simply because of the fact
they were living in the wilderness. Secondly, they managed to survive for
two years, and listen, I don’t think Jenna and Raymond were insinuating
every one should run out into the woods to try to live off the land. Not at
all. But, by them showing it could be done for a significant amount of
time, they let us all know that so much of what we think is necessary in
today’s world, particularly the technologies that are raping the earth, are
not necessary for our survival. We are destroying our environment
unnecessarily and we haven’t got much time left to start making tough
decisions that can turn this whole thing around…”
“I’m sorry, Willow, I’m sorry,” the newscaster cut-in. “We’ve
got to go to commercial, but thank you for your time and hopefully we can
have you back soon, as I’m sure this is just the tip of the iceberg for this
story. When we return, we’ll talk with Jesse Hadley, the deputy who
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incarcerated the wilderness boy for two days. Describing the boy as
‘strangely radical’, Deputy Hadley is still not convinced a connection to a
terrorist sect does not exist.”
Judah switched the television off as a fast food commercial
swung into action, not wanting to hear any more wild theories
about him or his parents. Seeing his life splayed out on television
for the whole world to dissect soured his stomach, and he folded
over, resting his head in his hands.
Eleanor wrapped her arm protectively around his shoulders.
“Don’t pay them any mind, Judah. All this will go away soon.”
“But they talk about my parents and their death like they
know what they’re talking about. They don’t know anything,
anything at all about us.”
“I know, sweetie, I know.” She rubbed his shoulders in an
effort to soothe him.
“Well, all I know is these goddamned Venezuelans better
just hand-over that Al-Flan guy, or whatever his name is,” Thomas
grumbled as he tucked his starched white shirt into his slacks.
“God knows this country doesn’t need another war, especially one
so close to home.”
“Oh, Thomas,” Eleanor cried, her voice trembling. “Surely
it won’t lead to that. It won’t, right?”
“I don’t know, Eleanor. I don’t really have time to think
about it right now; I’m already late for work.” He grabbed his keys
from the hook in the entry, then noticing the anguish in his wife’s
face, walked over to kiss her forehead. “It’s gonna be fine. Don’t
worry about it.”
As the door shut behind Thomas, the telephone rang and
Eleanor ran to fetch it from the kitchen. She returned to the living
room with her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s for you, Judah. An
Officer Jensen? He said you would know who he was.”
Judah rolled his eyes in a display of irritation. Only the
night before he had been enjoying the beginnings of what seemed
to be a normal life, with new friends and the unforgettable kiss with
Marin. Now he had been thrust back into the strange chaos that
had engulfed him since emerging from the forest. And he still
hadn’t shaken the image of the plumed serpent from his strange
dream the night before, looming over him like an outraged guardian
angel. Should he feel protected or afraid? Summoning up the
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cheeriest disposition he could muster, he grudgingly took the phone
and greeted Officer Jenesen..
“Hello, Mr. Hardison,” Jensen drawled, with the hint of a
sneer. “How are things going for you down in Texas?”
“I’m doing fine, sir. How about you?”
“Fine, fine, as always. Listen, I was just calling to check up
on you, to make sure you made your trip safely and to remind you
that you need to get your permanent identification in place by the
end of this week. I wanted to make sure you had every intention of
doing that.”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll be taking care of that this Friday.”
“Good, good. I’m glad to hear that. Life is much easier
when you go along with the law.” Jensen was clearly straining to
come across in a friendly fashion, but the undertone of hostility was
detectable, leaving Judah to wonder why he would be making an
effort to sound civil in the first place. “I’m going to be down your
way tomorrow, got a meeting in Austin with some pretty influential
people who are just dying to meet with you. I told them I could
arrange that. I hope you won’t prove me a liar.”
There was an air of confidence and finality in Jensen’s voice
that left Judah with the distinct impression he did not have a choice
in the matter. “Who are these people?”
“Senator Andrew Martin and Pastor James Dodd. He’s a
televangelist; I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
“No, I haven’t. I really don’t watch much television and
I’ve never been one to worship God that way.”
“Well, he’s a remarkable man,” Jensen assured him. “You
should consider it an honor they’re taking time from their busy
schedules to meet with you.”
“Well, then I can’t say no, can I?”
“Great. I’ll have a car pick you up at ten tomorrow morn-
ing.” The line went dead then, with no further niceties, no good-
bye, just the complete finality of a dead line, and Judah was left to
ponder the strange conversation over and over again in his mind.
“What did he want?” Eleanor asked, returning to the room
with a mug of coffee for him.
“He wanted to set-up a meeting with me tomorrow, with
Senator Martin and James Dodd. He’s some TV evangelist.”
Eleanor gasped as she seated herself in the recliner. “Oh,
my! I know who he is. He’s got his own network, the Christian
69
Cable Broadcasting network. I can’t believe it! And our very own
senator…what an honor.” Given her excitement, one might have
thought she had been invited to meet with the men herself. Judah
didn’t quite understand the appeal.
“I guess so,” he shrugged.
“What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you want to meet with them?
Are you nervous?”
“A little. I just don’t know what they want with me.”
“Well, I’m sure they heard your story and they’re interested
in it, in you. A lot of people are.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. Coming from Officer Jensen,
it makes me a little nervous.” He sipped his coffee carefully,
recalling the real news of the day. He thought it funny in a strange
way that such important news should be forgotten so quickly and
so easily. It had just been announced the country might be headed
to war, and he and Eleanor and Jensen had been caught up in the
frivolous concerns of a political luncheon. It was the distance that
allowed them to forget, he assumed. A war in Venezuela would be
quick and relatively painless for the majority of Americans, just
another story to watch unfold on the six o’clock news. “What do
you think is going to happen with Venezuela?” he asked. “It
sounded pretty serious, but then I’m a little out of the loop with
world affairs right now.”
Eleanor shook her head and clutched her hand over her
heart. “I don’t know, but it burdens me. It really does. I’m afraid
with an announcement like that we’ve backed ourselves into a
corner. If Caldón doesn’t give him up, we’ll have to go in. Other-
wise it would look like weakness. I just thank God I had a daughter
rather than a son. I don’t have to worry about her going off to war
at least.” The fact that Judah himself was a male in the prime age
group for military service hung in the air awkwardly, but neither of
them addressed it.
“Who is this Al-Fulani guy anyway?”
“You know, I’m not really sure,” she admitted. “I get all
those names mixed up now; there’s been so many over the years. I
think I first heard of him a couple months ago. He’s just another in
the long line of Islamic terrorists who have a vendetta against us.”
“Hmmm,” Judah pondered. It seemed ludicrous to him the
country could go to war based on the capture of a man its citizens
were ignorant of, but he kept these thoughts to himself. Instead, he
70
excused himself to take a shower, planning to go for a leisurely
stroll through the neighborhood afterward. He was beginning to
feel muddled by his confinement to the indoors and wanted to
connect with the bits of nature that remained in the neat, tree-lined
community.
When he had dressed and came hopping down the stairs, he
was met with an unexpected obstacle. A short, heavy-set woman in
her thirties sat waiting for him on the couch, chatting amicably with
Eleanor. She was dressed in a white t-shirt with a picture of the
earth in the shape of a heart across the front and a long floral
broomstick skirt. Her brown hair was pulled back in a loose braid
and her eyes were rimmed with thin wire frames.
“There he is right now,” Eleanor announced as he stepped
into the entryway at the bottom of the stairs. “Judah, this is Elaine
Wright. She’s with the Green Light Movement. She stopped by to
see you.”
Elaine stood to shake his hand with an anxious grin. “It is
such an honor to meet you. You and your parents have become
heroes in our community.”
Judah scratched the back of his head and shot Eleanor an
apprehensive look, then politely accepted the outstretched hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he muttered.
Eleanor eyed him quizzically, then noting his discomfort,
apologetically. She had assumed he would be delighted to meet a
former associate of his parents. “Elaine worked with your parents
on several campaigns,” she offered. “She knew them personally.”
“That’s great,” he replied flatly. “How did you know where
to find me?”
“A little investigative work,” Elaine answered. She pushed
her glasses back up the ridge of her nose. “It really wasn’t that
hard. The Calloways had come in for several rallies with your
parents and had made contributions over the years, so we still had
them in our database. And when the news announced you were
staying with family friends here in Austin, I just started looking
through our records for anyone who was connected to your
parents, and voila! Here you were!”
Judah nodded. “So you just wanted to meet me, is that it?”
He realized he was being unfriendly but had grown suspicious of
strangers wanting to poke around in his private life, and he was
71
certain she had not gone through the trouble of locating him just
for the honor of shaking his hand.
“Well, yes, and uh…” The woman looked to Eleanor for
encouragement, clearly disconcerted by his short demeanor. “I, or
rather we, the Green Light Movement, were interested in talking
with you about your parents, their beliefs, and what happened. We
thought your voice could be a powerful tool for our cause, espe-
cially right now, when there’s so much media attention focused on
you.”
“I see. That’s what I figured. You don’t go looking some-
body up like that just to say hello.” He sat on the bottom stair and
rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. Politics, with all its
bickering and division and dishonest maneuverings, was perhaps
the one distraction of civilized life he despised the most. “All I
want is to be left alone to live my life. Really. I know you mean
well and I know you knew my parents, and I respect that, I really
do, but I just need some space right now. All this media attention is
just madness. We’re about to go to war, or at least it looks that
way. I don’t understand why people are so concerned with me.”
“Oh, god,” Elaine sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to
upset you. I have the greatest respect for your parents and I don’t
want to cause you any problems. I had no idea my coming here
would bother you. If I had, I wouldn’t have come.”
Recalling how pushy his parents’ friends had always been
when it came to fighting for their causes, Judah doubted the
sincerity of her words, but he also did not want to offend her.
“Look, maybe this just isn’t a good time. Maybe after everything
has died down a bit we can talk. It’s just, right now I’m really trying
to avoid all the attention and spend some time focusing on what
I’m going to do with my life. I can’t do that if I get caught up in a
political campaign.”
“I understand, really I do,” she assured him, her voice
honey-sweet with assumed empathy. “But, this is precisely the time
your voice could be most effective for the cause. Now…when the
media is talking about you and the country is desperate to hear you
speak out. Never before have we had such an opportunity to
advance our agenda. You speak of the threat of war, and I’m
assuming you are referring to what’s going on with Venezuela, what
you have to say has everything to do with that. Why do you think
we’re so concerned with Venezuela? It’s oil, right in our own back
72
yard! We’re like drug addicts willing to do anything to get our fix.
But you know as well as I do there are other solutions, ways to end
this addiction and the madness that stems from it. I would love to
give you the time and space you need, but I am begging you to give
this some more thought before turning me down. Your story can
be painted one of two ways; one will be favorable to our cause, the
other will be devastating to it.”
“What is it exactly you want me to say?”
“The truth, of course. Tell the world what is possible. Tell
them how your family lived on renewable energy, how their home
was constructed with earth-friendly engineering. Tell them your
experiences living close to nature renewed your understanding of
our harmonious relationship with the earth, and how we must
return to that standard of living. Let your parents be remembered
as heroes, not radicals. You can give them a powerful legacy by
speaking out.”
Judah heaved a sigh as he stood again. “I’ll give it some
thought,” he offered. “That’s all I can promise right now.”
“That’s fine,” she conceded, then drew a business card from
her large hemp satchel and handed it to him. “Just don’t think too
long. Our window of opportunity here is small and closing fast.
We have a rally going on today at the capitol. We organized it
originally to call attention to some corporate land development
projects that could threaten our water supply, but given today’s
announcement, we’ll probably be focusing on that. You should
stop by, give a speech if you’re up to it, or just join in the crowd.”
With two hand shakes, she was out the door, leaving the pungent
residue of patchouli oil hanging in the air behind her.
Judah left for his walk then, no longer able to commune
with the wind and the trees as he had intended. His mind had
become preoccupied with Elaine’s final contention – that he might
determine the nature of his parents’ legacy. It was a heavy proposi-
tion to mull. What would his parents want him to do? And did it
really matter what they wanted him to do? Wasn’t he an adult now?
Shouldn’t it matter more what he felt in his own heart was the right
thing to do for him? He knew he believed in the very causes his
parents had championed; it was a belief that sprung from the core
of him. What he did not know was whether or not he wanted to
become a poster child for his beliefs, whether it would do any good
in the end anyway. People watching him from the comfort of their
73
living rooms might entertain the rightness of his position, but
would they really be willing to alter their lives accordingly? Or
would they simply chew on it like they would a particularly moving
novel or flick, then place it in a file to be retrieved later at a dinner
party when they wanted to give the impression of being intellectual
or avant-garde?
And of course, the underlying concern was the issue of
2012 and the end of the world. That had indeed been the impetus
for his family’s flight into the mountains. If he acknowledged that
publicly, his parents would be remembered as freaks, lunatics in the
line of the Heaven’s Gate cult who committed group suicide in the
hopes of riding a comet into a new dimension. He couldn’t bear
that thought.
His mind wandered through this jumble of questions so that
he paid little attention to where he was headed, and when he
suddenly arrived at the intersection connecting the Calloways’
neighborhood to his own childhood neighborhood, he was struck
with the choice of continuing toward his old home or turning back.
He decided to continue, curious to see what had become of the
home his family had abandoned so many years before, and deep
down, hoping he might find a remnant of the levity that had
characterized the years he had spent there.
It was a good mile, down several blocks to reach the home
of his early memories. The sky was overcast, and the roads he now
traversed were slick from a recent downpour, the air still thick with
the scents of rain, wet grass, and asphalt. Ahead, he caught a
glimpse of a rainbow streaked across the gray sky and to his delight,
with every change of direction, it served as a beacon. When at last
he reached his destination, the house looked astonishingly unaf-
fected by the years that had passed since his family had pulled from
its U-shaped driveway, he and his mother in their green Subaru
Outback, his father manning the giant yellow moving truck.
It was a stately home of sprawling red brick with white col-
umns along the front veranda and white shudders that framed each
window. The neatly shaped shrubs, oak trees, and flower beds leant
an air of opulence, as did the ornate wrought-iron fencing that lined
the perimeter of the back yard, where he knew a natural stone
swimming pool lay hidden from the street. He looked at the
second-story window to the far right where his bedroom had been,
then the window to the far left, where his parents had slept, and he
74
recalled the nights when he had crept down the long hallway to
their bedroom and crawled into their bed without waking them,
seeking the warmth and security their presence had provided.
The wooden swing that hung from the largest of their oaks
in the front yard was still there, and after checking the area to
determine no one was home, he ventured onto the property and
took a seat on the swing, propelling himself into the air. It fell
much closer to the ground than he had remembered, but the
floating motion was as soothing as it had ever been. Leaning back,
he closed his eyes and summoned the carefree state of mind that
had always accompanied him on that swing, the lighthearted joy
that had somehow been relegated to the right of a child and only
the fond memory of an adult. He let the worries of his current
predicament fade into barely audible background noise, and for a
moment the celebration of his own existence returned. Caught up
in the exhilaration of the moment, he failed to hear the clicking of
the metal latch that secured the gate between the front and back
yards. When he opened his eyes again, he was startled to find a
young boy, perhaps seven or eight years old with deep ebony skin
and a full rounded afro, standing beside the tree, peering around its
base at him. He skidded his feet across the grass to slow his
momentum.
“Well, hello there, little guy,” he greeted. The boy said
nothing, simply stared at him with wide curious eyes as he shrunk
further behind the protection of the tree. “Do you live here?” The
boy nodded shyly. “What’s your name?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he murmured with
just a touch of a lisp and placed a nervous finger in his mouth.
“Yeah, that’s good advice,” Judah agreed. “My name is
Judah. I used to live here, when I was your age. Used to swing on
this very swing.” He tugged at the ropes, shifting his eyes up to the
thick branch that suspended them.
The boy followed his gaze, a smile playing at the corners of
his lips. “I like to swing on it, too.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s a great swing. Here,” Judah of-
fered as he stood. “I’ll push you.”
The boy broke from his hiding place then and skipped to
the swing, the minimal exchange of niceties providing sufficient
comfort Judah was no longer a stranger. Judah began to propel him
gently, just high enough to elicit the flurries that had always thrilled
75
his own belly as a child, and the boy giggled as he soared effortlessly
through the air, his tiny fingers clinging to the ropes. For a mo-
ment, Judah forgot where he was and the fact that he was indeed a
stranger to the inhabitants of his former home, that the boy’s
parents might not look too kindly on his presence there. From the
corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a white Lincoln Town Car
parked along the main street, partially shielded from view by the
house on the corner. He thought surely it was not the same car he
and Marin had seen the night before, but the subtle reminder of his
present concerns drew him suddenly back to his senses, and he
stepped away from the swing, announcing that he would have to
leave.
“What’s the matter, mister?” the boy called, still floating
back and forth through the air. “Do you want to have your turn
again?”
Judah laughed at the simplicity of the child’s perspective.
For him, there was little more to be concerned with than taking a
turn on a swing. “No, that’s okay,” he said. “You go ahead; it’s
your swing now.”
“But I don’t mind sharing,” the boy assured him, slowing
himself to dismount the swing.
“Thank you, really, but I better be going now.”
“Are you scared?” The question carried not even the sug-
gestion of a taunt, but sprung instead from the boy’s keen sense of
observation. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Maybe I’ll come back another time,” Judah offered, though
with a final glance toward the house that no longer belonged to
him, he knew he would not return. The boy took his hand and
walked him to the street, calling goodbye as Judah started down the
road, and stood there waving at him each time he turned back until
Judah had rounded the corner and vanished behind the row of
houses.
As he came upon the white car parked in the street, he
peered through the tint of its window and found himself gaping
into the face of a rigid-looking man, who was returning his stare
unflinchingly from behind the reflection of metal-framed sun-
glasses. Judah gathered from the straight slit that formed his lips he
was not friendly. He smiled and waved in an attempt at civility, to
which the man responded with a simple point of his index finger
and a decidedly menacing smirk. The exchange sent shivers racing
76
up Judah’s spine. He whipped his head around to face the street
again, trying to ignore the sound of the car’s ignition turning over
and then the slow crunch of rubber on asphalt as it crept behind
him. His earlier preoccupation must have kept him from detecting
he was being followed, but there was no way to overlook it now.
He quickened his pace, though it was an act of futility. The car
stayed with him until he reached the Calloway’s house, rolling to a
stop at the end of the street in what was more than likely the same
place Marin had spotted it the night before. He hurriedly let
himself into the house and then ran to the living room window to
peek through the shudders, where he could watch the car as it sat
with a clear view of the Calloway doorstep. Just then, the shrill ring
of the telephone shattered the silence in the house, and Judah
jumped at the unexpected disturbance. He reached for the phone,
eager to make contact with someone, anyone, and was relieved to
hear the syrupy baritone of Rico’s voice come through the line.
“Rico, I’m so glad you called,” he gasped. “What’s going
on?”
“Not much, just got back from my morning classes. Marin
told me you’d be hanging around there today, so I thought you
might wanna come over for another jam session.”
Thankful for the opportunity to escape what was fast ap-
proaching the air of a prison, Judah accepted the invitation readily.
“I’d love to.”
“Great, I’ll be there in about twenty.”
Rico arrived as promptly as he had promised, and they slid
into his late model Honda, taking to the road with the eccentric
synthesized grooves of Shpongle accompanying them on the stereo.
Judah watched through the side mirror as the Lincoln pulled onto
the street behind them, his stomach swirling in a wave of angst.
Seeming to notice his distraction, Rico peered through his
own mirror. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” Judah muttered, turning his gaze again toward
the windshield.
“Is it that white car back there?”
“You noticed it, too?”
“Just now I did. You had a car following you last night too,
didn’t you? Marin said something about that at the house, but I
thought she was just foolin’. She was serious, though, wasn’t she?”
77
“Yeah,” Judah nodded with a sigh. “I don’t know who it is
or what’s going on, but I’m thinking it must be some reporter.” He
was hanging on to that hope by a very thin thread now.
“Why do you think that? Have they approached you?
Asked you any questions?”
“No, not yet at least.”
Rico nodded shrewdly. “Then it’s probably not a reporter.
Who else do you think it could be?”
“One of Jensen’s guys, I guess,” Judah submitted. He had
not wanted to face that reality, but it was staring him right in the
face. He had no choice but to acknowledge it. “I was held up in
jail for a couple days back in Washington because I didn’t have my
N.I.C. They thought I was a terrorist or something. I thought I
had cleared that all up with them, but I guess not.”
“So what agency are they with? Do you know?”
“The Department of Citizenry, I would assume. That’s who
Jensen works for. To tell you the truth, I’m getting a little freaked
out by it. This guy followed me on a walk today, and he was pretty
intimidating.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it, man,” Rico offered with a flip-
pant wave of his hand. “They’re just messing with you. You’re not
a terrorist. All they’re gonna find when they follow you is they’re
wasting their time.” He stuck his hand out the window and raised
his middle finger with a defiant chuckle, to which Judah objected.
“Please don’t do that. I really don’t want to upset them.
They don’t seem like people who’ll take that stuff lightly.”
Rico apologized and drew his hand back into the car, then
turned the volume up on the radio and began to beat his hands
against the steering wheel in a complementary rhythm while he
drove. As they neared downtown, he maneuvered them onto the
exit ramp and then onto Congress Avenue, where the traffic had
compiled and was moving at a sluggish pace. They inched forward
until they came upon the source of the congestion, a crowd of
about three hundred people gathered at the base of the state capitol,
some of whom were spilling out onto the street. They were carry-
ing signs and shouting moderately organized protest chants. Rico
muted the volume on the radio and rolled down his window to
better hear their calls, and Judah craned his neck to get a better
view, surveying the crowd for Elaine Wright. He found her stand-
78
ing at a podium with a megaphone to her mouth, leading a small
group in a charged rant.
“No more blood for oil! Stop the Madness!” She repeated
the mantra over and over, the crowd following her with varying
degrees of commitment. The sight of so many people gathered for
a cause overwhelmed him with a sense of nostalgia, and he contem-
plated hopping out of the car to join them. The state capitol had
been the site of his first protest rally, when he was only seven years
old. He remembered the shirt he had proudly worn because he and
his mother had made it themselves, with iron-on lettering that read:
Imagine What the World Can Be; This Will Be Our Legacy. The memory
carried with it a surge of empowerment, intensifying his impulse to
partake in the rally.
Just as his hand was reaching for the door handle, he caught
sight of the Lincoln in the side mirror again, now lurching forward
in the lane next to him, and it gave him cause to hesitate. His
participation in a protest rally would certainly raise red flags for
Jensen’s crew, and he wasn’t sure he was willing to take that risk.
Rico moved forward with the traffic, then jerked his breaks sud-
denly at the sound of shattered glass, narrowly escaping a collision
with the large SUV in front of them. Someone from the crowd had
thrown a bottle at it, coupled with shouts condemning the driver
for his “gluttony”. Judah’s muscles tensed at the shocking scene,
and he scanned the area around them for signs of any other vio-
lence. A policeman was approaching with baton in hand.
“This is getting pretty ugly,” he observed nervously. “We
should try and get outta here.” He rolled his window down and
motioned to the car next to them, and Rico pulled into the other
lane, slipping by the now-stopped SUV. Several rogue protestors
jumped on opposite sides of the SUV, causing it to tilt from side to
side. The driver remained in his car, terrified.
“What is going on here?” Judah exclaimed. “What kind of
peace rally is this?”
“I don’t know, man…every once in a while a small group of
idiots destroys the entire group’s message by doing something
stupid like that,” Rico admonished, shaking his head. “It’s a
shame.” Without thinking, Judah jumped out of the car and made
his way past the SUV commotion; the police officer had by now
reached the vehicle, and the wayward protestors had scattered in
flight. He marched purposefully toward the platform where Elaine
79
was still shouting, not sure exactly what he was going to say to her,
but certain he would let her know he didn’t want her or any mem-
ber of her group using his parents’ name for their cause. His
parents would never have approved of such tactics. When Elaine
saw him approaching, a broad smile spread across her face and her
eyes lit up as she halted her chant and called for every one’s atten-
tion.
“Listen up, every body. We’ve got a very special guest
speaker with us here today. You’ve all heard of him by now, I’m
sure. Let’s give a great big welcome to our local hero, wilderness
boy Judah Hardison!” The crowd broke into a wild mix of cheers,
whistles, and hoots. Judah was dumbfounded. He had not in-
tended to speak to the crowd, only a private conversation with
Elaine, but the hundreds of protestors had settled down into an
expectant calm, waiting for him to speak.
Judah took his place in front of the podium timidly. Elaine
handed over the megaphone and urged him with a nudge of her
hand. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. But he was petrified, and
as he stood there for several painfully silent moments, he recalled
the young boy’s words from earlier that day. There’s nothing to be
afraid of, he had said. And he thought of his father’s mantra again,
fear is paralysis of the soul. It seemed to be a recurring theme in his life
lately. Summoning up his courage with a long deep breath, he
suddenly felt the flutter of Kulkulkan’s hiss moving from the base
of his spine to the crown of his head, just as it had in his dream the
night before. It seemed to dissolve his inhibitions as words began
to take form in his mind.
“I know you all mean well here,” he began carefully. “I
know you want to put an end to war, to corporate greed, and to
environmental wrongs. My parents shared your passions. I have
grown up to share your passions. But, I am not here to say, ‘keep
up the good fight.’ I am here to say what you are doing right now is
a misuse of valuable time and energy.” A few boos scattered
through the crowd as the protestors shifted uncertainly. Elaine
eyed him nervously from the edge of the platform. He held his
hands up in a calming gesture and continued. “I am here to say that
in order for change to occur, there must be a new awakening, a new
understanding of how we as individuals can affect the world around
us. We cannot expect to overpower others with our cries and
demands. We cannot expect to change stubborn minds with anger,
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political banter, and debate. We cannot expect to create a new way
of thinking, a new way of living, using the methods of an old,
degenerated system.” The words were flowing freely now, spring-
ing from a source he was not even aware existed within him, and
the crowd listened graciously, wondering where he might be
heading with this.
“My parents stopped going to protest rallies years ago, not
because they stopped believing in the causes, but because they
stopped believing in the methods of protest, the attempts at
maneuvering the political system, as viable solutions. They realized
the notion of political revolution was obsolete. It has been done
time and time again throughout history, and the exchanges of
power have done little to establish a harmonious way of life on
earth. The earth’s resources simply move into the hands of another
set of powerful people, eventually to be abused again in the never-
ending playground of power.
Instead, my parents turned their hopes to a vision for a
spiritual revolution, one in which each person might turn their
attentions inward, toward the only domain they had control over –
themselves. Each person living according to their own highest
principles. Each person consciously creating their own vision of a
better world, for themselves, for their loved ones, for every other
living being on earth. Each person channeling all the energy they
had wasted in frustrations with government leaders, corporate
monopolies, and war mongers toward the creation of a brighter
vision. Think about it. How many among us really want war?
How many among us really want to see a tiny percent of the earth’s
population hoarding most of the earth’s resources? How many of
us want to see our water tinged with nuclear waste? So why do we
allow it?” He paused a moment to catch his breath.
“The reason we allow it is because we let that tiny one per-
cent of the population control what the rest of us are able to
envision for ourselves, what we believe is possible. We believe we
are powerless, and that is why we get angry or frustrated or simply
apathetic. That is why we willingly participate in our own enslave-
ment to the current system. Soldiers march off to war to fill the
coffers of defense contractors and banks. Consumers dig chasms
of debt trying to live up to the false standards that have been
craftily embedded into the collective consciousness, meanwhile
turning their eyes from the utter lack of basic resources available to
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many of our brothers and sisters at home and abroad. The tortured
cry of animals remains muzzled, hidden away in laboratories and
slaughterhouses, as we enjoy our hamburgers and cosmetics
without the slightest gesture of respect toward the life we have
consumed. And of course, in all this, we perpetuate an unsustain-
able way of life that is irreparably depleting and altering the earth,
not because it’s the best way of life, but because it’s the most
profitable way of life for the world’s elite. The time for affecting
change through political movements has passed. The time has
come for changing the world by changing your life, and inspiring
others to do so as well. The time has come for a massive awaken-
ing to personal empowerment that usurps the false authority of that
tiny one percent of the population, who cannot enslave us without
our consent.
“The conscious vision of the overwhelming majority of
humans on this earth can overcome the vision of that greedy, self-
serving one percent. But, we must believe we have the ability to
create a new vision of reality, a new era for humanity. We must
believe there is enough food, water, and comfort to go around. We
must believe peace is possible. We must believe there is a way to
exist without destroying our environment. If we truly believe all of
this is possible, then we are free to begin creating it for ourselves,
one step at a time.
You see, there is no cause to attack another person for the
sake of political frustration. Empower them instead with the
incredible awareness you have discovered. Don’t throw up your
hands in frustration. Don’t waste your voice spewing anger into a
megaphone. Conserve and channel your energy into the creation of
the new reality. If you want to ‘fight the power’, you have to first
realize you too hold the power. If you want to create a new reality,
you have to first believe you have the power to shape reality, and
then you must focus all of your efforts on manifesting it, beginning
within your own life. It was right here on this lawn eleven years ago
that my mother, Jenna Hardison, first championed this notion, and
it seems only fitting I should close with it now…Imagine what the
world can be…this will be our legacy.”
There was a sustained quiet on the lawn as Judah handed
the megaphone back to Elaine, but as he stepped away from the
podium the crowd broke into a roar of applause. A smile of relief
spread across his face. People began to move toward the stage in
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the hopes of talking with him, but he heard his name called from
the distance and turned to see Rico beckoning him with a wave.
Thankful for the easy escape, he made a run for it, and they hopped
into Rico’s car now parked along the curb on the east side of the
lawn.
“That was some speech, Judah,” Rico commented. “You
even inspired me.”
Judah laughed and shrugged off the compliment. He wasn’t
sure where the words had come from and now felt certain he would
never be able to pull-off such an impromptu message again. His
career as a public speaker had ended as quickly as it had begun.
The surge of emotion that had compelled him to dart onto that
lawn had evaporated into a desperate desire to return to invisibility.
Something told him, however, that invisibility was not yet an option
for him.
When they arrived at the house, Rico pulled the tray from
beneath his coffee table and proceeded to roll a thin joint.
“Aren’t you a little nervous about that?” Judah asked. “I
mean, with me being followed by the feds and all?”
“Nah, man,” Rico replied flippantly, lighting the joint and
inhaling deeply. “I don’t keep more around than I can either eat or
than would be a misdemeanor if I got caught with it. They’re
interested in the dealers really, not the users. And besides, my dad’s
the chief of police here, so, you know…” He handed the joint to
Judah, who denied it with a wave of his hand, and then shrugged
and took another drag himself. “You look like you could really use
this, you know. You need to relax.”
Judah knew he was right. The day’s events had been relent-
less, and he could feel a general uneasiness throughout his body.
He decided to try a few minutes of meditation to center himself and
took a seat on the floor with his legs crossed. Rico watched with
curiosity as Judah began to breathe deeply, eyes closed.
“What’s that you’re doing over there?”
“I’m relaxing, like you said,” Judah replied with a softened
smile, his eyes still closed.
“Show me how you do that,” Rico requested, taking a seat
on the floor next to him.
“Alright. All you have to do is breathe deeply and slowly,
focusing on the flow of oxygen into and out of your lungs,” Judah
instructed, pausing to demonstrate the act himself. “What you’re
83
trying to do is let go of your conscious thoughts, so you’re essen-
tially just being. If you want to, you can focus on a mantra, like I
am an expression of divine imagination. Every person, every thing reveals
divinity. This is the harmony of the universe. Understand it, recognize it,
and then fully appreciate it. And keep breathing.”
Judah entered again into his own meditation of the mantra,
and within a few moments, he was immersed in his understanding
and appreciation of the truth he had learned a year before on the
mountain. It had become a favorite mantra for him since, and he
figured it was a good one to use that day, to ease his mind of all the
turmoil he had witnessed. Then he realized this very thought was
removing him from his meditation and he quickly redirected his
concentration. When he opened his eyes again, some fifteen
minutes later, Rico was still sitting with eyes closed, breath barely
audible, and a broad silly grin stretched across his face. He did not
want to intrude on Rico’s moment of joy and was just about to try
returning to his own when Rico seemed to sense his eyes upon him
and opened his own. “What’d you think?” Judah asked.
“Wow,” Rico sighed. “That was right-on. I get it now.
You got your Buddhist thing going so you don’t need drugs. That’s
cool. It is Buddhist, right? The meditation and all?”
“Yes,” Judah acknowledged. “But not necessarily. It’s
every spirituality, really. It’s just truth. Your mind can run you in
circles, dragging you through mazes of worry, fear, suffering, and
doubt. It can trick you into forgetting the basic joy of being alive.
You have to take the time to grab hold of the reins, put yourself
back in the driver seat, you know what I mean?”
“Whatever, that’s some crazy shit.” Rico lay back on the
floor, patting his belly with his hands. “I don’t know, man. I think
maybe it’s ‘cuz I was really high, but it was like time stopped, and
everything was perfect, just beautiful, and there was nothing but
love.”
“Well, you may be right in a way. Some substances can fa-
cilitate the opening of the mind to new perspectives, but drugs are
certainly not required. I never needed them, and quite honestly, I
prefer it without them. No side effects, just pure experience.”
Rico was still grinning from ear to ear. He rose to play his
bongos, falling immediately into a trance-like rhythm, and Judah
picked up the guitar and ventured into his own pulsing strum. They
played like that for a good hour, rising and falling intuitively to-
84
gether into peaks and valleys and peaks again, but it seemed only a
matter of minutes. Shortly after they broke, Marin called to let
them know she was on her way. Her classes had just ended and she
suggested they all grab a bite to eat and head over to the bridge at
Congress Avenue to watch the bats at sunset. It was a phenome-
non every one in Austin had made a point of witnessing at least
once in their life, but Judah and Marin had been particularly fond of
it and had seen it together as children perhaps fifty times. It would
be a nostalgic moment for the two of them to revisit.
When she arrived, Marin announced that the Lincoln was
parked just around the corner, where the driver had a perfect view
of the house but could not be seen himself. Judah couldn’t help
feeling like a fugitive with the taint of paranoia that crept through
the back of his mind every time they caught sight of the mysterious
Lincoln. He let loose an exacerbated sigh but tried his best to not
let it get to him, as it seemed the car would be an inevitable nui-
sance for the foreseeable future. Marin drove them to the sandwich
shop where Rico worked and they ordered subs and fresh fruit and
stuffed them into a backpack to eat at the bridge. Finding a spot
with a good view, they took a seat on the ground to eat their meal,
finishing just before the spectacle began.
In a massive swarm, the bats darted out of their resting
place beneath the bridge, one million of them diving and rising and
changing direction, as if all of it had been carefully choreographed
and practiced numerous times before the performance. Judah had
forgotten how grand a sight it was. It was a curious phenomenon,
the way they burst into motion exactly at sunset each night and
returned together at sunrise each morning, guided even in their
individual nightly pursuits by a connection to the collective whole.
“Wow, Judah, just look at it!” Marin squealed, rocking
backward onto her heels and then forward onto her toes so that her
body leaned over the railing of the bridge. “Isn’t it amazing? I’ve
seen it so many times I couldn’t possibly count, and still it sends
shivers all up and down my spine. It’s like one of those things that
all you can do is just say ‘Wow’ and you just know that life is
amazing. You haven’t seen it in years; you must be blown away!”
He watched her staring at the sky with the same delight he
had seen in her eyes every time they had come as children. The
wonder of the event had not abandoned her. He put his arm
around her shoulder and craned his neck toward the sky as the bats
85
dispersed and disappeared across the city’s horizon, then let a smile
spread across his face.
They gathered their belongings as the crowd dwindled and
were headed back to the car when they crossed in the direct path of
the Lincoln’s surveillance spot. In an act of spontaneity, Rico ran
ahead of them, turning back with a playful grin, and proceeded to
tap on the window of the car expectantly until the driver finally
gave in and opened it. Judah sucked in his breath as he and Marin
approached tentatively, not sure what Rico was up to.
“Hey, man, you really shoulda gotten out to see it,” Rico
goaded lightheartedly. “Since you’re stuck following my friend
here, you might as well enjoy it.”
“I’m on the job, but thanks for the offer, Mr. Evans,” the
driver replied in a much more serious tone. “Joshua Evans, right?”
Rico’s smile had faded, and he offered no response. “I don’t think
you’re dad would approve of your radical new friend here. What do
you think?”
There was an awkward silence before Rico gathered his
senses, patted the hood of the car and flashed another smile, this
time slightly more forced. “Just trying to help you out, man. That’s
all.” He backed away, motioning for Judah and Marin to join him,
and they picked up their pace as they passed the car, neither of
them daring to steal a glance. “What an asshole,” he grumbled as
they climbed into Marin’s car.
The exchange had significantly soured their mood, but they
tried to overcome it by singing along with the radio, Rico vibrating
his voice in outrageous fluctuations to entertain them. When they
reached his house, he leaned through the window to kiss Marin’s
cheek and extended his hand to Judah. “It’s been cool, man. Really
cool. And don’t worry about that creep back there. He’s just
pissed he has to sit in a car all day babysitting you.”
“Thanks,” Judah replied. Whether or not it was true, it was
a nice thought.
Marin wasn’t ready to go home yet, and she suggested they
stop at the park in her parent’s neighborhood to gaze at the stars, to
which Judah gladly agreed. Being with her was increasingly becom-
ing his favorite pastime. She pulled the car into the horseshoe drive
of the small park, and they got out and began to swing on the
squeaky playground equipment, admiring the night sky above them.
86
Venus, as always, outshined her neighbors, captivating Judah’s
attention.
“Did you know the Mayans revered Venus as the manifesta-
tion of their god, Kulkulkan, or Quetzalcoatl? That’s why they put
so much effort into tracking her cycles.”
“No, I didn’t,” Marin answered dreamily, leaning back in
her swing to get a better view of the sky. “Tell me more.”
“Well, Kulkulkan was their most beloved deity. He was
said to have created civilization, gave them wisdom and knowledge,
and taught them about love and peace. He also represented duality.
According to one version of his myth, he parted from his people on
a spiritual pilgrimage, leaving them with the promise to return one
day, but he ended up bursting into flames and his heart rose to the
sky to form Venus. What’s interesting is that even though Venus
and Earth are sister planets, Venus’ axis rotates in the opposite
direction from Earth’s, which is why Venus, like Kulkulkan, was
considered to influence our struggle with dualities or opposing
forces, like the notions of good vs. evil and light vs. darkness. It is
prophesied the transit of Venus that occurred this past June will
usher in the return of Kulkulkan. Or at least the fulfillment of
Kulkulkan’s promise to bring about a balancing of dualities and
opposing forces. It’s supposed to lead to a new form of civilization,
one ruled by balance and wisdom.”
“That’s a beautiful story,” Marin mused. “It must have
been so different back then, the night sky, I mean. So much more
vivid. No wonder they spent so much time just watching the stars
and planets moving across the sky, creating grand stories about
them. Anything was possible then.”
“Anything is still possible,” he pointed out wistfully.
Skidding to a stop, she turned to face him. “What do you
really believe about all this 2012 stuff? I mean, do you buy into the
Mayan myths and prophecies?”
“No, of course not,” he answered, dragging his feet to slow
his own motion. “I don’t believe Venus was made from a mytho-
logical god, and I don’t believe a feathered serpent god is going to
return to the earth a week from now. For that matter, I don’t
believe any god is going to ‘return’ to the earth for any purpose.
But…I believe in the power of the grand imaginations who first
pondered these ideas. I believe in their vision of a world of love
and peace, one in which humanity might finally overcome the
87
dualities we have come to accept as our nature. All these myths are
just representations of our desire to rise above. I see the myths as
seeds of awareness, planted within our collective psyche so we
might get a glimpse of what is possible. But their promises will only
blossom into physical reality when we choose to harvest
them…truly harvest them.”
“You amaze me, you know that?” she said. “I mean, where
do you come up with all this stuff?”
“A lot of reading, a lot of thinking, I guess. But I think the
time I had on the mountain to just observe the world and listen to
my inner voice had the most impact on me. Learning to trust my
own inner voice silenced a lot of the chatter in my mind, and I just
feel like I can see things so much more clearly now.”
“Well I love it.” She leaned in for a kiss and, electrified by
her touch, he pressed her body against his, caressing the back of her
neck. They kissed this way until he could take it no longer.
“Marin, you’re driving me crazy,” he breathed in her ear,
breaking from her lips.
She pulled back from his tight embrace then, unsure of
where it might lead them. “We should stop,” she said. “I don’t
want to stop. But I think we should. It’s so weird, all of this. You
know what I mean?” Judah nodded, although he really did not
know what she meant. “When I went up there to get you, I never
expected to fall for you like this,” she continued. “My parents
would freak. This was not supposed to happen between us. You
remember that rule?”
He laughed and recalled how he had thought the same exact
thing during their long road trip, when he had been unable to divert
his eyes from her. But the rounded mounds of her breasts peeked
above the plunging neckline of her sweater and he ached physically
for her. “Yeah, I remember. But that was when my parents were
still here. They were afraid we’d break-up and it would destroy
their friendship. We don’t have to worry about that now.”
“I know. But it’s still just weird to me. I gotta get used to
the idea a little more, that’s all.” She put her finger to his bottom
lip. “You’ll be patient, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he assured her, then took her head in his
hands and pulled her forehead to his lips. “Of course.”
88
When he returned to the Calloway home, he took a shower
and went to bed, falling into a fast heavy sleep, only to find himself
transported once again into a mysterious dream realm.
The ground was hard and cold against his belly as he slid across
the surface of the earth. His motion was driven by subtle, synchronized
contractions of muscle that ran the length of his body, and he could sense
the earth’s pulse pass through him in faint waves of electricity, charging
him like a battery. Just as he was beginning to feel comfortable with this
visceral sensation, he felt an opening behind his head that lifted him from
the dirt. While his body still moved in a slithering motion, it seemed now
to glide upon the surface of a breeze. The air moving across his face drew
his attention to the plume of feathers that adorned him and the wings that
stretched long to either side of him. Was he a serpent or a bird? He was
confused, alienated by his lack of identity. But it was only a fleeting
emotion, for he quickly recognized himself as the Mayan god Kulkulkan.
Part serpent, part bird. Grounded visionary. Instilling fear while
inspiring awe. The embodiment of duality.
From his bird’s eye view in the sky, the panorama narrowed in
on the sight of a family seated around a small fire in the mountains,
smiling and talking as they feasted on the afternoon’s catch and admired
the vividness of the night sky. Drawing nearer, he recognized the family
as his own, his mother, his father, and himself rugged and crude yet
laughing with full-bellied joy. The vision caused his heart to swell with a
desire to feel them physically. To once again know the comfort of his
mother’s hand stroking hair from his forehead. To feel his father’s proud
grip upon his shoulder. But all too soon this soothing memory was
interrupted by a flash of the only image of his parents he could not bear to
summon.
His mother’s body lay motionless on the earth, the breath of life
expired. She was gone, irretrievably gone. He saw the tremble of his
father’s hand as it placed a wreath of berries, fashioned in the winter’s
absence of flowers, upon his mother’s burial site. He heard the wail of his
father’s cries and felt his own knees crumble as he fell to the ground,
overcome with sorrow. He recalled the prayer of devotion his father had
led them in, honoring the earth’s cycles, releasing his mother to the
wholeness, and acknowledging her death as a passage into a higher state of
89
peace and harmony. Then, skipping forward in time, he saw his father
struggling to break through the delirium of fever and cold sweats to grab
hold of his hand, the look of desperation and then peace in his father’s
eyes just before he spoke his last words. “I’m sorry if we failed you, son.
Know that we are always with you, that our love lives on within you.”
He had paused, looked around at the vast landscape of lush green
treetops, and then gazed into Judah’s eyes pleadingly. “This wasn’t all an
accident…this beauty…this life. Tell me you know that.”
“I know that, dad,” he had said, squeezing his father’s hand,
eyes blurred by a steady stream of tears he did not try to hold back.
“Then cherish it, for whatever it’s worth.” With those final
words, his father had drifted into an eternal sleep and Judah had been left
to face the enormity of his grief alone. Then, he remembered, had come the
vacuum, the caving of his chest as it had sucked desperately from the space
around him for any thing, any thought, any emotion that might liberate
him from the icy realization of loss that had descended upon him. Air
had never felt so hollow.
The same unbearable weight that had rendered him paralyzed for
two days after his father’s death bore down upon him presently, and
suddenly his serpent-bird form plummeted to the earth. Here he lay for
what felt like an eternity, chained by the gravity of his grief, sorrow, and
what he could only interpret as fear. But fear of what? Ah, the revela-
tion…fear that he would ever have to feel so much again.
What was it that had sparked his urge to move, to sit up, to
stand up, to walk again out on that mountain? From his pinned
position, he surveyed his surroundings for a sign. Towering trees, a
rounded boulder, the liquid moon, the fierce sun, the distant song of birds.
They had all been there through those long, bottomless hours. But it was
something else all together that had awakened his will to live. Something
deep within him, creeping like a hunger. And then he felt it…that
churning within his spirit, that seed of awareness that once germinated
must proceed to fruition. It was not his time to go.
Upon acknowledging this thought, his body was propelled sky-
ward once again, and dewy air washed his face with the ecstasy of wonder,
hope, and inspiration. The exhilaration of having been flung between two
such extreme realities nauseated his stomach, but he breathed deeply and
stretched his wings to settle into an easy glide, swooping gleefully through
90
the sky then slipping down onto the bosom of the earth and back up
again, navigating the two realities with comfort and ease. The earth had
become his playground.
6
December 16, 2012
Judah awakened early the next morning feeling refreshed

and rested, though somewhat disoriented by the intensity of his
dream. It seemed as though he had traveled to another universe,
lived out an alternate existence there, and had returned to his bed
just in time for breakfast. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave the
world of his dreams just yet, but given the wide-eyed alertness he
had awakened with, he knew returning was not an option. Glancing
at the clock on his nightstand, he realized it was only 6:15. The
Calloways would still be asleep.
He remained in bed a few moments, staring at the ceiling,
his mind racing with questions. Why was he having recurrent
dreams of the Mayan god Kulkulkan? He had studied the myth
along with his parents, intrigued by the notion of a lost culture that
could produce such astronomical precision, but it had been one
curiosity among many. While the approaching end date of the
Mayan calendar did not escape his thoughts, he refused to entertain
the possibility his dreams might be some sort of sign to herald the
end of the world. Perhaps it was because such concerns could only
prove futile. After all, if it were the end of the world, what could he
do to prepare for it anyway? But, it was more than that. A nagging
voice from within kept telling him there was something else,
something he was missing, and it had nothing to do with the end of
the world. Then, of course, he wondered what the death of his
parents could possibly have to do with the tribal deity, why the two
had been tied together in his dream state. None of it made sense.
But then, he supposed, dreams didn’t have to make sense.
His wondering was interrupted by the sudden realization
this was the day he would be meeting with Jensen and his friends,
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Senator Martin and Pastor Dodd. A panic rushed over him as he
tried to anticipate what the powerful men could possibly want from
him, and remembering his impulsive speech at the state capitol the
day before, he worried he might have made his situation even more
volatile. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do but wait.
He decided to make a pot of coffee and a good breakfast
for himself and the Calloways to occupy his mind with the simple
task of sustenance. In the kitchen he found all he needed to
prepare a feast of vegetable omelets, toasted English muffins, and
an assortment of fruits, which he placed in a basket on the kitchen
table. The rich scents of freshly brewed Hazelnut coffee wafted
through the house, and the Calloways made their way into the
kitchen just as he was placing a fragrant sprig of Eleanor’s backyard
rosemary in a bud vase, the finishing touch for his carefully set
table.
“Oh my!” Eleanor gasped upon seeing her table set with the
delicate porcelain dishes from her china cabinet. “This is wonder-
ful. I haven’t bothered to use these dishes since last Christmas.
What’s the occasion, Judah? Did you get some good news?”
“No,” he replied, pulling out a chair for her to take a seat in.
“I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I thought, why
not make a good breakfast for all of us? As a thank-you gesture for
all you guys have done for me. I truly am grateful.”
“That’s very nice of you, son,” Thomas said, patting Judah’s
back approvingly as he moved behind him to take his own seat at
the head of the table.
Judah proceeded to serve them with refills of their coffee
mugs and orange juice glasses, sitting and enjoying the meal himself
between runs. He found it surprisingly therapeutic to place himself
in that role of service, focusing on meeting their needs and their
happiness rather than on his own concerns. Afterwards, when they
had both retreated to their room to take their morning showers, he
washed and dried all of Eleanor’s china and returned it to the
cabinet, then wiped down the counters and sink so that the kitchen
looked as spotless as she had left it the previous night. Before
Thomas left for work, he advised Judah to be careful about what he
said in his meeting that day with Senator Martin and James Dodd.
He warned they were powerful men and would make far better
friends than enemies. “It’s not a time to take stands, politically or
otherwise. Just smile and be agreeable,” he said. Judah promised to
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follow his advice, and Thomas squeezed his shoulder paternally
before walking out the door. Though he received the gesture of
love with appreciation, he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt
about the growing intensity of his feelings for Marin. He wondered
what Thomas would think if he were to find out about the recent
change in their relationship.
Officer Jensen arrived precisely at ten, just as he had prom-
ised. As the doorbell chimed to announce his arrival, Judah put the
finishing touches on his appearance. Eleanor had offered to let him
wear one of Thomas’s shirts and a tie, but the neck was about two
inches wider than his own and the shoulder seams fell a good inch
down each of his arms. While the t-shirts and jeans he had pur-
chased at the thrift store seemed inappropriate for a meeting with
such prominent members of society, he had gambled it would be
okay to appear underdressed. He was, after all, the wilderness boy.
His wild appearance would be part of his charm.
He ran a dab of Thomas’s hair gel across his scalp to
smooth the short hairs into order and gave his reflection a final
glance-over. Jensen would be pleased to see the change in his hair;
this he knew for sure. He looked far less a threat to authority today
than he had during their first encounter. Thinking of this, he
gained hope the day’s meeting would finally put Jensen at ease.
“Well, Mr. Hardison,” Jensen greeted as Judah opened the
door. “You’re looking much better this morning than the last time
I saw you. Civilization’s been good to you, I see.”
“I can’t complain,” Judah replied, then called a goodbye to
Eleanor and closed the door behind him. “You enjoying Texas so
far?” He was smiling and being agreeable. Thomas would be
proud of him, he thought.
“Well, I’ve only been here about an hour, so I haven’t really
had the chance to get acquainted with it yet, but it’s sunny. I like
that.” He opened the back door and let Judah slide into the
backseat before joining him, then instructed the driver to head to
the Four Seasons Hotel.
Judah noted it was the first exchange he had shared with
Jensen that had not ended with him feeling like he’d just been
pinned to a sheet of Styrofoam in an insect collection. “Yeah, I
have to say I’ve really enjoyed being back here in the warmth and
the sunshine. It’s very uplifting. Will you get to stay long enough
to enjoy some of the sights?”
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“Hmmm?” Jensen drawled distractedly. He was watching
where the driver was taking them, uncomfortable it seemed to be
riding in a passenger seat.
“I was just wondering if you would get to stay long enough
to enjoy some of the sights. I could suggest some if you were.”
“Nah, I’m here on duty, not vacation. I’m in and out, just
like that,” he snapped his fingers. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight.”
He paused a moment, and then, seeming to remember his role as an
officer of the department of citizenry in the presence of a potential
threat to the nation’s security, cleared his throat forcefully and
regained control of the conversation. “Why don’t you tell me what
you’ve been up to the past week? You been keeping out of trouble
or looking up old associates of your parents?”
“I’ve been getting reacquainted with civilization, and as you
noted earlier, it’s been treating me kindly,” Judah replied. He
wanted to keep it nice and agreeable. It was the smart thing to do,
but he couldn’t help himself. He had to resist the pinning just one
more time. “But you already know that, don’t you? Your friends in
the Lincoln have kept you well-informed of my activities.”
There was something about the look on Jensen’s face that
deeply disturbed Judah. It was his initial reaction, not the empty
placid gaze that came seconds later, but the immediate burrowing of
his brows and the retreating into his mind in search of an explana-
tion that concerned Judah. It was suddenly and horrifyingly clear
Jensen had no idea what he was talking about, and that meant
whoever had been following him was not connected to Jensen after
all. As threatened as he had once felt by Jensen’s sneering suspi-
cions, he now longed for the safety of them. At least with Jensen
he knew what he was facing, and he knew as long as he was not
involved in any illegal activities, Jensen would remain perfectly
harmless. Now, he had no idea who had been following him or
what interest they might have in him.
“I’m sure you’re aware Senator Martin and Pastor Dodd are
very influential men,” Jensen changed the subject. “It’s in your best
interest to be on your best behavior with them. They have the
power to make your life very easy or very difficult. I’m sure your
level of cooperation will determine which way that will go.”
“I’m always on my best behavior,” Judah answered. “What
do they want with me anyway? What’s this all about?”
94
“They don’t tell me things like that. It’s none of my con-
cern. I’m just warning you, as my good deed for the day. Cooper-
ate, and things will go better for all of us.” Those were the last
words they spoke to each other on the drive to the hotel. Judah
was left to wonder how his cooperation with Senator Martin and
James Dodd could have any effect on Jensen. And how exactly did
they expect him to cooperate? His stomach began to twist into
anxious knots as he stared silently out the window.
The driver dropped them at the grand entrance to the hotel,
and Jensen led Judah through the revolving glass doors and into the
fine, wood-paneled elevator that carried them to the ninth floor.
They walked to the end of the hall where a Secret Service agent
stood guard outside the door of James Dodd’s sprawling presiden-
tial suite. Senator Martin evidently had already arrived. Jensen
flashed his Department of Citizenry badge and the agent tapped on
the door. It was opened cautiously by another Secret Service agent,
who also checked Jensen’s badge, and then stepped aside to allow
the two of them inside. Judah was impressed by the regal décor of
the room, the lavish marble flooring, the fresh floral arrangements,
and the luxury of chaise lounges and sheer white curtains billowing
in the opening to the veranda. The two men sat on red velvet
couches laughing about some joke they had just exchanged, as ice
clinked in their highball glasses. It was disconcerting to Judah that
he could not tell which man was the pastor and which the politician.
“Senator Martin, it’s good to see you again,” Jensen greeted
nervously. He was addressing the man seated closest to the French
doors that opened to the veranda, attempting to sound confident
but unable to conquer the waver in his voice. “We met at the
Presidential Ball. I’m sure you don’t remember, but it was quite an
honor for me. I was so pleased to learn I could be of service to you
here today.”
“Yes, yes, Earl Jensen. I remember you. Of course I do. I
never forget a friendly face, someone devoted to the great service of
our nation’s interests like yourself. The pleasure’s all mine, really.”
Senator Martin shook Jensen’s hand and smiled warmly, but he was
only slightly better at disguising his insincerity than Jensen had been
at hiding his trepidation. He had undoubtedly been given Jensen’s
name that morning in preparation for the meeting and had no real
recollection of having ever met the officer before. Judah couldn’t
help feeling sorry for his nemesis, who suddenly appeared com-
95
pletely powerless. But he also knew pity was a pointless emotion
and one that was very rarely appreciated.
“The good Lord does love a humble servant,” James Dodd
chimed in, rising to shake hands with Jensen. “I’m James Dodd.
It’s good to meet you, son.”
“Thank you, sir. Good to meet you, too. I guess you both
would like to be introduced to my companion here, Mr. Judah
Hardison. He is, I believe, the reason for this little meeting.”
Jensen was regaining his composure, gathering confidence in his
role as facilitator of the meeting. “Gentlemen, this is Judah Hardi-
son, better known as the wilderness boy, and Judah, it is my pleas-
ure to introduce you to Senator Andrew Martin of the great state of
Texas and Pastor James Dodd, of the Christian Cable Broadcasting
network, who is also president of the Good Faith Alliance.”
Judah extended his hand to both men. “It’s quite an honor
to be invited here today. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve
such an honor, but I would like to thank you.”
“Why don’t we all have a seat and get acquainted,” Senator
Martin suggested. “Would either of you like a drink?” Jensen
accepted a cup of coffee and Judah a glass of water.
Judah studied both men briefly as an attendant poured the
requested beverages. Senator Martin was a relatively young man, in
his early forties with a healthy physique, tanned skin, brown hair
peppered with a distinguished touch of gray, and a smile that
marketed him as a confident but modest winner. He was the sort
of politician who had benefited greatly from the birth of television
and its ensuing influence on elections. James Dodd was in his late
fifties, with a heavy frame and a belly that protruded just far enough
to make it uncomfortable for him to cross his legs gracefully like
Senator Martin, but instead required him to sit with legs slightly
parted so that his belly could rest between his thighs. His blonde
hair was swept across his forehead in a wave and his blue eyes
smiled from behind squared eyeglass frames.
When drinks had been served, Senator Martin continued.
“Now Judah, I’m sure you’re aware your picture has been splayed
across the front page of nearly every paper in this country and
flashed across just about every television screen as well. You have
become quite the sensation here recently. What do you think about
that? Being so young with all that attention? Surely it must feel
strange.”
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“Fame can certainly be overwhelming,” Pastor Dodd agreed
with a chuckle, as he poured himself another drink from the crystal
carafe on the table.
“It’s definitely been strange,” Judah acknowledged. “To be
honest, I don’t like it at all.”
“And why is that?” Senator Martin pressed.
“I don’t know exactly. I guess I’m just a private person. I
don’t like having the entire country poking their noses in my
business. It makes me feel like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.
I’m sure you both can relate.”
The two men laughed agreeably. “Yes we can, son. We
surely can.” Senator Martin winked at Pastor Dodd. “But there’s
always a good side to fame. Have you given any thought to that
yet?”
“I’m not sure what you mean. What’s the good side? As
far as I can see, I’m just the subject of a nationwide gossip frenzy.”
“Well, I can see what you mean there, but regardless, you
are still famous, and with fame comes a certain measure of power,
particularly in today’s world of mass media. The power of influ-
ence, you understand?” Judah nodded and shrugged, still not sure
what good such power would do for him.
“Come on, son,” James Dodd urged. “You got the country
all abuzz with talk about you. Every reporter in this country would
shoot themselves in the foot for an interview with you, and you
mean to tell us you haven’t thought about what you might want to
do with all that attention? What you might want to say to the world
when you finally do get your say?”
The purpose of the meeting was beginning to take shape in
Judah’s mind. They wanted to know what kind of political or
philosophical impact he might have on the country, what kind of
threat he might be. They were simply fishing for information, and
this realization came as a big relief. If that was all they wanted, he
would certainly have good news for them.
“Look, honestly, I have no intention of saying anything at
all to the media. I’m just waiting for all this to die down and then
go on about my business like every one else in this country. I don’t
have any grand schemes going through my mind, and I certainly
have no desire to make use of this influence you’re talking about.
So, if that’s what you were worried about, you can put your minds
at ease.”
97
The two men exchanged uncertain glances, as though
Judah’s directness had caught them completely off-guard. Senator
Martin cleared his throat and crossed his legs in the opposite
direction. “We’re certainly glad to hear you’re not formulating any
grand schemes, son. It would be very disturbing indeed to learn
that you were. But we’re interested in enlisting your help for our
purposes, our purposes being of course the greater good of this
country. We would be greatly appreciative…” the extent of their
appreciation was further emphasized as he placed his hand on
Judah’s shoulder, “…if you were to help us make sure the right
message reached the public where your story is concerned. And
I’m sure you would agree that between the two of us, we are in a
good position to illustrate our appreciation.”
Senator Martin’s hand tightened slightly on Judah’s shoul-
der, and he felt a powerful urge to squirm out from beneath the
grip. It was becoming apparent the request for his cooperation was
not a request at all. “What exactly is it you are asking me to do?”
The grip on his shoulder relaxed and Senator Martin withdrew his
hand, comfortable they were moving in the right direction.
“What we would like to see is you giving an interview, per-
haps with the likes of Regina Sutters. Just one exclusive interview
during which you explain that your parents were a bit unstable, that
they had become gripped by paranoia and that the resulting radical
decisions they made had a traumatic impact on your life. That’s not
really asking much now, is it?” Senator Martin rubbed his hands
together and held them out palms-up, as if to say there, simple as that.
Only Judah didn’t see it as such a simple task. What they
were asking of him was something he knew without question he
could not give. He could not betray his parents. There was nothing
they could offer him that would convince him to do so, and this
knowledge carried with it a deep sense of dread. He knew they
were not the sort of men who took no for an answer. They were
used to getting their way and would no doubt make it very difficult
for him to withstand their pressure. He sighed deeply and loudly,
stroking his beard as he thought about what would be the best way
to turn them down.
“Listen, I realize you want what is best for the country, and
I know you think somehow my story is a threat. Believe me, I want
what is best for my country as well. I really do. But you gotta
understand, I can’t do what you’re asking me to do. I love my
98
parents. I can’t betray them in front of the whole world. I just
can’t. I want to make you guys happy and help you out and all, but
I can’t do that. Please understand. There has to be another way.”
He had resorted to begging, and though he was not at all sure this
was the best approach, he thought at least it might play on the
sympathies of a pastor.
“Son, we don’t want to ask a young man to betray his par-
ents,” James Dodd offered, his voice taking on the soothing drawl
of a southern preacher during his call for converts to descend upon
the altar. “But you have to know your first allegiance is to God,
and then your parents. If what your parents have done has of-
fended God, then you must rebuke it and let the world know that
you rebuke it so that others do not follow in their wrong path.
Would you like to see hundreds, maybe thousands of other children
having to go through what you went through out there? Believe
me, there are many families with tendencies like your parents. This
sort of story could easily be the spark to set their paranoia into
motion. Do you want to live with that burden? Now, we’re not
saying you have to trash your parents on national television. Not at
all. We just want you to let the world know they were confused and
made a mistake. Every body makes mistakes. It’s not betrayal to
acknowledge someone has made a mistake, is it?”
Judah’s head was spinning. He let the assumption his par-
ents had somehow offended God pass without disputing it. What
good would it possibly do to get into a disagreement with a pastor
about God’s feelings? But the thought of doing what they were
asking him to do made him physically ill. It was taking every bit of
self control he had in him to keep from fleeing the hotel.
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Like I said, I want to help you
out, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable with this. Can you give me
some time to think about it?”
James Dodd glanced at Senator Martin, who nodded with a
smug smile. “Of course, son. You take some time to think about
it. I think that’s a good idea. And I want you to know the Good
Faith Alliance takes care of their own. This great service you would
be undertaking on behalf of your fellow citizens, well, we will be
very appreciative for it. We are in the process of determining the
recipients of several prestigious scholarship awards, and I think this
sort of service would put you in top placement for receiving one of
those. Why I think we’ve got one up for grabs right now for a full
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scholarship to any college in the nation. Your choice. Living
expenses, tuition, books, all your necessary fees included. You
think about that too. Wouldn’t your parents want you to benefit
from an opportunity like that?”
“Sure they would,” Senator Martin agreed.
“I see,” Judah replied. “Well, I’m going to give all of this a
lot of thought. A lot of thought, I promise.”
“Good. And now that that’s settled why don’t we have a
bite to eat?”
Judah’s stomach gurgled nauseously at the thought of stay-
ing to eat with them. “You know, I’ve already eaten, and I’m not
feeling all that well to begin with. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not
eat. I actually have a couple other appointments I have to make
today, too. Maybe I could just take your card and give you a call
back when I’ve been able to think this all over?”
“Sure thing, son,” Pastor Dodd agreed and reached into his
breast pocket to retrieve a business card. “Take one of my cards
and you go on to your important appointments you have today.
Give me a call tomorrow to let me know what you’ve decided. I’ll
be in town a couple days more. Maybe we can get together once
you’ve made your decision and work out the rest of the details. It’s
been a pleasure, son. God bless you.”
It was clear to everyone in the room not only that Judah had
no other important appointments to make, but also that everyone in
the room knew this and were all playing along because the business
that needed to be attended to had already been addressed. The only
person who looked disappointed was Jensen, as he had been excited
about the meeting for days and wanted to stay and share a meal
with the two influential men. He pouted the entire way to the car
and said very little to Judah during the drive. When they arrived at
the Calloways’ home, he handed Judah a card and offered some
final words of advice before driving away:
“Don’t try to be noble about all this, Judah. Do what they
want, accept the gift, and be done with it. You’re lucky they’re even
offering you a bribe in the first place. They could just as easily have
threatened you with imprisonment, and I’m sure that option is still
on the table. Don’t be stupid.”
Judah stood on the curbside long after he had watched the
taillights of Jensen’s car disappear. The morning’s events seemed
even more surreal than the content of his recent dreams had been.
100
How had his life come to this point? Why were political groups
vying for his cooperation? Had the political system really been
reduced to such a silly game of sensationalism? And surely Senator
Andrews and Pastor Dodd didn’t expect him to believe they were
honestly afraid American families could be so inspired by his story
they might flock to the wilderness. Most American families
couldn’t even put forth the effort to recycle paper. Judah was well
aware they wanted his voice to put a nail in the coffin of environ-
mental radicals, particularly given the looming war with Venezuela
and the “war for oil” rally cries that would be sure to follow. But
did they need his voice badly enough to threaten him with impris-
onment?
When he had worked himself sufficiently into a panic with
these thoughts, he went into the house in search of Eleanor, certain
she would be able to talk it through with him. At the very least, she
could help convince him they could not put him in prison if he had
not committed a crime. It was just a threat, an empty meaningless
threat that should not have been thrown around so recklessly, she
would say. But the house was empty and silent. He found only a
note on the kitchen table informing him she would be home later in
the afternoon and that she had saved a message for him on the
answering machine. Finding no comfort in the prospect of spend-
ing the rest of the day alone, accompanied only by the worries now
plaguing his mind, he decided to check the machine, hopeful it
would bear a friendly message.
The machine announced there were two new messages and
one old, then proceeded to play the new messages first. There was
one for Eleanor from a friend suggesting they get together for
Saturday brunch and shopping, which he left for her to retrieve
later, and then a message that was broken into indiscernible bits and
pieces by a bad connection, most likely due to a cellular phone. He
was about to skip past it when two words rang through the line
crystal clear –Stella Sparks. His heart leapt into his throat at the
recognition not only of her name but of her voice, and he cursed
the bad connection that kept him from gathering any hint of what
she might be calling about. The obvious reason would be to get
another interview with him. So far she had been the only reporter
to actually speak with him, and certainly that would do wonders for
her career. Perhaps she wanted to capitalize on their quasi-
relationship to get a more in-depth story from him. But he also
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recalled the quote from her business card and the fact that her story
had been his saving grace in Quilcene. Whatever she was calling
for, he knew she had noble intentions.
He was not sure if he still had her business card, but he had
memorized her phone number in the jail that day. All he had to do
was focus on conjuring a mental image of it to recall it. He picked
up the phone and dialed the number, listening as the line rang six
times before the voice mail picked up and instructed him to leave a
message, which he did. Then he hung up the phone to retrieve the
final message from the machine. It was Rico, trying to connect
with him again. The growing sense of restlessness that had over-
taken him began to settle as he realized he now had someone he
could talk to about the morning’s disturbing events. He dialed the
number Rico had furnished, and after a brief exchange between the
two of them, Rico promised to arrive as quickly as he could.
Within twenty minutes, they were driving together toward
Zilker Park, the sprawling tree-lined retreat that lay within the city’s
limits. Judah hoped the fresh air and scenic view might calm him.
Finding a spot with a table beneath a grand oak tree, they got out of
the car and were greeted by the whistling trill of a red bird. Out of
instinct, Judah returned the whistle, mimicking the sound almost
perfectly, and the bird darted its stare curiously in their direction.
The exchange sent a surge of longing through Judah’s chest, and he
closed his eyes for a moment to summon a vision of the forest he
had left behind, so lush, green and overflowing with life that it now
appeared to him as an enchanted forest. And then he saw his
parents, seated like two Zen fairies in meditation at the base of a
tree. The vision was too much for him, and he blinked his eyelids
open to find the white Lincoln Town Car had parked on the street
across the open field they faced. He didn’t bother to mention it to
Rico.
“What’s going on, man?” Rico asked.
Judah sighed heavily before beginning. “A lot of weird
stuff. I’m in some trouble right now, I think, and I don’t know
what I should do.”
“What do you mean? Is it that speech you gave yesterday?”
“Well, for one, that car over there is not who I thought it
was,” Judah began, nodding his chin toward the street. “I don’t
know who it is, but it isn’t connected to Jensen. I figured that out
today.”
102
“Yeah? So what does that mean?”
“It means someone else is interested in me and I don’t
know who it is or what they want. And today I met with some
pretty powerful men who basically told me I’ve got to completely
discredit my parents in an interview with Regina Sutters or…well,
they didn’t exactly say what would happen if I didn’t, but I under-
stood it would be something pretty bad. Only I can’t do that.
There’s no way I can do that, so I’m pretty screwed right now. I
need some advice.”
“Regina Sutters?” Rico echoed. “From Newsnight? That’s
pretty big, man. Who exactly did you meet with today?”
“Andrew Martin and James Dodd.”
“Holy shit!” Rico exclaimed. “You’re messing with me,
right?”
“No. I wish I were. Believe me.”
“And they’re the ones who are pressuring you? I don’t get
it. Why?”
Judah launched into a detailing of the conversation, explain-
ing what they feared, what they wanted him to convey to the public.
“It’s all a matter of public relations, making sure they control what
the public thinks about not just my parents and me, but also about
the beliefs my parents stood for. There’s an environmentalist group
coming at me too, the same ones who put on that rally yesterday.
But these guys, they mean business. So you see I’m stuck. I can’t
go on television and say what they want me to say, but if I don’t I’m
going to have some pretty serious consequences to face. I was told
imprisonment is not out of the question.”
Rico stared blankly at Judah as he concluded, stunned by
the surreal drama that had been presented to him. “Man, I don’t
know what to tell you. I mean, maybe you oughta be talking to a
lawyer or something. I’m just a little sandwich maker trying to get
through my college basics here.”
“I know that. I’m not looking for professional advice, just
some friendly advice. Your dad’s a cop; you should have a good
idea about what they can put you in jail for. Should I be worried
about that?”
“You shouldn’t be worried about being put in jail for not
doing an interview, but I’d be worried about getting thrown into
Death Valley if I were you. They put all the domestic terror
suspects out there; supposed to be like several hundred of them.
103
And none of them have been to trial yet, if you know what I mean.
You said before the feds thought you were a terrorist back in
Washington. These guys you’re talking about could easily and
convincingly raise that suspicion again.” He drew a cigarette from
his pocket and cupped his hand over the tip to light it. “My friendly
advice is get a lawyer, fast.”
“But you said none of the terror suspects have even been
given a trial,” Judah countered. “What good is a lawyer if you don’t
get a trial?”
“True, but a lawyer is a squeaky wheel, out there on the talk
shows talking about how wilderness boy got screwed. They don’t
want that either.”
Judah contemplated the suggestion seriously. He wasn’t
sure it was the answer, but he figured there was no harm in consult-
ing a lawyer for a professional opinion at the very least. “Yeah, I
guess you’re right. I should talk to a lawyer. I’ll ask the Calloways
if they can recommend one.”
After several moments of silence, Rico cleared his throat.
“You mind me asking something personal?”
“Shoot.”
“What was it like in the mountains? Did you like it, or are
you angry with your parents for dragging you out there? I mean, if
it were me, I think I’d be a little pissed, but I don’t know ‘cuz I
wasn’t out there. It could’ve been really cool for all I know. You
gotta tell me, man.”
Judah chuckled and his cheeks seemed to freeze into a grin
that spanned the width of his face. Rico was not the first person to
ask him that question since he had returned, and every time the
same sense of calm flushed his body from head to toe as he slipped
into a visceral memory of it. It occurred to him this time he might
want to grasp onto the feeling and maintain it for a little longer than
a passing moment. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing as
he spoke.
“I could not begin to explain it to you, Rico. There’s just
no way. I mean, for you to understand, you’d have to first go
through the release of so many things you take for granted right
now, like toilets and running water and refrigerators and homes.
Can you even imagine losing all those things? Finding a way to
survive without them? Or how about the virtual solitude…can you
imagine living in a mini-world with your parents as the only other
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inhabitants besides yourself? Not just a few days, but for two
years? Of course you can’t, and neither can anybody else. If you
tried to imagine it, you would not have the same experience I did
because what you could imagine would not come close to what
really happened. And even now, if I were to explain it to you, you
would not be able to truly fathom it.”
Rico recoiled a little. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to
bring up such painful memories. It’s okay; we don’t have to talk
about it.” He paused momentarily then pressed on, emboldened by
a protective instinct for his new friend. “But I have to say, you
might want to reconsider cooperating with Senator Martin. You
don’t owe your parents anything. They don’t deserve your loyalty,
at least not where all of this is concerned.”
“No, see, that’s just it,” Judah interjected. “It’s not like that
at all. That’s why it’s so hard to explain.” He began to pace the
length of the picnic table, deliberating the best way to describe what
had happened. “When we first got out there and we really realized
we didn’t have access to all those things, when it really hit us that it
wasn’t like the times before because we weren’t going back…well,
let’s just say it was pretty heavy. There was some fear and there was
doubt, and there came a point when my parents had to really think
about whether we should stay out there or return home. It wasn’t a
decision that was made lightly.” He stopped pacing long enough to
unearth a rock with the toe of his shoe. “And it wasn’t a decision
that was made alone.”
Rico’s face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean? Are
you saying you agreed to stay out there?”
Judah nodded as the grin returned to his face, unabashedly.
“But why?”
“Well, again, to understand that, you’d have to be able to
imagine letting go of all those things I just mentioned, all the little
luxuries of modern society. Imagine it and then accept it. Because,
see, by then I had already done just that, and when they came to me
to ask for my input, I took some time to think about it. I went to
my favorite spot, a little ledge overlooking this spectacular waterfall.
It was just one of many such places that had become sacred to me
because out there, those places are everywhere. In the midst of all
that, it’s easy to recognize the beauty of life is truly omnipresent.
Anyway, I went to my waterfall and I began to meditate on the
question. It must have been an hour, but it didn’t seem that long. I
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kept seeing this rainbow in my mind. Every time I saw it I’d try to
refocus, but just when I was feeling perfectly at peace again, waiting
for my answer to come to me, that rainbow would pop into my
mind. So, I was kinda losing patience with it and I just threw the
question out there, hoping I would get some sort of inspiration. I
said, ‘Give me a sign,’ and when I opened my eyes, there was a
rainbow suspended in the mist of the waterfall beneath me. It was
a jolt, man, a physical jolt to my body, but I understood it instantly.
I went back to my parents and told them I wanted to stay.”
Rico’s eyebrows arched above widened eyes in a show of
disbelief, but tiny bumps now covered the lengths of both his arms.
“Wow. That’s pretty intense…I don’t get it, though…how did you
know it wasn’t a sign you should go home, not stay in the moun-
tains?”
Judah stared wistfully at the sky and answered simply. “I
never made a rainbow back in Concrete.”
“Okay, so what the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said,” Judah asserted. “I never made a
rainbow back in Concrete.”
“So you think you made that rainbow? I mean, come on,
man. It was a waterfall. Seeing a rainbow in the mist of a waterfall
is not some mountain magic. It’s nature.”
“You’re right; it is nature,” Judah agreed. “But not the kind
of nature you’re used to. Something changes in you when you’ve
been away from the distractions of this…” he swept his hand
through the air in a gesture to indicate their civilized surroundings,
“craziness for a long while, long enough to really get to know
yourself. Quiet enough to really hear your inner voice. Disentan-
gled enough to feel your deep connection to the multitude of life
forms that populate this planet. There’s another level of senses that
develops. It’s hard to explain, but I’m telling you it’s real.”
“And that connection to yourself and your surroundings
helps you make rainbows?” Rico pressed incredulously. “I’m sorry,
man, but you’re losing me.”
“Have you ever read any books on quantum physics?”
“Nah…science isn’t really my thing.”
“Well, you should. It’s fascinating stuff.” Judah sighed and
scratched his head, trying to figure out the simplest way to ap-
proach such a heady topic. “Basically, quantum physics deals with
behaviors of matter at the quantum level, invisible to the naked eye.
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But, apparently physicists have found that matter, at least at the
quantum level, may be affected by human thought.”
“What do you mean, ‘affected by human thought’?’
“I mean they found as they were conducting experiments
with electrons, that when they set up the experiment to measure the
electron as a wave, it behaved as a wave, but when they set up the
experiment to measure the electron as a particle, it behaved as a
particle. The way the electron behaved depended on the expecta-
tion they set up at the start of the experiment for how it would
behave. Does that make sense?”
Rico nodded pensively. “So you’re saying the thoughts of
the physicists somehow affected the behaviors of the electrons.”
“Exactly.”
“And what does this have to do with creating rainbows?”
“What we expect to see in the world is ultimately what we
end up finding in the world. Here, in this funhouse we call society,
our minds are cluttered, disconnected from our true inner self,
preoccupied with our sense of alienation from each other. But in
the presence of sustained quiet, my mind became clearer, more
focused. That day, I got a glimpse of the interconnectedness of
nature. For a brief moment I experienced the phenomenon I had
read about in my studies. My expectation became my reality.”
Rico shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know, man. I just
don’t think I could make a rainbow right now if I wanted to.”
“And that’s why you won’t,” Judah quipped. “Just think
about it. Really think about it. When you really expect to succeed
at something, when you have no doubt of your ability to succeed,
don’t you always succeed? And when you really expect to fail at
something, don’t you always fail? When you expect something to
go wrong, it does. When you expect something to go right it does.
It’s all in your head; that’s all I’m saying.”
“Yeah, well right now I’m expecting to get me some grub,”
Rico announced, rubbing his belly. “Do you think it’ll work?”
“I don’t know,” Judah laughed. “Are you really expecting it,
or just kinda expecting it?”
They returned to the car with an exchange of lighthearted
banter, but Judah declined Rico’s offer to join him for dinner. He
wanted to discuss his situation with the Calloways and see if they
could recommend an attorney. The afternoon’s conversation had
greatly soothed his nerves, and he made a conscious effort to focus
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his mental energy on expecting and accepting a simple solution to
his predicament. That act alone removed the general sense of
helplessness he had recently allowed himself to fall prey to.
7
When Judah returned to the Calloway home, he found
Thomas and Eleanor seated anxiously on the living room sofa with
their eyes pasted to the television screen. Their hands were clasped
as they watched President Caldón of Venezuela raise a fist to the
sky then tip his red beret to the massive crowd gathered in the
Avenida Bolívar to hear his speech. He was responding to recent
demands issued by the United States ordering the release of Ehsan
Al-Fulani. Sliding silently onto the recliner, Judah joined them
without interruption and began to read the English version of the
speech as it appeared along the bottom of the screen. As the media
had anticipated, Caldón denied Al-Fulani was residing in his country
and further suggested he had doubts as to whether or not Al-Fulani
even existed in the first place. When he announced he would be
meeting with representatives from China and Russia the following
day to discuss their support for Venezuelan autonomy, Eleanor
gasped.
“Thomas, what does that mean?” she pleaded. Her hand
moved to cover her mouth, as though she did not really want to
pose her next question. “Are we going to war with China and
Russia? Is this Armageddon?” Her voice rose to a frenzied peak,
and she stood to pace the room, gnawing absentmindedly on her
knuckles.
“Settle down, Eleanor,” Thomas commanded. He was too
rattled himself to attempt to console her. “We’re not going to war
with Russia and China. Nobody wants World War III. Now hush
so I can hear the rest of this.”
The panic brought on by the grim news reminded Judah of
his parents’ reaction to the volcanoes just before they had left for
the mountains. The world had been coming to an end then too; for
them, there was no other way to interpret the news of two volca-
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noes erupting nearly simultaneously on opposite sides of the planet.
For the rest of the world, it had been shocking news, cause for a
moment’s pause during which they might be thankful for life’s
blessings or send a few prayers in the general direction of those
afflicted by the disaster, but that was it. The rest of the world
remained quite certain life would go on despite the earth’s grum-
blings. It was this hindsight that enabled him to remain calm as
threats of world war crawled along the bottom of the screen.
There was a break from the footage to allow for a series of
commercials, each reminding viewers of the approaching Christmas
holiday and the limited time they had left to figure out how they
might adequately express their love for each other. It was a parade
of multi-functional cell phones, cameras, seductive colognes, and
diamond earrings. Judah scoffed beneath his breath. It all seemed
so farcical to him, and he wondered if someday the market would
finally figure out how to package and sell love itself. What would it
be worth? Would there be an endless supply, or would there
someday be wars to fight over the earth’s last reserves of love?
The newscaster returned with a panel of guests offering
commentary, and after the Calloways had flipped through every
news channel sufficiently to find each was only repeating the same
information they had already heard, they lowered the volume and
began to talk with each other again.
“Thomas, I’m really scared,” Eleanor whispered. “What’s
going to happen?”
“It’s fine, Eleanor. Everything’s fine. Why don’t you go
and make us all some coffee while we wait to hear the president
come on and tell us what’s going on. That’s who we need to be
listening to, not this asshole.”
“Oh, Thomas, don’t talk like that. It’s not a time to talk like
that.”
“Well, I don’t know when the hell is a time to talk like that
if not now, Eleanor. Just get us some coffee, for Pete’s sake!”
Eleanor’s expression fluctuated between hurt and anger, but
she retreated to the kitchen to make coffee nevertheless. Once she
had left the room, Thomas’s irritability evaporated.
“It’s not looking good, is it son?” he asked, his eyes still
trained intently on the television screen.
“No, it isn’t, but it’s probably not as bad as we’re thinking it
is either,” Judah replied frankly. “I mean, this all sorta reminds me
109
of when my parents heard about the volcanoes, and as the whole
country now seems to know, they overreacted. It wasn’t the end of
the world then, and this probably isn’t either.”
Thomas considered Judah’s response carefully. “You’re
right,” he agreed. “You’re absolutely right. But I think this situa-
tion is a little grimmer. We’re talking World War III here. I’d sure
like to hear the president’s reaction to all this. I wonder what’s
keeping him.”
It seemed ludicrous to Judah to think he had returned to
civilization only to witness its demise. He refused to allow himself
to be swept up in the fear that was overtaking his surrogate parents.
“If there’s one thing I learned from my experiences over the past
couple years,” he offered, “it’s that it’s no good to live in fear. It’s
not a very productive emotion.”
Thomas nodded, though the muscles in his face remained
tensed. “You’re right, you’re right. Of course we have nothing to
fear. We’re America, for Pete’s sake! They’re just bluffing. They
wouldn’t dare.” He reached over and rubbed the thin layer of hair
on Judah’s scalp affectionately. “Nice words of wisdom.”
Judah shrugged and smiled beneath the touch. He let the
hubris of Thomas’s logic go unchallenged, but it troubled him to
think most Americans did in fact feel the way Thomas did. They
had long savored the luxury of invincibility.
When Eleanor returned with the coffee, she seemed eager
to change the subject to a less threatening topic and inquired about
Judah’s meeting that morning. He explained in detail what had
transpired and concluded by asking whether or not they thought he
should consult an attorney, as Rico had suggested.
“Hmmm,” Thomas mused. “I would guess they’re just try-
ing to intimidate you. They have to abide by the law, and the law
doesn’t allow them to throw people in jail for not supporting their
political agenda. And certainly a man of the church would not have
any authority to put you in jail. But, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to
talk with a lawyer.”
“Well, I have to say I am shocked to hear James Dodd
would be involved in something like this. It’s just downright dirty
to try to turn a child against his own parents, and to politicize a
personal tragedy that way.” Eleanor sipped her coffee as she shook
her head disapprovingly. “I think you oughta tell them to shove it.”
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Judah chuckled beneath his breath, amused by her naiveté,
and wondered how she and his mother had ever found anything in
common. “Believe me, Mrs. Calloway, I would love to. I had to
bite my tongue in the meeting to keep myself from doing just that,
but I have to be realistic, too. I don’t want to make enemies with
these people if at all possible.”
“I agree, Judah,” Thomas said, rising from his seat and
walking into the office that adjoined the living room. He raised his
voice as he continued to speak from the other room, shuffling
through the drawers of the roll-top desk. “I’ve been meaning to
talk to you about this for a while now, and I think this is the perfect
opportunity. I know Eleanor has told you your parents left you
with a good amount of money, and it appears you’ll be needing
some money to pay for your attorney fees now. And of course,
you’ll want to start thinking about college. You should have
enough to give you a good head start there as well…Ah…here it
is.” He returned to the living room with a large manila envelope,
from which he pulled a sheet of paper and what looked to be a
check book, then handed both to Judah. “As you can see there,
your parents were very generous.”
Judah scanned the account statement until he found the
balance, and his eyes widened with shock upon seeing the six
figures at the bottom of the form. One hundred twenty-two
thousand dollars and some change. It was more money than he had
ever imagined earning, and it had just been handed to him as
nonchalantly as a birthday gift. “Wow…I don’t know what to say.
I had no idea they had set this much aside for me.” His heart
swelled until it ached and he thought tears might emerge, but he
pressed them back and swallowed the lump in his throat. They
would not want him to cry, he knew, not over money.
“Now, your parents wanted me to be the guardian of that
money,” Thomas explained, “but you’ve exhibited a level of
maturity since you’ve been here that has made me comfortable with
giving you the right to make your own choices where this money is
concerned. I hope you won’t prove me wrong on this.”
“No, sir,” Judah assured him. “It’s a gift from my parents
and I could never be disrespectful or wasteful in the way that I use
it.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Now, before you can make use
of it, we’ve got to get authority on this account transferred over to
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you, so if you would like, I can meet you at the bank tomorrow
around lunchtime. Maybe we could grab a bite to eat afterwards,
too.”
“Sounds great,” Judah agreed.
He excused himself and headed up to his room, where he
studied the bank statement again. Standing at the window with the
light of the full moon casting a soft glow throughout the room, his
eyes were drawn from the piece of paper in his hand to the night
sky. The money his parents had left him opened a world of possi-
bilities. He could go to school with Marin. He could travel the
country or even the world. He could open a business or invest the
money and live frugally off it for a good while. It seemed their
provision had bought him a broad measure of freedom, and a part
of him wanted to simply bask in that freedom, claim it for himself
and savor it. But there was a nagging voice of caution in the back
of his mind, so faint he could not discern its message, only the
disquieting sense he was not really free. That money could never
make him free.
It occurred to him then that he hadn’t felt truly free since
he’d left the mountains. He hadn’t felt free since he had learned he
needed an identification chip to ensure his freedom. The more he
thought about it, he hadn’t felt truly content since he’d come down
from the mountain either. There seemed to be a general sense of
dread hanging in the air, like the world was holding its breath,
wondering what catastrophe might strike next. Would it be another
world war, or environmental ruin? Would it be the return of a god,
or the end of a calendar? It was almost suffocating, and he was
suddenly overcome with an urge to flee. To where exactly he was
not sure, but somewhere he could breathe. He needed to talk to
Marin.
Marin was supposed to be studying that night, but when he
called her she noted the distress in his voice immediately and
insisted on coming over to get him. She assured him she could use
a break from the books. Judah called a goodbye to the Calloways as
he ducked out the front door, informing them he would be going to
dinner with a friend and would be back later. They were still
preoccupied with the television and did not ask any questions,
simply told him to have a good time.
He sat on the curb of the cul-de-sac until the lights of
Marin’s Passat turned onto the street. As he climbed into her front
112
seat, he noticed the white Lincoln parked on the connecting street,
and this renewed his sense of claustrophobia. It was beginning to
feel like the world was rapidly closing in on him, forcing him into a
box he was not sure could contain him.
“Where do you want to go?” Marin asked.
“I don’t care, just somewhere,” he sighed.
“Alright, how about my place? You haven’t been there
yet.”
“Anywhere’s fine. Wherever you want to go.” He craned
his neck to glance behind them as they turned onto the main street
and caught sight of the Lincoln’s lights flashing on. “Look at that.
They’re still following me like some criminal. It’s really starting to
get to me.”
Marin placed her hand on his and began to stroke it. “Settle
down, Judah. It’s okay. They’ve been following you for a week.
Why are you freaking out about it now?”
“Because I’m beginning to wonder if it’s going to stop, if
they’re going to find some way to put me in jail. I just…” he
paused and turned to look out the window, then heaved a sigh of
resignation as he dropped his forehead against the glass. “I’m
beginning to wish I had never come back here.”
“What do you mean? You wish you had stayed in Washing-
ton, or you wish you had stayed in the mountains?”
“I don’t know what I mean exactly. All I know is it wasn’t
like this in the mountains.”
She eyed him quizzically. “I don’t understand, Judah.
You’re gonna have to tell me what’s going on. Why on earth would
you be wishing you had stayed in the wilderness?”
“Marin, do you know what’s going on right now with Vene-
zuela? Have you been watching the news?”
“A little. I know we’re pressuring them to release that ter-
rorist right now, but what’s that got to do with you? You’re
confusing me.” She merged onto the highway heading toward
downtown.
“It’s all messed up, that’s all,” he said. “You know that en-
vironmentalist who came to see me yesterday said it’s all about the
oil. Apparently Venezuela has a rather rich oil supply. Could you
stomach that if it were true?”
“Yeah, we’ve talked about that in my poli-sci class recently.
I don’t know what to say about it. What really sucks is we just
113
don’t have any way of knowing for sure what our government’s real
motives are anymore.”
“But are you okay with that? Being a part of that, whether
passively or actively? I mean, when does it stop? At what point do
we decide life is more valuable than oil?”
“Okay, I’m going to play devil’s advocate here for a minute,
so don’t bite my head off, but someone posed this question in our
class when we were discussing all this, and I just want to get your
take on it.” She waited for him to nod his agreement before
continuing. “If we need oil to survive, based on the kind of
civilization we have established now, then are we really choosing oil
over life or just our life over other people’s lives? And if we are
choosing our life over other people’s lives, is that really so far out of
the natural order? Don’t animals do that all the time? Isn’t that just
survival of the fittest?”
Judah snorted in disgust. “Don’t get me started on the
whole survival of the fittest thing. We could be up all night debat-
ing that, but as for the original question, I have to dispute the idea
that our civilization needs oil in order to survive. There are other
forms of energy we could be using, and there have been for dec-
ades, only they haven’t been pursued and implemented as quickly as
they could have been because there are still profits to be made in
the oil industry. I think the oil companies, and the politicians who
are bought by them, are waiting to suck the earth dry of all its oil
before they allow alternative solutions to take over.”
“That’s pretty cynical, Judah,” Marin chastised. “You’re
sounding like a radical, like your…” She stopped short of complet-
ing her thought.
“My parents?” he pressed. “I know, and to tell you the
truth, I’m not the least bit ashamed of that. Why are people so
blind, so pacified with their luxuries? How many times do we have
to go to war so that rich men can get richer?”
Marin sighed heavily as she turned into the parking lot of
her dormitory building. “You need to chill, Judah. You don’t even
know if we’re going to war yet, first of all, and second of all, there’s
only so much one person or a small group of people can do. We
can’t change the world ourselves. Let me fix you some chamomile
tea in my room, and let’s just relax and listen to some music.”
“You have to tell me something first, though,” he insisted,
taking hold of her hand as it reached to remove the keys from the
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ignition. “Do you agree with me? Do you see what I’m talking
about? Or do you think I’m crazy?”
“Judah, of course I agree with you,” she conceded. “I know
all about the environmental issues, the alternative energy and the
dirty oil dealings. But I’ve learned to live amidst all that. What
other choice is there?” Her eyes softened as she moved her hand to
his cheek. “We’re not the ones who get to make the big decisions.”
Judah wasn’t sure he agreed with her, but he kept his silence
as they made their way up three flights of stairs to her dorm room.
When she opened the door, they were greeted by wafts of lavender
incense she had left burning in her rush to meet him. He surveyed
the room quickly, absorbing the simple charm of its décor. There
were candles of every color partially melted along the window sills,
dresser tops, desks and bookshelves. The two windows each had
an olive-green batik tapestry draped over their rods as a curtain, and
the walls were covered randomly with poster replicas of master-
pieces from the likes of Van Gogh, Picasso, and Renoir. There was
a pile of clothing stuffed into a wicker chair in the corner, one of
the desks was covered with textbooks and spiral notebooks, and the
waste basket overflowed with crumpled sheets of computer paper.
Marin tossed her bag onto her bed, struck a match, and
proceeded to light every candle in the room. Then, she filled two
tea cups from a jug of drinking water and placed them in the dorm-
sized microwave. “You’ll have to excuse the mess,” she entreated.
“I’d love to blame it on a messy roommate, but it’s really me.
Things have been a little crazy here lately. I’ve got B’s in two of my
classes right now, and that just won’t cut it for med school, you
know? Anyway, I just finished working on a couple papers, so I
haven’t even thought about cleaning.”
Judah took a seat on her bed and brushed his hands across
the soft burgundy cotton of the bedspread. It felt strange to be
sitting on her bed, almost invasive, and his mind could not help but
wander to thoughts of her lying scantily clad beneath the covers at
night. “Don’t worry about it,” he offered, clearing his throat. “I
love the way you’ve decorated it. It shows a lot of personality.”
“Thank you,” she beamed from the tiny kitchenette. She
pulled two bags of chamomile tea from a box, and as the micro-
wave dinged to announce the water was heated, she dropped a bag
in each cup, dabbed each up and down for a few seconds with a
spoon, then scooped the soggy bags into her roommate’s empty
115
trash can. “Shelly doesn’t have class on Fridays, so she usually goes
to Lubbock to visit her boyfriend, which is great ‘cause I get the
place to myself most weekends. Want some honey?” He nodded,
and she squeezed a stream of honey into each cup then carried
them gingerly to the bed, where she took a seat next to him. “Now,
tell me why you called. Was it just politics, or is there something
else going on?”
The tea was fragrant and sweet and as he sipped it, he
thought of Marin’s mouth and how much he wanted to reach over
and kiss her. Being alone with her on her bed, his mind could
barely focus on anything other than the prospect of following
through with what they had started the night before. But there
were things he wanted to discuss with her, and she was clearly
waiting for him to tell her what was troubling him. He stood and
moved to the window, looking out at the Lincoln parked along the
fence, and his mind snapped back into focus.
“I don’t think I can go through with getting my permanent
identification chip tomorrow,” he began.
“But you have to. You have no choice,” she protested.
“I know. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m freaking
out. This is all happening so fast. When I came down from the
mountain, I had no idea I was going to have to submit to having a
chip implanted in my hand. I just wanted to reconnect with people
again, see what had become of the world, you know? Not all this!
And now, well, now it’s just gotten crazy. I don’t know what to do
anymore.”
Marin wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Her mouth
opened and closed several times before she finally seemed to settle
on the right words. “Judah, listen, I really think you’re reading way
too much into this microchip thing. I’ve had mine in for well over
a year now and it’s nothing. It’s really just made life a little easier. I
know your parents were a little wigged out about the idea way back
when, but seriously, if they were here now, they’d see it’s no big
deal at all.”
“And if you wanted to disappear, just check out of society
for a while, could you do that? With a tracking device lodged in
your hand, could you do that?”
“Why would I want to do that?” she countered. “Only a
criminal would need to disappear.”
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“My parents weren’t criminals, Marin. There are other rea-
sons to disappear than running from a crime. And it seems these
days it’s not so black and white who’s the criminal and who isn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the authorities have mistaken me for a criminal ever
since I came out of the forest. And even though I’ve committed no
crime, I’ve been faced with the very real possibility of being thrown
in jail several times now.”
“You mean in Quilcene?” she asked. “But that was just a
misunderstanding and it’s pretty much been cleared up. I bet as
soon as you get your chip, they’ll stop following you, too. They’re
just erring on the side of caution.”
“No, they’re using their authority to pressure me into be-
coming their political puppet. That meeting I had today with
Senator Andrews and James Dodd…it was all just to get me to go
on some television interview to tell the world how messed up my
parents were, to make sure no one else out there starts getting any
radical ideas about the way things are going right now. They tried
to bribe me, and then afterward Jensen threatened me with jail time
if I didn’t go along. But I can’t, Mare, I just can’t, so what alterna-
tive do I have?” His voice cracked slightly and he cursed himself
inwardly for letting her see him in such a vulnerable state.
“Oh, Judah,” she cooed, then joined him at the window and
began to stroke his neck tenderly. “I had no idea. It sounds
impossible. But no matter what, you have to get your identification.
If you don’t, they’ll put you in jail for sure. You know that.”
“Not if I left,” he proposed in nearly a whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, not if I just disappeared. I could get a good head
start before they even knew I was missing.” His eyes avoided her
beseeching stare. He was afraid to face her, to see her reaction to
what he was suggesting. She would be disappointed, he was sure,
and he didn’t trust his heart in the soft pools of her brown eyes.
“And go where, Judah? You couldn’t stay here or anywhere
in the civilized world. Where would you go?” she demanded, her
hands positioned on her waist offensively. When a moment had
passed without an answer, she persisted. “What about me? Would
you just forget about me? Would it be that easy?”
Her words had a surprising effect, filling his stomach with
an intense longing, a hunger food could never sate. He had not
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known how attached he had become to her until that instant. “I
don’t know, Marin,” he admitted. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t
know what I should do. I don’t even know what all I can do. But I
do know how I feel about you, and I know I could never forget
about you. Whatever happens to me, you’ll…” He left the thought
incomplete, aware of its foolhardiness. There was no guarantee he
could give her about the future right then, and there had been
insufficient time between them for him to make any assumptions
about what she would do, whether or not she would ever consider
following him. There was little else he could say.
“Come here,” she said. Taking his hand and leading him to
her bed, she seated herself with her legs folded beneath her and
invited him to join her with a pat of the sheets. He followed her
lead and they sat facing each other in silence until she leaned in to
kiss him. It began as a gentle brush of the lips then grew into an
impassioned embrace. She broke free to gaze into his eyes, mes-
merizing him, drawing him in with a communication that required
no sound. “Just forget about all of this tonight. Stay the night with
me. Make love to me.”
Her lips trailed along his neck down to his chest, and he
whimpered as the sensation ignited every follicle on his body.
Every worry he had entertained over the course of the week melted
away from him, like liquid wax slipping from a candle’s wick. He
had never been with a woman before, and though he did not dare
admit that to her, she intuitively took the lead. She climbed onto
his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist, then gently nudged
him down until he was lying on his back. As she raised her arms to
pull the thin white peasant blouse over her head, candlelight danced
in shadowy flickers behind her blond curls. She shrugged out of
her bra, revealing the flesh of full breasts he had been imagining for
a week, and he could no longer contain himself. Flipping her over
onto her back, he hastily removed his shirt and jeans and experi-
enced the full joy of touch –its softness, its warmth, its perfect
ecstasy – for the first time. Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms,
both physically and emotionally spent.
“I think I might be losing it, Marin,” he confessed with a
defeated sigh.
“No,” she assured him, tightening her hold around his
chest. “You’re just scared. You’ve been through a lot, but it’s
gonna get better. I promise.”
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“I keep having these weird dreams about Quetzalcoatl. I
don’t know why. And I just…well, I seem to see things so differ-
ently from every one else. I want to just go with the flow and
pretend nothing is wrong, but I can’t. Is it wrong or delusional to
want to change the world, to think it’s your responsibility?”
Marin rose onto her elbow and began stroking his face and
chest. “No, it’s not. If everyone cared enough to think that way,
we could change the world. But, most people don’t think that way,
and that’s why you’re feeling so defeated. You’re trying to swim
against a very strong current.” Her words seemed to intensify his
feeling of mental exhaustion. He said nothing, simply stared at the
ceiling, letting his mind drift to visions of his sacred waterfall in the
mountains.
“Didn’t the Mayans use human sacrifice to worship Quet-
zalcoatl?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I know
that was out of the blue, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the
whole 2012 thing lately. It just amazes me that people see the
Mayans as some enlightened civilization just because of their
calendar. To me, any culture that believed in human sacrifice had
to have been way off-base. Don’t you think?”
“Yes,” Judah agreed. “But, it was the Mayan leaders who
used human sacrifice, mostly as a way to control their people and
conquer other territories. The true Mayan spiritual tradition did not
involve human sacrifice. Quetzalcoatl is said to have despised that
practice. It’s really no different than most of the world religions,
though. The power and greed of politics and religion corrupt
honest quests for spiritual attainment. Look at the Crusades and
the practical extermination of the Native Americans. Look at the
battles between the Muslims and the Jews, all supposedly in the
name of their gods. It’s all human sacrifice of one sort or another.”
“Yeah,” she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I
guess you’re right.” And then, as she thought about it more, she
shivered and added, “When you put it that way, it makes you
wonder what you can believe in.”
With a wry smile, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“You can trust yourself, your highest intentions. If you want to
know truth, you have to look for it yourself.” She nodded with a
sleepy, contented sigh. As they fell asleep, Judah savored the soft
warmth of her body next to his, the rhythm of her breath as her
chest rose and fell lulling him into a gentle slumber. A perfect
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peace enfolded him and he slept soundly, without the disturbance
of a single dream.
8
December 17, 2012
The next morning, Judah awoke early, drawn from the

cocoon of sleep by a group of students in the hallway. A glance at
the clock told him it was six-thirty in the morning, and though his
eyes still hung heavy with sleep, his mind had already churned into
motion, swirling a mixture of anxiety and disgust as it resurfaced
from the night before. There would be no slipping back into sleep,
he could tell, and rather than stew in his worries, he decided to get
up and make a cup of coffee. Marin’s arm and leg were draped
across his body, and he slid out from beneath them carefully to
keep from waking her. The sight of her lying beside him provided a
welcome distraction, a retreat into the memory of creamy skin and
fiery eyes, but it was only a moment’s reprise, soon overpowered by
the grave matters that pressed urgently on his mind.
As the sun crept slowly above the horizon and began to
peep through the window, Judah searched the few cabinets in the
kitchenette, finding a tin of instant coffee behind an assortment of
crackers and cookies. He heated the bottled water in the micro-
wave as Marin had done the night before and stirred two table-
spoons of the Irish crème-flavored powder into the mug. It lacked
the richness of freshly brewed coffee, but it was pleasing in its own
simple way. He took a seat on the floor, leaning against the other
bed with his feet stretched before him, and began to consider his
options.
The first option was of course to stay and get his identifica-
tion, give the interview as had been requested, maybe enroll at the
university with Marin, and make some sort of peace with the
madness that appeared to permeate the civilized world he had
returned to. It seemed the safest option, the path of least resis-
tance. The government’s interest in him would wane, and he would
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be free to pursue the relationship that was unfolding with Marin.
He conjured images of the two of them watching sunsets after work
together with children playing at their feet and it seemed a pleasant
life. But this option would come at a significant price. He would
have to denounce his parents, betray not only them, but the very
beliefs he valued most, become an active enabler of the forces he
despised most. He was certain he could not stomach that.
The second option was returning to the mountains, where
he had learned to live a simple, contented life – one without
senseless war, manipulation, and greed – surrounded by continual
reminders of the splendor of life. There was peace waiting for him
on the mountain, he knew this for sure, and as he watched the
graceful rise and fall of Marin’s chest across the room, he realized
she was in fact the only thing that could keep him from choosing to
flee. There had to be a way he could reconcile his dilemma. He
reached for his jeans and as he stepped into them, a business card
fell out of the pocket onto the floor. It was the card Pastor Dodd
had handed him the day before, and he picked it up to study it, an
idea beginning to take form in his mind. If he could meet with
Pastor Dodd and make him understand that he and his parents
were not a threat, the pressure to give the interview might be
removed. It was a long shot, he knew, but it was a possibility, and
within any possibility laid the potential for reality. He determined
to pay a visit to Pastor Dodd that day, and turning his attention
again to Marin, a sense of hope swelled within him. As though his
gaze had invaded her slumber, her eyes fluttered open and she
broke into a smile.
“Good morning,” he greeted. “Would you like me to make
you a cup of coffee?” She nodded sleepily and rolled onto her side
to face him with a contented sigh. He placed his mug on the
windowsill then stroked her cheek tenderly before rising to prepare
the coffee.
“You seem in good spirits this morning,” she observed.
“Much better than yesterday, that’s for sure. I think waking
up next to you might have something to do with that.” With the
water now heating in the microwave, he scurried back to her
bedside and planted a lingering kiss on her forehead, to which she
responded with the full-bodied stretch of a leisurely cat. “You’re a
jewel, you know that?’
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“Mmmmm. That’s nice,” she purred. “But I don’t know
how much of a jewel I am right now. I’m sure I look like a wreck.”
This thought seemed to spring her into action as she sat up and
began to wipe the smudges of black mascara from the bottoms of
her eyes, then ran her hands through her hair in an effort to tame
the tousled curls. “Ugh, I bet you never imagined me looking like
this.”
“What are you talking about, Marin?” Judah asked in
wonder. Had she forgotten the mornings they had shared during
their road trip? “I just told you you’re a jewel. You’re beautiful.”
She frowned skeptically. “If you tell me I look beautiful
now, I’ll never believe you when you really mean it. Let me go
freshen up for you; I’ll just be a few minutes.” She swung her legs
over the side of the bed to stand up, but Judah grabbed hold of her
knees to stop her. He had never seen her so insecure with herself
before and he could not understand what had changed.
“Marin, when I tell you you’re beautiful, I’m not just talking
about the way you look,” he clarified. “I’m talking about everything
about you – the way you laugh, the way your mind thinks, the way
your heart opens up to me, the way you dance, the way you’re so
honest and kind, and…really, just simply you. Don’t you know
how amazing you are?”
She shrugged and gazed out the window in an effort to
avoid his eyes. “I just want to be perfect for you, that’s all.”
The microwave dinged to a stop and Judah rose to prepare
her coffee. “Stay right there.” He returned with the mug and
kneeled before her again, picking up the conversation where it had
left off. “You don’t have to do anything to yourself to be perfect.
You’re already perfect just the way you are.”
She rolled her eyes with a scoff. “You sound like my mom.
She always says that to me.”
“And you don’t believe her?”
“That’s just what moms say,” she shrugged. “They’re
supposed to. It doesn’t mean it’s true.”
“So, what, you think having your face painted, wearing
pretty clothing, that’s what makes you perfect?”
“No, not just those things. And I don’t expect to be
perfect. Nobody’s perfect, but you have to always try to look and
do your best.” She shifted her position so that she was no longer
facing him. “This is silly. I don’t know why we’re even talking
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about this in the first place. I won’t freshen up for you if you don’t
want me to.”
“It’s not silly at all, Marin,” Judah pressed. He could tell she
was uncomfortable with the conversation, but he felt compelled to
continue. He had not yet determined where his future lay, but if he
had to leave her, he would leave her with a gift. “If there’s anything
I’ve ever said or done that has given you reason to trust me, please
trust me on this. Everything you’ve been taught to think about
yourself in today’s society, the way the whole thing is set-up, is a lie.
You are perfect the way you are, and you don’t need anyone else’s
approval to verify that, not even mine or your mother’s. It
wouldn’t matter if you were ugly or poor or couldn’t get into med
school; you’d still be perfect. I know it may sound crazy to you to
think that way, but if you give it a try, start looking at yourself with
love rather than fear, you’ll see yourself exactly as I do right now.
Promise me you’ll do that.”
She peered at him sideways, still unconvinced, but nodded
anyway. Emboldened by the exchange, he took her hand in his
own and turned her chin toward him. “I believe I’ve fallen in love
with you, Marin. It’s only been a week, I know, but I guess that’s all
it took. And interestingly enough, that may be all the time I have.
I’d call that destiny.”
She took a slow sip of her coffee, furrowing her brows as
she eyed him over the rim of her mug, unsure of how to respond.
“Wow. That’s pretty heavy…I didn’t expect that…But what exactly
do you mean by ‘that’s all the time I have’?”
“Just tell me something, honestly.” He moved his hands to
her cheeks, holding them as he stared into her eyes. “Do you feel
the same way?”
She opened and closed her mouth several times, sighing in
between, turning her eyes to the ceiling and then back down to face
him. “It’s absolutely crazy, but yeah…I think I do. I think I have
since I saw you in Washington and a million butterflies took flight
in my stomach.” Her eyes blinked and appeared to water, and she
looked again to the ceiling to avoid the tears. “It is crazy, isn’t it?”
“If you say so. It doesn’t really matter to me if it is.” He
kissed her lips then and she responded in like, their passion growing
until she felt the wet warmth of spilled coffee against her leg, and
they broke the embrace with an unconcerned laugh. Judah tossed
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her a towel he found wadded in the wicker chair, and she blotted
the stained sheet futilely.
“So, you never answered my question,” she reminded him,
giving up on the stain. “Why’d you say a week was all the time you
have? Is there something going on I should know about, seeing as
how we’re in love and all?”
Judah sighed heavily and tried to think of the right way to
break the news to her, but if there was a right way, it stubbornly
eluded him. The only words that came to mind were the frank
truth. “I said it may be all the time I have. I don’t know yet. There
are some things I have to work through today before I can decide
what to do, and hopefully I’ll be able to stay. But there is a chance
I’ll be leaving, going back to the mountains, and I guess you should
know that.” He kneeled before her and placed his head in her lap,
but her body had frozen. She slid from beneath him, climbed over
the bed onto the floor, and placed her mug in the sink, all in silence.
“You say there’s a chance you’ll be staying. What are the
chances?”
“I don’t know exactly, maybe fifty-fifty. It’ll all depend on
my meeting with James Dodd today.”
“Why would you tell me you love me then? If you’re
leaving, what’s the point? Just to break my heart?”
“No, God no! I would never want to break your heart, or
hurt you in any way, Marin. I had to tell you the truth, though,
about how I feel, about what I have to do. If there’s a way for me
to stay, I’ll make it happen, I promise, but certain things are out of
my control.”
“What things are out of your control?” she demanded
accusingly. “Nobody’s making you run away. You’re the one who’s
choosing that. It’s just selfish, Judah. You tell me you love me, fill
me with all this bullshit, only to tell me you might be leaving
forever. And after last night…” Her voice wavered and she paused
to take a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have told me you love me.
Not like this.”
Her words stung. He was in unfamiliar territory, ill-
prepared to maneuver the intricacies of the female heart, but his
intentions were honest and that was the only guide he knew. “I’m
sorry.” He reached his hand to caress her cheek but she twisted
her body out of reach.
“Just leave, Judah. I don’t want to see you right now.”
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“But…I don’t know what to say,” he implored. “Please, tell
me how I can fix this with you.”
“Go away. That’s all I want from you. Just go away.” She
walked to the window and turned her back on him with arms
crossed over her chest in resolution. It was clear to him there was
nothing left he could say to reach her. He opened the door and
stepped into the hallway, then turned one last time to face her.
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Marin. It was truly the last thing
I wanted to do. But I do love you, and I always will, wherever I end
up.” With that, he closed the door gently behind him and walked
down the long hallway to the stairway, and then out of the building.
Pressure grew at the backs of his eyes and he did not even attempt
to prevent the flow of tears as they began to stream his cheeks. He
had known, in those silent moments of the morning as he had
watched her sleep, he might face losing her, but not in that way. If
they were to part, he had hoped it would be in an exchange of love.
That had been his intention, but her words haunted him and he had
to face the possibility she was right; perhaps he had been selfish.
Perhaps he had not fully considered how she would feel. Still, there
was no way he could change what had happened. All he could do
was what she had asked of him, and that meant walking away.
Staying to explain himself further, to try to make her see things the
way he did, might be selfish as well. Instead, he walked until he
came to a bus stop and took a seat on the bench until the south-
bound bus approached. He rode it to the end of the line at Brodie
Lane then walked the couple miles to the Calloway home. For
whatever it was worth, at least he had experienced a rite of passage;
he had fallen in love. And if his meeting went well with Pastor
Dodd, he would return to her with the promises she needed to
hear.
It was fifteen minutes after eight when he walked into the
house. Thomas had already left for work and Eleanor’s muffled
voice could be heard coming from the kitchen, where she was
engaged in a telephone conversation. When Judah entered the
room, she smiled and placed her hand on her heart in a gesture of
relief, as though she had been worried about him. He suddenly
remembered the circumstances under which he had left the night
before, that the Calloways had expected him to return after dinner.
He had been so caught up in his night with Marin he had not
125
thought to call and let them know where he was. Eleanor hurriedly
ended her conversation and hung up the phone.
“Judah, I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaimed. “I was so
worried about you.”
“I’m sorry, Eleanor. I can’t believe how thoughtless I was.
I should have called to let you know I wouldn’t be home. I was a
little distracted last night.”
“Well, I’m just glad you’re okay. I was just talking to Marin
to see if she knew where you were, and she said you stayed the
night at Rico’s. You’re a grown man, I know, but still I worry.”
The mention of Marin’s name shot a dagger through his
chest, and he shifted his glance to keep from revealing his emo-
tions. “I’m sorry. It was inconsiderate of me, and it won’t happen
again.”
“It’s fine, dear. Don’t worry about it now. Thomas already
left for work, but he’s expecting you to call him to set up a time for
the two of you to meet.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll give him a call. I’ve got a lot to do
today, so I was thinking maybe around eleven? Would that work
for him?”
“I’m sure it will. Here, let me dial him and you can make
arrangements with him.” She picked up the phone, dialed the
number and handed the receiver to Judah. When Thomas an-
swered, they agreed to meet at the bank at eleven then have lunch at
a nearby tea room, at Eleanor’s suggestion. Afterwards, he and
Eleanor sat at the table on the patio and ate strawberries and bagels
with cream cheese, chatting about nothing important. He was in a
hurry to get on with the many tasks he needed to attend to that day,
but knowing it might be his last morning to share with her, he
allowed it to be meaningful. She seemed to be avoiding the topic of
Venezuela and the possibility of war all together, and Judah did not
bring it up. As he watched the delicacy with which she ate each bite
of her bagel and the simple joy she seemed to experience with each
burst of strawberry juice, he realized what had bonded his mother
so deeply with her. Eleanor must have reminded his mother, in the
midst of her political passions, how to savor the little pleasures in
life. And indeed it was this balance his mother had needed.
“I just want you to know, Eleanor, that my mother loved
you dearly. And she learned a lot from you. In the end, up in the
mountains, she finally did find peace.”
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His words seemed to rush through her with a jolt, and her
head flipped back slightly before she looked at him with moist eyes
and a serene smile. “Thank you, Judah. That means a lot to me.”
She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “You know what I ad-
mired most about your mother? If she were here, she’d probably
say it was her courage, and of course I did admire that. She was
certainly an inspiration in that way to many women. But for me, it
was her undying belief in the potential for goodness in humanity.
She believed so much that she made me believe. Even now.”
This drew a smile across Judah’s face as he remembered the
many times his mother had coached him in compassion and
understanding, the times he had come home from school angered
or hurt by the harsh words of other kids or an exasperated teacher
and she had reminded him that “hurting people hurt other people”.
Somehow, she had always found a way to acknowledge his own
feelings while encouraging him to acknowledge the true source of
his offender’s nastiness so that his heart might remain soft and
pliable. He realized being with Eleanor made him feel closer to his
mother, and glancing up at her doting green eyes, he regretted he
might face losing that connection in only a few short hours.
Increasingly anxious to get to the fateful meeting with Pastor Dodd,
he excused himself to take a shower. After tucking a letter to the
Calloways beneath his pillow, where he knew Eleanor would find it
the following morning if he did not return, he gathered his few
belongings into a backpack and called Rico, arranging to meet with
him after the luncheon with the Calloways.
When he came downstairs, Eleanor informed him that Stella
Sparks had called while he was in the shower and had asked that he
return her call. She handed him a note with Stella’s number
scrawled across it, which he placed in his pocket even though he
already had it memorized. He wanted to connect with her, but the
Calloways’ phone line had likely been tapped, and he did not want
his communication with Stella exposed to whichever agency had
him under their surveillance. He would contact her later, from a
payphone, when he had finalized his plan of action.
Eleanor drove him to the bank, where they met with
Thomas and a bank officer and signed all the necessary papers to
turn Judah’s inheritance over to his own control. Thomas patted
his back and boasted to the officer about his high expectations for
Judah’s success in college, and Judah cringed a little under the
127
praise, knowing there was a distinct possibility the money would
not be spent as Thomas anticipated. After they left the bank, the
three of them shared a light lunch of finger sandwiches and salad at
the tea room, and Thomas returned to work while Eleanor and
Judah left for the house. Once in the car, Judah announced a
change of plans and asked Eleanor to drop him by Rico’s house
instead. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and embraced her
in a long, warm hug before exiting the car, unsure exactly how the
rest of the day would play out, whether or not he would ever see
her again. She accepted the hug freely, unaware of its meaning, and
wished him well as she drove away. Judah found Rico anxiously
awaiting his arrival inside the house, seated on the couch with
drumsticks in hand, tapping out a distracted rhythm on the coffee
table.
“Hey, man! I thought you’d never get here.” He rose from
his seat and greeted Judah with a slap of the hands. “I’ve been
dying with curiosity. What’s this all about?”
“Sorry, I had to attend to a few things before I came,”
Judah explained. “I need your help, and I don’t know if you can
even do what I need, or if you really want to get involved. It’s okay
if you don’t, by the way; I’ll understand. But you’re the only person
I could think of.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Rico promised. “Tell me what you
need.”
“I’m supposed to be getting my permanent ID today, and
up until last night I had every intention of doing that, but things
have gotten pretty hairy, as you know. I’ve given my predicament a
lot of thought, and I’ve decided I just can’t do what they’ve asked
me to do. I can’t renounce my parents or my beliefs, and if that
means I have to go back to the mountains, then that’s what I’ll have
to do.”
“You’re going back to the mountains? Are you sure about
that?” Rico was stunned. “Did you talk to an attorney?”
“No, but I don’t have time for that. I’ve got until the end
of the day to figure this all out, and an attorney can’t give me any
real assurances anyway. I’m going to see James Dodd today, and
hopefully he’ll be able to see why I can’t do the interview. I don’t
need any of the gifts they offered, but if he can promise me I won’t
go to prison, I’ll take him for his word. If not, I’ll have no choice
but to leave.”
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“And you’d be okay with that, living the rest of your life out
there?”
“You know,” Judah mused, “I didn’t leave the mountains
because I wasn’t happy. I left because I was curious. I had to see
the world with my own eyes, as a man who could make his own
decisions. If I had stayed there, never come back, I would have
always wondered if my parents had made the right choice, if I had
made the right choice, you know?” Judah glanced at Rico for a
glimpse of understanding, and Rico encouraged him with a nod.
“The civilized world doesn’t seem so civilized to me. Wars and
dirty politics, manipulation and greed, people turning themselves
inside out to impress other people. It just doesn’t make sense to
me. So far, the only thing I’ve found to hold me here is Marin, and
while I’d love to stay here with her, I also have to be true to myself.
Does that make sense to you?”
Rico exhaled with a slow whistle and fell back onto the
couch. “Wow. It’s not what I expected this to be about. I thought
maybe you wanted a hook-up for some herb or something, but
never in a million years…!” He smiled and shook his head. “But,
yeah, to answer your question, it does make sense to me. You’re a
different kind of guy, man. I’ve never met anyone like you before
in my life. It makes sense to me that all this crazy shit doesn’t cut it
for you, especially after you described your life in the mountains to
me yesterday. I just don’t know how I can help you.”
“Well, I’ll need to get to Washington. I can’t fly without my
ID, and my temporary card expires after today, so I can’t really
drive there either. I need someone to smuggle me, if that’s at all
possible these days. It’s a long shot, I know, but I can’t think of
anything else.”
Rico nodded and stroked his goatee like he always did when
deep in thought, and as a plan began to formulate in his mind, he
licked his lips and let a mischievous grin slide across his face. “You
know, I’ve never had to think about how to do something like this
before, but I do have some friends in the smuggling business. They
gotta get their grass across state lines somehow. There must be a
way. Of course, it’ll cost you a pretty penny.”
“That’s not a problem,” Judah assured him.
“Alright, then, let me make a few calls, man, see what I can
do. How long do we have?”
129
“I’m pretty sure they’ll be coming for me tonight if I don’t
report for my ID.”
Rico emitted another long whistle. “Whoa, you’re not
messing around here. That’s short notice. I don’t know if I can
make it happen that fast, but if I can they’re gonna charge you even
more.”
“I figured that. It’s not a problem. I’ll know for sure what
I’m going to do within an hour or so. If I’m leaving, I’ll be ready to
go when they are.”
“Alright, I’ll make some calls.” He stood and started
toward the kitchen, but Judah stopped him.
“Listen, I don’t know if it’s safe to make the calls from here.
Your line might be bugged, since they’ve followed me here several
times. I don’t know for sure, but just to be safe…”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Rico agreed. “I’ll go up to
my work and call from there. You need me to drop you any-
where?”
“Actually, I do, if you don’t mind.”
“Just tell me where.”
Rico drove him to the Four Seasons Hotel, scribbled his cell
phone number on a gum wrapper and told him to call when he was
ready to be picked up. Judah thanked him earnestly for his help
before hopping out, then entered the lavish lobby of the hotel.
Everything was moving forward at a rapid pace, and he had to
remind himself it would all work out as it should, making his own
hopes, worries, and expectations irrelevant. With this sense of
peace, he asked the lobby clerk to contact Pastor Dodd’s room and
announce his arrival, and within moments he was ushered into the
suite by a security officer.
“Judah, come in, son,” Pastor Dodd greeted jovially from
his seat at the mahogany desk. He rose to exchange a firm hand-
shake. “It’s good to see you. I was wondering when I’d hear from
you.”
“It’s good to see you too, sir.” Judah followed his lead and
took a seat across from him on one of the velvet couches.
“Did you get a chance to think over our little proposition? I
hope you have good news for me.”
“I did think it over, sir,” Judah began. “I thought it over a
lot, and in fact it gave me an opportunity to think over a lot of
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things. I’ve got more clarity today than I did yesterday, that’s for
sure.”
“Good, good. I knew you’d come to see the light. We
really must all do what’s best for this great country, what’s best for
our people. I’m proud of you, son.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, sir, I haven’t exactly made up
my mind yet.” Judah struggled for the right approach to take,
searching Pastor Dodd’s reaction for guidance, but the pastor’s face
remained placidly blank as he waited for Judah to continue. “See,
the thing is I’m really struggling with what you’ve asked me to do. I
want to cooperate, I really do. I know it would make things a lot
easier for me, but I just don’t think I can go on television to speak
out against my parents and everything they taught me. I came here
today because I thought maybe if you and I could talk a little bit
about my parents, you might be able to see they really aren’t what
you think they are. They’re good people, people you would proba-
bly like if you got to know them because they believe in so many of
the same things you believe in.”
The pastor summoned his breath and leaned forward to rest
his elbows on his knees, reaching across the coffee table to pat
Judah’s hand encouragingly. “I respect your honesty, and like I told
you yesterday, I admire your loyalty to your parents. So many kids
today have not learned to respect their parents. At the very least, I
have to give your parents credit for that. And I want you to know I
truly do understand your dilemma here. It’s a downright shame any
child should have to choose between the righteousness of God and
the love for his parents; the two should go hand in hand. But when
one is faced with such a choice, they must choose the path of
righteousness.”
“I would agree with you on that, sir, but what I can’t
understand is why I have to make that choice in the first place.
Everything my parents stood for was good and righteous. They
committed their lives to doing what was right. Even if what they
did was radically different from the way most people in our society
live. And they taught me to be guided by the same high standards
they were. I don’t see how it could hurt the American public to
have an example of two people willing to sacrifice every comfort of
modern civilization to live a life that was true to their highest
principles.”
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“You’re very right,” Pastor Dodd granted. “Why Jesus
himself provides the highest example of such sacrifice. But it’s a
matter of what principles served as their guide. As I understand it,
your parents were political radicals who participated in activities to
undermine the laws of their own country. The Bible speaks clearly
about this when it tells us we must follow the laws of our land.
They sought to undermine our efforts as we fought the heathens of
other countries who want only to see the destruction of God’s
people. I don’t know if you were instructed in the teachings of the
Bible, but the end times very well could be upon us, and it is our
duty to make sure we are fighting on the right side, that we are
fearless in our faith as we face the enemy.”
Judah grimaced at the mention of the end times. He had in
fact been instructed in many end time scenarios, all of which
seemed to him nothing more than an inflated projection of human-
ity’s ultimate fear – death. But he did not pursue this train of
thought with the pastor, knowing it would only inflame him.
“Okay, but I still don’t see how my speaking out against my parents
will affect any of that.”
“It’s a funny thing, the way the public’s paranoia can catch
on. We’re in the midst of some pretty tough times, and there are
many people who might be vulnerable right now to radical thinking.
Since your story broke, there have been radical groups placing your
parents on a public pedestal, essentially making them out to be
martyrs. And I can’t help but worry where this might lead. I am a
shepherd of my people. My responsibility is to their well-being.
We can’t have our country thrown into upheaval with people trying
to dismantle everything this great country has stood for. The
United States has always been willing to stand up to the bullies of
the world, to fight evil in the world no matter what the cost. And,
make no mistake, this is a struggle between good and evil. We must
stick together or we will surely fall. Our fight is with the terrorists,
the Islamic fanatics who seek to destroy us, and those here in our
own country who can’t seem to understand that. It’s not about oil;
that’s just a smokescreen the radicals have constructed to stir up
trouble. And it’s not about the environment either. We have to
remember our ultimate struggle is for the salvation of our souls, and
that means taking a stand against the heathens at whatever cost.
This is where true sacrifice arises from.”
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“But what do my parents or I have to do with terrorists?”
Judah pressed. “Maybe you’re under the impression we were
involved in terrorist activities. I know they questioned me an awful
lot about that before they let me out of jail, but we had nothing to
do with any of that, ever. And my parents would never have
supported any act of violence, on the part of terrorists or even
governments. They were pacifists, and I am too.”
“Yes, I believe you,” he allowed. “But sometimes pacifism
is misguided. See, God doesn’t want us to just turn our backs on
the very real battle between good and evil. He calls on us to fight
for Him, to see that His righteousness is spread throughout the
world. You say your parents were pacifists, and that is exactly why
their way of thinking is a danger to our nation right now. We need
our people to be united behind God’s will, especially now when the
stakes are so high.”
Judah was beginning to worry he was wasting his time. He
knew it would be counterproductive to try to debate with the pastor
the nature of God’s will, and in truth he was not sure he was
prepared for such a debate in the first place. Instead, he decided to
try another approach, to turn the discussion toward the common
ground that formed the foundation of his parents’ beliefs and the
teachings of the church. “My parents were guided by the principle
of turning the other cheek. They believed we have a responsibility
to be good stewards of God’s creation, to live in harmony with it
rather than ravenously consume it. They believed we should love
each other, truly, so we are not engaged in battles over natural
resources and we don’t some of us live like kings while others
grovel for crumbs. And they believed we should trust in our
highest principles rather than give in to vengeance and fear. Their
beliefs can’t possibly be so different from your own, can they?”
“If they trusted their highest principles, why did they flee to
the mountains? Were they not driven there by fear?”
The question was valid, he had to admit, and he strained to
find the right response. After a few moments had passed in silence,
Pastor Dodd smiled graciously, sensing he had made a break-
through. “You see? This is at the heart of the matter. These are
tough times and some people just aren’t thinking clearly. They’re
more susceptible to the kind of paranoia your parents gave in to.
We can’t have this media blitz over your story muddying the waters,
igniting a mass hysteria about the environment or causing people to
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turn on their own government in the midst of a worldwide war with
Muslim fanatics. We can’t have citizens flocking to the ranks of the
homegrown terrorists, infected by that detestable strain of political
cannibalism these radicals are spreading under the guise of envi-
ronmental and peace agendas. Fear is an insidious tool of the devil,
though it comes disguised in many seemingly innocuous ways.”
“You’re right about that,” Judah agreed, but he had to bite
his tongue to keep from saying what he really wanted to say. It
would do him no good to point out the epidemic of spiritual
cannibalism that had swept across the world in the form of organ-
ized religion, using as its catalyst the natural human fear of the
unknown, the fear of what happens after death. The pastor would
surely never concede the fact that he, along with his church, had
grown fat dining on the flesh of the millions of spirits they had
consumed throughout the centuries, leaving timid, self-loathing
carcasses to wander the earth where there could have been unfet-
tered dancers celebrating the artful expression of existence which is
life itself.
“I can’t deny it was fear that first led my parents into the
mountains,” he instead conceded. “It most certainly was. But they
did not remain enslaved by it. They were forced to confront it at its
very root, to face on a very real basis the fear for their own survival,
and once they had faced it head-on, they were able to release it.
They lived the remainder of their lives free from fear, and in doing
so, they found what they had searched for their entire lives – true
peace.”
It seemed they had reached a stalemate, and neither knew
quite how to proceed. Pastor Dodd broke the silence with an
offering of a drink then stood to retrieve two glasses of water from
the bar. He returned with the drinks and took a seat on the couch
next to Judah, turning to a more paternal approach in a final
attempt to reach him. “Listen son, like I told you at the beginning
of this conversation, I understand and respect your loyalty to your
parents, and from what you’ve told me, it seems they were essen-
tially good people. I’m not denying that, and I’m not asking you to
deny that publicly. All I’m asking is that you let the public know
they were misguided, that you realize you belong here in the
civilized world, and that…now listen because this is key…that you
realize some of their ideas were radical. Not everything, under-
stand? Just the anti-social stuff about the war protests and the
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extreme environmentalism. You could even say a few nice things
about them; we could go over that together, but people would
expect you to say some good things about them, of course. We can
work on it together and figure out a nice little message for you to
give to the people.”
While it sounded harmless on the surface, Judah could not
suppress the sense of dread broiling in his gut. It was his integrity
struggling for its own survival, clinging to his entrails like a giant
leech. If he let it go, severed it from his being, how long would he
bleed? “And what if I say no?” he asked. “What will happen to
me? I know you’ve offered a scholarship, but if I turn you down,
what then? Will that be the end of it?”
Pastor Dodd leaned back against the sofa with a sigh of
resignation. “It’s out of my hands then, son. I can’t tell you what
will happen.”
“I was led to believe yesterday that if I didn’t go along there
might be retribution, maybe even prison,” Judah prodded.
“I don’t have anything to do with those matters. You’re
talking to the wrong person about that. All I can do is give you
counsel as a man of God.”
“But you’re working with Senator Andrews,” Judah coun-
tered. “You must know something about what he’s thinking. I
need to know what I’m facing here, in order to make a good
decision.”
“I would hope you could make the right decision based on
what’s the right thing to do, not based on what consequences you
might face for making the wrong decision. But I won’t lie to you,
son. I do know there are people in powerful positions who view
you as a threat. Your cooperation in this matter would do wonders
to appease that view.” The pastor had been careful with his choice
of words, but Judah understood him to mean the possibility of
imprisonment was indeed real. “You must be very confused right
now, and I don’t blame you. I know you’ve been pulled between
different factions, all vying for your collaboration, like that Green
Light Movement that came to see you. For a young man under so
much pressure, I imagine you’re just about fit for a nervous break-
down. My advice to you is to search your soul for the truth. Pray
about it. You’ll find the answer.”
The mention of the environmental organization shook
Judah. The pastor had just unwittingly acknowledged he was
135
connected in some way to whoever had been following him for the
past week. How else would he have known about his visit with
Elaine Wright? It seemed an odd connection for a man of the
church, and he decided to probe a little further. “How did you
know about that?”
“About what, son?”
“About my meeting with the Green Light Movement? How
could you have known about that?’
The pastor stammered for an explanation, then straightened
his shoulders and took on a slightly more assertive tone. “Certain
information has been shared with me,” he admitted, “but my
involvement in all this is minor. I would like to see good things
come of all this for you. But I’m not the one in control.”
“And who is?” Judah baited. “Officer Jensen?”
Pastor Dodd appeared confused for a moment. “Oh, you
mean the fellow who escorted you here yesterday?” He dismissed
the notion with a chuckle. “No, he’s just the one who let this whole
cat out of the bag to begin with. I guess somebody somewhere
thought it might be a good idea to let him help clean up the mess.
It doesn’t really matter who’s in control. What matters is that you
weigh out your options and figure out what’s the right thing to do.”
Judah nodded then stood and walked to the glass door that
led to the veranda, letting all he had learned sink in fully as he stared
out at the expanse of city below him. What struck him most was
the reference to Jensen having let the cat out of the bag. It oc-
curred to him he was in fact the cat and the bag was in fact the jail,
and suddenly he realized how close he had come to indefinite
confinement in a cell. The thought raised the hairs along the back
of his neck. It was a dangerous game he was caught up in.
“So what’s it going to be, son?” Pastor Dodd joined him at
the door. “Can we work with each other on this?”
“I’ll do an interview, one interview, and then I’m done. I’m
out of the public eye forever.” He turned to look the pastor in the
eye. “I don’t have the stomach for all this.”
Pastor Dodd smiled and opened his arms wide for an
embrace, reaching around to enclose Judah in a full-bodied hug and
patting him on the back reassuringly. He escorted Judah to the
door with his arm wrapped affectionately around his shoulder, as
though Judah were a longtime friend who had just agreed to meet
him for a game of golf. But Judah was not comforted. The
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pastor’s involvement in the whole affair made him inherently
untrustworthy. “I’ll get you in contact with the people who will set
up the interview, and I’ll get the paperwork rolling for that scholar-
ship we discussed. You keep in touch, now, and if you need a little
spiritual guidance, you’ve got my card. Don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thank you, sir,” Judah played along. “I’ll keep that in
mind.”
Once in the privacy of the elevator, Judah dropped his head
back against the wood panels and released a long, sedating sigh. He
had given it his best shot, and though he had hoped there might be
a way for him to stay, it occurred to him that indeed things had
worked out the way they should. He did not want to play in the
playground of power; there was no peace there. With this realiza-
tion came a flood of relief, and he felt incredibly blessed to have an
alternative to return to. As the elevator ticked down the descending
floors, he summoned his courage with a deep breath, preparing
himself for the arduous journey that lay ahead of him. If his escape
were to be successful, from that point on he would have to be
careful of his every move. When the elevator reached the lobby, he
found a row of payphones and quickly dialed Stella Sparks’ number,
hoping to finish the conversation before anyone who might be
tailing him could realize what he was doing. Luckily, she answered
on the first ring.
“Stella, I don’t have much time,” he began in a hushed
voice. “It’s Judah Hardison, and I need to meet with you.”
“Judah! I’ve been trying to reach you! Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, I suppose. As good as it can be. I need
to talk to you, but I can’t do it now, not over the phone.”
“Okay, when? Where?” she questioned eagerly.
“I’ll call you again in the next couple days.” He turned to
case the area around him but no one appeared to be paying any
attention to him. “I can’t tell you exactly when, but just have your
phone with you. I’ll be in touch.”
“I will. I promise.” She hesitated, then continued with a
note of concern. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up the phone without
waiting for her response and hurriedly dialed the number Rico had
given him. He was not sure how the whole wire-tapping thing
worked, but his hope was if someone were to check into his use of
that payphone, they would take note only of his call to Rico. After
137
another brief exchange, Rico agreed to meet him in front of the
hotel in fifteen minutes. With heart pounding more heavily than he
wanted to acknowledge, Judah sat on the curb and watched the
stream of luxury cars pull into and away from the five star hotel,
smiling wryly at one in particular – a red Cadillac Escalade with a
simple question plastered to its hind side in the form of a bumper
sticker. What Would Jesus Do? Indeed, he wondered, what would he
do?
9
Rico’s friend had agreed to meet them at his house that
afternoon, after he had a chance to make arrangements for the trip.
Judah would be leaving by four o’clock, before the Department of
Citizenry offices closed and the powers that be realized he had not
reported for his chip. His freedom would bear the hefty price tag
of ten thousand dollars. The remainder of his inheritance would go
to various charities, as he had detailed in a letter to the Calloways
which he’d left tucked beneath his pillow. For now, he asked Rico
to take him to the bank, where he withdrew enough cash to pay for
his cross-country flight and a little extra to take care of any unex-
pected expenses that might arise along the way. The bank teller
eyed him curiously as she counted out the stack of bills for him,
unaccustomed it seemed to such a large withdrawal. He left the
bank with an envelope thick with hundred dollar bills secured in his
backpack, exhaling a sigh of relief as he slid into the passenger seat
of Rico’s car. They sat idling in front of the bank for a moment,
waiting to see if the agent in the Lincoln would get out of his car to
inquire about Judah’s activities in the bank. Luckily, he did not, and
instead pulled out onto the street when they did, following them
back to Rico’s house.
“You know, Rico,” Judah warned, “they’re going to come
around asking questions once they realize I’m gone. They’ll have a
record of everywhere we went today, and the fact that you were the
last person I was seen with. Are you sure you want to take this risk?
It’s not too late to step back, and I really would understand.”
138
“I’ve already thought about that, man. Don’t worry about
me; I’ll be fine,” Rico assured him. “My dad’s the chief of police
here. There’s only so much they can do to me. They can ask me
questions, to which I’ll give them reasonable answers, but they can’t
sweep me off to prison or anything.”
“So why are you doing this? I mean, you barely know me,
and you’re making your life a lot more complicated by helping me
out.”
“Let’s just say you’re not the only one who cares about
what’s right.” It was a concise answer, but one that needed no
explanation.
It occurred to Judah then that he was going to miss Rico,
and he couldn’t help allowing himself to get a little sentimental.
“I’m glad I met you, man. Of all the people I could have encoun-
tered during this brief adventure of mine, I’m sure glad I met you.”
Rico simply nodded and they let the conversation dwindle
into silence for the remainder of the ride, not wanting to slide any
further down that slope into the sap of emotions. They arrived at
the house just before two o’clock, which gave Judah two hours to
prepare for his long trek back to Washington. He did not want to
imagine under what circumstances he would be traveling; whatever
they were he knew he would be able to endure them. Instead, he
occupied himself with a last engagement with the guitar, allowing
his mind to settle as he strummed the strings intuitively. Then, he
sat at the kitchen table and composed a heartfelt letter to Marin. In
it, he explained as best he could his reasons for having to leave,
how his choice in no way changed his feelings for her. He apolo-
gized for hurting her that morning, wished her well, and vowed
never to forget her, asking only that she find a way to make peace
with his decision however she might. Along with the letter, he
stuffed ten hundred dollar bills into the envelope and sealed it, then
handed it to Rico and asked that he give it to Marin once he was
gone.
“So what’s the deal with you and Marin anyway?” Rico
probed as he accepted the envelope and stuffed it into a drawer in
the kitchen. “I’ve never seen her so head over heels for anyone
before. How’s she taking all this?”
Judah shook his head despondently. “I’d rather not talk
about it. She and I are an impossibility, it seems. We come from
different worlds. I can’t stay here for her, and she couldn’t possibly
139
come with me. But I love her like crazy all the same. My only hope
is someday she’ll understand that and forgive me.”
Before Rico could respond, there was a gentle tap at the
back door and he leapt to his feet to answer it. A heavy-set man in
his late twenties stepped into the room, dressed tidily in khaki slacks
and a knit polo shirt. He was all business and immediately re-
quested the ten thousand dollars in cash, which Judah retrieved
from his backpack and fanned out for him to see. The man took
the money and slipped it into his own satchel, then proceeded to fill
Judah in on the details of how he would be transported across state
lines.
“For your purposes, my name’s David,” he began. Judah
moved to extend his hand in an exchange of formalities, but David
cut him off. “I have no need or desire to know what your name is.
As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a package like any other. I
think it’s best we keep things as uncomplicated as possible.” Judah
nodded his agreement and David continued. “You’ll be traveling in
a coffin. Don’t worry; it’s breathable. I’ll tell the border patrol I’m
taking my delivery just across state lines each time we cross a
border. I’ve got all the paperwork to back that up. They’ll see my
truck with its sign for Cristoff Caskets. They’ll check my paper-
work, each of which will have a delivery address for the state we are
crossing into, and maybe they’ll send a dog sniffing around the
perimeter, but that’s it. I’ve been doing this a long time now, with
packages that are more detectable by the dogs than you’ll be, so I
don’t anticipate any problems.” He sucked in his rounded gut with
a strained breath, as though the long explanation had left him
winded, then finished with a smirk. “Hope you’re not claustropho-
bic.”
Judah shook his head distractedly, still trying to process the
information he’d just been provided. The thought of traveling
across the country in a coffin did not appeal to him in the least, but
he would have to accustom himself to the idea quickly. It would,
after all, be done within a matter of a couple days, and then he
would be free again, stretching his legs for many years to come in
the forested mountains of the Olympic Peninsula. The trade-off
would be well worth it. His chauffer appeared to know what he
was talking about, and given his connection to Rico, Judah felt
assured he could trust him.
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Judah and Rico exchanged goodbyes, shaking hands and
embracing each other in a full hug, and Judah thanked him for his
help. “Nah, thank you, man,” Rico insisted. “You’re an inspira-
tion. Find your peace again, and I’ll look for mine here. Maybe
we’ll meet again someday and compare notes.” They both knew
the likelihood of this was nonexistent, but it seemed a good way to
part. As Judah followed David’s lead through the back yard and
over a fence into the alley where he had parked his truck, he
couldn’t suppress the heaviness that came over his heart, not only at
the loss of his new friend, but at the thought of Marin in her
peasant blouse, smiling down at him as her curly locks fell onto his
face. It would be a long time letting go of that attachment, he
knew, but it seemed the next few days all he would have was time.
As much as he cherished her, he knew deep down for the two of
them, love meant letting go.
David opened the door to the camper that covered his
pickup truck, and after the two of them had glanced around the
alley to ensure no one was watching, Judah climbed into the truck
bed, lifted the coffin’s heavy lid and stepped inside. He took a deep
breath before lying back onto its satin-lined interior and before he
could think to say anything, David slammed the lid shut. Judah was
suddenly consumed by the total darkness that enclosed him, and his
heart began to race, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace in
testament to the panic that had now come over his lungs. There
was just a trace of doubt as to whether or not he should trust the
stranger who had just shut him into a coffin, but that trace was
enough to send him into a momentary fit of worry. David did after
all already have his hands on the money. It would be easier and less
risky for him to take the money and run, leave Judah to suffocate in
the coffin or hand him over to the authorities. And how, Judah
wondered, had he come to find himself in such a position to begin
with, traveling the length of the country in the accommodations of
a corpse?
Such thoughts plagued Judah’s mind for several minutes as
he struggled with the urge to force his way out of the coffin, but his
ability to continue breathing, as David had guaranteed, slowly eased
his fears and he was able to settle into a steady pattern of breath
that served to calm him further. Perhaps it was fitting his flight
should mimic the passage of a dead person. Was he not choosing
to be born again, shedding the skin of an old life in favor of a new
141
one? And thinking this, it seemed fitting that he begin to prepare
himself for the new life that lay ahead of him, clearing his mind of
the many preoccupations and entanglements that had clouded his
vision so recently, trying to erase the patterns of thought he had
learned throughout his life which had caused him to fear, to doubt,
to overlook the beauty of life breathing and expressing itself within
him. As strange as his current circumstances seemed to him, he
knew he had arrived at this point for a reason. A peace flooded
through him then and he was able to drift into an easy sleep.
Some time later, an abrupt jerk roused him from his sleep as
the truck came to a stop. As his eyes opened to the blackness
around him, he had to once again concentrate on maintaining his
composure through controlled breath. There was no light at all, no
way for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and his whole backside
was sore from lack of motion. He tried unsuccessfully to reposition
himself, but there was no room for movement of any sort. He had
no idea how much time had passed, whether they were stopped at a
traffic light, a border station, or a motel. All he could do was wait
patiently for either the truck to begin moving again or for David to
come around and let him out.
After a few moments with no motion, he gathered they
were at a border stop and began to wonder what was taking so long.
He felt a slight rocking of the truck as David seemingly dismounted
from the vehicle and then a harsh vibration as the door slammed
shut. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he detected the muffled
sound of a dog’s bark, and a nervous sweat began to bead his
hairline and upper lip. He had no experience in such matters, but it
seemed to him if the border patrol had brought out the dogs, they
must have had reason for suspicion. Just then, the door to the
camper opened, and he could hear the voices of two men, one of
which he recognized as belonging to David.
“You got anything else in here I oughta know about,
mister?”
“No sir. Just this casket and a few tools in the back there.
I’m just doing my job, trying to get there before the funeral home
closes at nine.”
“Think you’re gonna make it? You’re cutting it pretty
close.”
142
“I know…got caught up in some traffic way back in Dallas,
but what can I do? I can only do the best I can do, right? I ain’t
gonna work up a sweat about it.”
“Well, I’m sorry for holding you up here, but you know
how it is these days. Can’t be too careful.”
“I understand, sir. You’re just doing your job same as me.”
The door slammed shut again and the voices disappeared.
Judah released the breath he had taken when the door first opened
and settled back into a moderate level of comfort. He marveled at
David’s ability to think so quickly and speak so convincingly,
recalling his own inability to do the same when he had most needed
it, at the ranger’s cabin the week before. The truck shifted as David
climbed back into the driver’s seat, the engine grumbled to a start,
and they were in motion once again, crossing the Texas border into
Oklahoma, he presumed. His stomach grumbled irritably and he
hoped they would be stopping soon for the night.
Another thirty minutes must have passed before they did
come to another stop, and this time David came around to release
him from his confinement. The night air felt luxurious as Judah
hopped onto the pavement of the Motel 6 parking lot, and he
stretched forward and backward, shaking his arms and legs free of
the atrophy that had begun to set in. It was going to be a long haul,
he realized, much longer than he had anticipated, and he decided it
would be best to stay awake through the night so he could spend
most of the day’s drive in the oblivion of sleep.
“You feeling like a vampire right about now?” David asked
good-humoredly.
Judah laughed at the undeniable correlation to his circum-
stances. “Yeah, now that you mention it. We had a close call back
at the border, huh?”
“Yep, but nothing too bad. He was a nice guy. They all are,
generally speaking. Used to be a scene like that would’ve scared the
hell outta me, but I’m used to it now. If you’re smart, you can get
through without too much trouble.”
David left Judah by the truck and went inside to pay for the
room, returning quickly with a key. There was a diner next door,
and just to be safe, Judah stayed in the room while David ran over
to pick up their dinner and brought it back to the motel. They
watched an old rerun of Seinfeld while they ate, then talked briefly
until David turned in for the night. Judah took the opportunity to
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run through his yoga exercises in the narrow patch of floor at the
end of the bed, a welcome treat for his aching muscles, then flipped
through the various programs available on the television, trying to
occupy his mind so he would not sleep.
Sometime after midnight, he noticed the programming
shed its shell of comedies and tragedies and bared its soul in the
form of hour-long infomercials promoting a wide range of essen-
tially worthless products – miniature staircases to assist pets in their
ascent to bed-tops and sofas, miracle weight-loss contraptions to
tone sedentary muscles and pills to melt excesses of fat, age-defying
liquids to prevent loss of hair and evidence of wrinkles, scoops with
long handles to relieve pet owners of the need to bend and pedes-
trians of the need to watch their step. So many things, he marveled,
to carry on this journey of survival. How did anyone bear the
burden?
December 18, 2012
As the sunrise approached, his eyes were growing heavy

and he contemplated going outside to greet the morning, thinking
the fresh air would invigorate him, but he thought better of it, not
wanting to be spotted, and splashed cold water on his face instead.
Seated on the motel room floor, he began a deep meditation
intended to reconnect himself to the earth and his inner flow of
energy. He expanded his perineum, feeling a sensation of having
opened himself to the floor, then visualized his spine extending
down like a tail, drilling through the concrete beneath him and
down deep into the earth. Having reached the earth’s volcanic core,
he envisioned his tailbone dipping into the source of earth energy
like a plug entering an electrical outlet, and immediately he felt a
surge of energy well up in the pit of his stomach. Drawing that
energy upward, he felt it rise through him, passing through his
heart, his throat, his third eye, and finally out through his crown
into the atmosphere around him. His thoughts ceased for several
sustained moments, replaced by a subtle awareness of light, unity,
and balance that transcended any rational knowledge of such
concepts. Then, upon thanking the earth and the universe for the
sharing of energy, he slowly returned to a conscious awareness of
his surroundings feeling calm, safe and secure.
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David was awake again by eight o’clock, and after a quick
breakfast of powdered donuts and soda purchased from the lobby’s
vending machine, they were back on the road. Judah fell fast asleep
once in the casket, feeling much more accustomed to his surround-
ings that day, and did not wake again until they broke for lunch at a
road stop late in the afternoon. The trip continued in much the
same way through to Washington over the following two days, and
as agreed the truck came to its final stop at the end of Fern Valley
Road, just a couple miles’ walk from the abandoned Hardison
family home. Judah could hardly contain his elation as he stepped
onto the moist green grass that flanked the county road and
breathed deeply the fresh, fertile scents of the greenery that greeted
him from every direction.
December 20, 2012
“Looks like this is the end of the line,” David commented.

“This is beautiful country out here. Sure is green.”
“Yeah,” Judah grinned. “It is. Listen, I really appreciate
this. I don’t know what I would have done if Rico hadn’t been able
to arrange this with you.”
David nodded but kept his eyes lowered, not quite sure how
to receive gratitude for a job he had been well-compensated for.
“No problem, man. It was nice getting to know you.” He shook
Judah’s hand firmly. “Say, you hear anything about this 2012 stuff,
man? I’ve been listening to them talking about it on the radio for
the past couple hours. Kinda freaky…seems a bunch of people are
thinking it could be the end of the world or something tomorrow.”
Judah laughed inwardly, noting the irony that he would be
arriving home in the mountains in plenty of time to observe
whatever fate the infamous Mayan calendar end-date might bring
from the perch his parents had intended after all. “I wouldn’t
worry about it much, David. What else is an ending but an oppor-
tunity for a new beginning?”
“Uh, I guess so,” David stammered, furrowing his brows as
he eyed Judah curiously. “Well, good luck to ya.”
Judah waved a goodbye and started down the road as David
climbed into his truck, but recalling he had an important call to
make and no access to a telephone, he turned and ran back to the
truck, tapping the passenger window just as the truck roared to a
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start. Using David’s cell phone, he dialed Stella Sparks, and after
another brief exchange between the two of them, they agreed to
meet at Judah’s family home that night. With another wave good-
bye, he took to the heavily tree-lined road, and this time did not
even bother to look back. He was almost home, and if all went
according to plan, in a matter of hours he would be watching the
moon’s reflection in the pool beneath his waterfall, wondering if his
excursion into civilization had been nothing but a dream.
As he arrived at the ranch-style gate that marked the
entrance to his parents’ property, he was alarmed to find it flung
open with what appeared to be fresh tire tracks in the gravel road
that led to the house. His first thought was of Jensen. He felt
foolish for not having considered the possibility he might come
looking for him there, but after checking with the Calloways, it
would be natural to search the only other address they had on file
for him. He considered turning away, simply going on to his final
destination, but Stella would be there in a few hours and he didn’t
want to miss her. It was important he speak with her, let her know
the truth about what had become of him. He did not know what
Jensen or any of the other agencies might do once they realized he
was gone, but he wanted someone with an honest voice to be able
to tell the truth for him.
He decided to approach the house with caution, darting into
the wooded areas that lined the front portion of the property with
the hope that whoever had come to investigate had already left.
From the edge of the woods, he had a clear view of the open
pasture that held their modest rammed-earth home and the fields
that stretched behind it where the gardens lay, overtaken with wild
growth. Spotting the tail of a dark blue sedan parked alongside the
house, his heart plummeted. He was frozen, floundering for an
alternate plan of action, and just when he was about to turn back
toward the entrance, where he could lay in waiting for Stella
concealed by the thick foliage that lined Fern Valley Road, he heard
the front door of the house open. To his complete shock, it was
not Jensen or any other agent who stepped onto the porch, but
Marin. He waited just a moment to ensure no one else was with her
before breaking free from his cover.
“Marin!” he called as he burst into the open field. “I can’t
believe it! What on earth are you doing here?”
146
She jumped with a start at the unexpected intrusion and
then smiled and ran to greet him. “Oh my god, Judah! I’m so glad
you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you were coming. I was beginning to
think I was crazy waiting out here for you.”
Judah could feel the wetness of her tears against his cheeks,
and his own eyes began to water. “I don’t understand. Why are
you here? I…I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I know,” she sniffed, stepping back to look at him. “I’m
not sure I really understand either. I don’t know exactly what I’ve
gotten myself into, but I had to come. I flew in late last night and
stayed in Seattle, then drove out here this morning. I was afraid I’d
missed you somehow.”
Judah pulled her into another embrace, holding her long
and tight. As he released her, he noticed something different about
the way she looked. It was the blond of her eyelashes and the
freckles on her nose, and he realized for the first time since he had
reunited with her, she was not wearing any make-up. “You’ve got
to tell me what this is all about. Why are you here?”
“I read your letter,” she said, “the one you left for my
parents, and then the one you left for me. There’s so much you
didn’t tell me before; I’m not sure why. About you, about your
parents, about everything really. But after reading those letters, I
understood you so much more. I couldn’t let you leave without
making things right with you.” Her eyes fell to the ground and she
kicked her feet nervously into the soil. “I’m sorry about the way I
acted that morning. I was wrong. You weren’t the one being
selfish; it was me. I was afraid of losing you, afraid to deal with
that, you know? You were being honest, and I was just trying to
protect myself.”
“Shhh,” Judah quieted her, placing his finger on her lips.
“You don’t have to say anything, Marin. You’re here. That says it
all.”
She beamed at him, relieved at the ease with which he had
received her apology, and they walked hand in hand into the house.
Stepping through the doorway, Judah was immediately confronted
with a stream of ghostly memories. It was eerie to see his family’s
belongings precisely as they had left them, with the only evidence of
the time that had passed being the film of dust that now covered
every inch of the house’s interior. The vibrant life that had once
filled the rooms with laughter and music and poetry had disinte-
147
grated into an ashy residue on the books that lined the shelves and
the instruments that lay propped in various corners. The house was
nothing more than a building, a carcass for the soul of his departed
family, and that realization saddened him. He wasn’t sure what he
had expected to find, but whatever it was, it no longer dwelled
there.
Finding his guitar in the corner of his bedroom, he wiped
the dust from its surface with the sleeve of his shirt and blew into
its belly, stirring up a small storm, then lay on the sofa and began
plucking out a classical tune. Marin walked through the house,
looking at pictures and fingering the spines of books that lined an
entire wall in the living room, calling out the titles as she recognized
them. All the classics were there, from Homer’s Iliad to Ovid’s
Metamorphoses, the greats from the Renaissance, Enlightenment, and
Romantic periods, and a wide selection of modern literary works.
There were old math and science textbooks, presumably used in
Judah’s home-schooling, as well as Einstein’s Relativity: The Special
and General Theory, Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, Gary
Zukav’s Dancing Wu Li Masters, books on string theory and quantum
physics. American and world history texts, sacred scriptures from
every world religion imaginable, including collections of tribal
mythologies, prayers, and wisdom. She had never seen so many
books in one place, other than a library or book store, and she
wondered if they could have possibly read them all.
“I can’t believe how many books you guys had! Have you
read all this stuff?”
He set the guitar down and rose to join her at the book-
shelf, recalling the nights spent laboring to grasp the myriad of
complexities contained within the pages, and the times when he had
sat silently listening to his parents’ discourse over conflicting
theories and philosophies, chiming in from time to time with his
own insight, which always thrilled them. “Not every page, but I’ve
been acquainted at some level with all of them. It’s amazing what a
grand anthology of thought humans have collected over the centu-
ries, dissecting every thing we see or hear or smell, trying to under-
stand it and put it in a proper place in our minds so we can talk with
each other about it. And this is where it’s led us. To where we are
right at this moment.”
“Wow,” Marin declared, awestruck. “I’m impressed. You
didn’t even go to high school, technically, and here I am in college
148
and I haven’t gotten around to learning even half of this stuff. I
had no idea you were such an intellectual.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he rebuffed. “I don’t like
to consider myself an intellectual. I’m assuming there was a reason
why I had to learn all this stuff, but so far it hasn’t served much use
for me. After all my years of study, I found I understood the world
much more clearly when I was just sitting in the mountains with an
uninhibited mind, free from the worry of how to put it all into
words. But there’s a lot of wisdom here…” he patted the bookshelf
affectionately. “There’s no doubt about that.”
Marin moved to the kitchen to inspect the cupboards and
appliances, curious to see every detail of Judah’s former life. She
retrieved what looked to be a journal from one of the drawers and
waved it at Judah. “Is it okay if I look at this?” He squinted to see
what she was holding, and recognizing it as his mother’s poetry
journal, shrugged his approval. Though his mother had always
been very private about her writing, he didn’t see what harm it
could do now. Marin leafed through the pages, stopping to read the
poems whose titles intrigued her. “This is good stuff,” she admired.
Then, finding one that was clearly meant for Judah, she began to
read aloud:
Little Boy
Love to watch you grow
Nice and slow,
Not looking back like old filmstrips on a wall,
But now, with your hungry fingers savoring the
taste of a pink gardenia bud
freshly picked from the flower pot
And tucking it with the touch of an artist
Behind my left ear,
Smiles in your eyes like stars
For they can see
Divinity in a blossom.
Love to watch you grow-

Take it slow, little boy.
Do not stretch your neck like a horse in harness,
But languish in the bed of cool summer grass.
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Make friends with the moon-
It is a reliable one.
Dig your toes into the earth
And trust it.
Dance to the concert of chanting cicadas,
Know time through the pulse of your own chest,
Wander always with those curious eyes
Ready to see the wind as it reveals itself in a
tree,
And someday when you stumble,
Scrape more than just a knee,
Old friends from all around you
Will whisper what you've always known-
Remember, little boy, to see
Your own divinity.
“It’s beautiful,” she gasped. “She wrote this for you, didn’t
she?”
Judah came around the partition that separated the two
rooms and took the journal in his own hands to reread the poem.
His mother had recited it to him many times over the years, first
when he was too young to grasp anymore than a general awareness
that she had loved him enough to write about him, and later when
he had savored each word she had so carefully chosen and received
each as a cherished gift. He ripped the page from its binding and
folded it neatly in his pocket. It would be the only unnecessary
possession he would take with him.
Marin followed him into the living room and sat at his feet
as he began to strum the guitar again. In many ways he was a
mystery to her. He had lived an incredible life already, having
experienced it in its most extreme forms, from primitive survival to
the heights of culture, and she wished she had more time to explore
with him. “You’ve been very honest with me,” she said with a hint
of hesitation in her voice, “so I’m going to preface what I’m about
to say with a confession. I want you to stay with me; I can’t deny
that. It’s not why I came out here, and I’m not going to get upset
with you again, I promise, but I want to say something to you, and
you can judge for yourself whether what I’m saying is based on
selfish motives or sound advice. It may be a little of both.”
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“Alright, then, say it,” he urged. “You don’t have to explain
yourself.”
“Well, I gave a lot of thought to what you said in your
letters on the plane ride up here, to everything I’ve learned about
you in the past week, and while I can see you were content up there
in the mountains, I just don’t believe that means you can’t find a
way to be content down here…with me. I know there are many
things about my world you disagree with, and I know you feel like
you’ve been cornered, like you don’t have any other alternative.
But, it just seems to me you haven’t really given it enough time.
You haven’t really tried to find peace here. When you first went
into the mountains, you weren’t perfectly content. There was
struggle, was there not?” She paused to allow for an answer, and he
nodded pensively. “Well, then, why can’t you give your life down
here a little time, to see if you could get past the struggle here, too?”
When she had finished, Judah sat for a moment in deep
thought. She had raised a valid point, one that deserved thorough
consideration if he were to be honest with himself. Of course the
struggle on the mountain had been for his survival, and then for his
adjustment to a new level of comfort, but he had indeed overcome
that and found an unfathomable source of inner strength and
wisdom in the process. What he had confronted since returning to
civilization had been quite different on the surface, but the nature
of his struggle had been one and the same – fear. The irony was
rich, and he smiled wryly at her expectant gaze.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way, Marin,” he admitted.
“It’s a good point. But there are some differences between what I
was up against out there and what I’m facing here. At least on the
mountain I had my freedom. And my integrity.” He paused,
stroking her hair compassionately as he noticed the cast of disap-
pointment in her eyes. The natural lighting in the room had
gradually dimmed, and he realized the sun would soon be setting.
He decided to retreat to his mother’s rose garden on the western
end of the property, where he and his parents had relished many a
sunset together, and give further reflection to what Marin had
proposed. Though he could tell she was dismayed to lose what
precious time they had left together, she let him go without a plea,
and he was grateful for this.
The rose garden had fared the same fate as the vegetable
gardens, with grassy weeds overtaking what once had been a
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perfectly groomed haven, sweet with the intoxicating fumes of
flowers. He was not sure if the plants had died from lack of
attention or if they had just withered for the winter, but there was
little more than memory there for inspiration. Still, he took a seat
on a rock and gazed at the sun as it began to dip beneath the
horizon. Since he had come back from the wilderness, he had
confronted his difficulties with his rational mind, weighing his
options, trying to gain some measure of control over the forces that
swirled around him, and the only answer he had been able to see
thus far had been to escape. This time, he would return to his
instincts, go inside himself and search for the truth. He closed his
eyes and began to breathe long and deep, letting go of his sensual
responses, dismissing every rational thought that skidded across the
canvas of his mind, until there was nothing, and then everything, as
if he had entered into a dream.
“Have you forgotten so easily all you learned on the mountain?”

The question arose as a voice, soothing like liquid, but loud enough to
command attention. He struggled to identify its source.
“It’s me, Judah…” The voice resounded like an echo, the waves
of sound clashing into each other, amplified and submerged repeatedly.
Then, they collapsed into a single point as recognition of the voice electri-
fied his spinal column. “It’s your mother.”
“I’ve missed you, mother,” he thought with a whimper, the
swollen lump in his throat reminding him of being a child. “And dad,
too. Where’s dad?”
“He’s here with me.” He felt a sensation of warmth caress his
cheek, as though it were her hand. He absorbed the heat, let it sweep
through his entire body, and when it was withdrawn, he continued to bask
in its glow as though his own wick had simply been reignited by the
sharing of a flame. “What is troubling you, son?”
His thoughts began to rush then, as if a dam had been broken
and a surge of worries and fears flooded his being. “I’m so confused,
mother. So much has changed; it’s all so out of control. I don’t know
why I came back here. There’s war and manipulation, corruption and
greed, so many people struggling for things that don’t really matter. And
all I want to do is live peacefully, to be left alone, but there are all these
other forces that just won’t let me be. They want to put an identification
152
chip in me, they want me to betray you and dad, they want to put me in
jail. I just want to be free, and…”
“Shhhhh,” the voice cooed gently. He felt a brush across his lips
like fingers. “You are always free, if you want to be. Everything you
speak of has always been, wherever and whenever humans have wanted it
to be. We all get to choose.”
“But, I haven’t chosen this,” he protested. “How have I chosen
this? This is not what I wanted when I came back to civilization.”
“What did you want, son?”
The question hung in the air like molasses, thick and slow and
sweet, and he smiled as he tasted the answer. He had simply wanted to
live.
“Just remember, son,” she continued. “You are your own
playwright. With each choice you make, your mind is the pen that
inscribes comedy, drama, or tragedy on the pages of time. Your life is your
masterpiece.”
His mind fell silent for a moment to fully embrace the peace the
recognition had renewed in him. “You’re right, I know. I’ve forgotten so
much lately. And I’ve been having strange dreams about the Mayans and
Kulkulkan. I don’t know why. Tomorrow’s the big day, the end of the
Mayan calendar. I guess maybe that’s been at the back of my mind, but
still, the dreams are so vivid and so bizarre.”
“And so intuitive,” she added knowingly. “Son, you already
know every thing you need to know. You, like every one else, carry within
you a deep well of wisdom. There are many ways to drink from this well;
you just have to be thirsty enough to seek it. Your dreams of Kulkulkan
are no different than this conversation you are now having with me. Just
another way for you to experience communication with the higher self.”
He smiled again and shook his head, and as he gave the reply
more thought, he broke into an inward chuckle. “I love you, mom.” The
thought produced a swelling in his chest so powerful he thought it might
burst.
“I know, son.” Her voice took on the dreamy, echoing quality
once again, and his body was engulfed in another blaze of warmth. As he
took a deep, celebratory breath, her final words floated into oblivion.
“Remember, it is your ability to choose that makes you free.”
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His meditation broke abruptly then, returning him to the
sensual experience of his physical surroundings somewhat disori-
ented. He had never experienced anything like that before, and
though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, he emerged from it
with a firm resolve for what he knew he had to do. The sun had
already disappeared, with only the faint orange glow lining the hills
in the distance as evidence to its demise. He shuddered a little at
the drop in temperature and was just about to return to the house
when he caught sight of Marin running toward him at a frantic
pace. When she reached him, she was out of breath.
“Somebody’s here,” she panted. “I saw headlights coming
down the driveway, and I ran out the back door. I don’t know if
they saw me, but they’ll see my car for sure.”
Judah felt certain it was Stella, but he didn’t want to take any
chances either. He led Marin through patches of trees and shrub-
bery to camouflage them as they made their way carefully back to
the house, thankful for the added cover of the night’s approach.
They found a small red coupe parked at the front of the house, but
there was no indication as to the identity of the driver. Judah
cautioned Marin to remain hidden while he moved in to get a better
look, but she protested, reminding him he was the one the police
would be looking for.
“I know what I’m doing, Marin,” he whispered insistently.
“I’m not sending you out there alone. Besides, I’m pretty sure I
know who it is, and if I’m right, we have nothing to worry about.
Stay here.”
He approached the house with tender feet, careful not to
make a sound. As he came upon the front porch, he heard the
sound of footsteps from the opposite side of the house, where
Marin’s car was parked. The steps neared and soon he was able to
make out the thin silhouette of what appeared to be a woman
stepping onto the porch. It had to be Stella.
“Stella,” he hissed, his body positioned for flight.
“Judah?”
Recognizing the voice, he gasped with audible relief and
lunged forward to embrace her. “I’m so glad it’s you. We weren’t
sure if you were the police.”
“The police?” she echoed.
“Yeah, it’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it,” he prom-
ised, “but why don’t we go get something to eat?”
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He called Marin in from her hiding place in the field and
introduced the two women, after which Stella drove them to a diner
she had passed on the highway. As they drove, Judah filled her in
on the events of his week, leading up to his reunion with her
moments before. She didn’t seem surprised, and as they took a seat
in the backmost booth of the restaurant, she explained the persis-
tence of her recent calls, informing them she had received unusual
attention from several government agencies regarding the article she
had written about Judah. Their communication had borne a
decidedly threatening tone and she had been concerned for his
wellbeing. She apologized if her article had caused him trouble, to
which he responded with a sardonic laugh.
“I won’t lie,” he said, “it did cause me quite a lot of trouble,
but it was also my saving grace back in Quilcene. If you hadn’t
come in there that day, who knows where I’d be right now. I’ve
been needing to thank you for that, by the way.”
She shook her head in a refusal of the gratitude. “I was just
doing my job. But you mentioned on the phone you needed
something from me…”
“Yes, I do,” he affirmed. “They asked me to do an inter-
view, to speak out to the public about my parents and our way of
life, and that’s what I’m going to do. But if I’m going to do it, it has
to be on my terms, not theirs. You made an impression on me that
day in the jail. I can tell you’re an honest person; you care about the
truth, and I need someone to tell my truth, someone who won’t try
to manipulate it to meet their own needs. ”
“You’re right. I do care about the truth, and I’m nobody’s
puppet. But that includes you, Judah,” she warned. “If you want
me to tell your story, you’re going to have to open up to me, answer
questions, even if they’re tough.”
“I understand that and respect that.”
Stella withdrew into a state of deep thought then, squeezing
the ridge of her nose as she seemed to struggle for a solution to an
unspoken problem. After a few moments, she slapped her hand
down on the table top, rattling the silverware. “Okay, here’s what
I’d like to do,” she announced. “I could write another story for the
American Guardian like I did before. That obviously penetrated the
mainstream press and got a lot of exposure. But, as you have seen,
the story can then be manipulated to some extent based upon the
way it’s presented by other newscasters. What I’m thinking might
155
be wise this time is to conduct a recorded interview, let people see
you in the flesh and blood telling your story and make sure they
have direct access to it in its entirety by broadcasting it and making
it available over the internet. What do you think? Are you up for
that?”
“Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “But how can we do that? Do you
have the equipment and a website to present it on?”
“We have video presentations on the American Guardian site
all the time. I’ve got a friend who does the camera work on that
end. I can give him a call, see if he can meet us back at your house.
If he can get here within the next hour or so, we should be able to
get it on the site by this evening. Once it’s on the net, it’ll take on a
life of its own.”
“Alright then, let’s do it,” he assented. He turned then to
Marin and took hold of her hand. “Before we move forward,
though, there’s just one thing I have to clarify. I had originally
intended to give this interview because I was going back to the
mountains, and I wasn’t sure what the authorities might do or say in
the wake of that. I wanted to make sure someone with a public
voice knew the truth about what had happened to me. But things
have changed just a little.” He squeezed Marin’s hand and she eyed
him curiously, her mouth opened in an expression of hope. “I’ve
decided I can’t run away from this. If I do, it’ll only be because I
gave in to fear, and I don’t want to live that way. If I want to be
free, I can’t live that way.”
“Oh, thank God!” Marin squealed, throwing her arms
around his neck. “I knew it. I don’t know how, but I just knew it.
Come here.” She pulled him close for a kiss then leaned back into
her seat with another squeal, but as the gravity of his decision sunk
in, she added, “Are you sure, though? You’re not doing this just for
me, just because of what I said. This is what you want, right?”
“Yes,” he nodded emphatically. “I’m positive.”
“But the microchip and the prison threats…all of that’s still
there.”
“Whatever happens to me, I’ve got to make my stand.” It
occurred to him his whole life had been leading to that very mo-
ment, and having reached it, he felt as if he had entered a new stage,
one in which the realm of potentiality had once again become
boundless.
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The three of them sat at the diner sipping coffee and talking
for another hour after dinner, waiting for Stella’s friend to arrive
and follow them back to the Hardison farm. The interview pro-
ceeded fluidly and they were able to wrap it up in under an hour,
leaving plenty of time for Stella’s friend to prepare the footage and
upload it to the American Guardian website as an exclusive for
evening news trackers. Stella remained to talk with Judah into the
wee hours of the morning, Marin having drifted asleep on the
couch beside them. When they finished, he walked Stella to her car
and they exchanged a warm embrace before she slid behind the
wheel. Dawn was approaching, and the air heavy with dew
breathed an expectant sigh across the back of Judah’s neck.
“So where do you go from here?” she asked, leaning
through the window.
“I haven’t figured that out just yet,” he stated, “but wher-
ever it is, it’ll be home.”
She smiled with a nod of appreciation then turned the key
in her ignition and pulled from the house, the crunch of her wheels
on the gravel breaking the stillness of the morning, and left Judah
with a final wave of her hand before disappearing beyond the dense
brush. He took a seat on the porch step and stared out at the
expanse of land that stretched before him much farther than his
eyes could see, envisioning the myriad forms of life that would soon
be waking to unwrap the very same package that lay at his own feet
that morning – the gift of yet another day. The moon’s light mixed
with the faint glow that now peeked above the horizon, and Judah
could just discern the fluttering motion of an insect several feet
before his nose. The insect neared and came to rest on his big toe,
batted its bright yellow wings flirtatiously, and then took flight
again, weaving a wild path across the open field. He watched as the
butterfly’s dance carried it beyond his own line of vision to places
only his imagination could follow, where space and time were
populated with infinite intricacies of possibility. Then he stood to
go inside where he knew Marin lay waiting for him, stretched his
arms wide, opening his chest to the sky, and whispered, “Thank
you.”
157
10
Stella: Good evening viewers…Stella Sparks reporting from a small
family farm in Concrete Washington, home of the now-infamous
Wilderness Boy, Judah Hardison. Since my last interview with Mr.
Hardison, his story has become something of a cultural phenome-
non, giving rise to a frenzy of speculation about his family’s extreme
choice to move into the mountains of Olympic National Park two
years ago. Tonight, Judah Hardison has agreed to give one exclu-
sive interview to help set the record straight, and the American
Guardian is pleased to have this opportunity to once again serve as
an agent of truth within the worldwide media.
Alright, why don’t we start with what we’re doing here to
begin with, Judah? You’ve been reluctant to speak with reporters
up until this point. What made you decide to speak out now?
Judah: Well, oddly enough I was asked by some influential people

to give an interview, to clear up a lot of the speculation about me
with the public. They were concerned my story might spark a wave
of paranoid flights into the wilderness and I think even more so
about what effect radical thinking in general might have on the
public.
Stella: And what do you think about that? What effect do you
think your story might have on the public? Or what effect would
you like to see it have?
Judah: I certainly don’t think there’s going to be any sort of rush to

the mountains. People are fascinated with my family because we
did what they would consider to be the impossible. My story is
158
really more a form of entertainment than anything else, but what I
would like to see people gain from it is a desire to reconnect with
the earth that sustains them. The way our culture is set-up now,
most people spend very little of their time in the outdoors. They’ve
lost all connection to the real source of their survival needs so that,
for example, they no longer witness the growth of their own food
or the downing of the trees that construct their homes and furniture
and supply them with paper. That disconnection from the earth is
not only harmful because it lets us consume far more than we need
to with little thought to the resources we are depleting, but it also
keeps us from feeling grounded, from learning to trust the earth
and our natural relationship to it.
Stella: One would think experiencing such an extreme way of life,

along with the loss of your parents, would have a traumatic effect
on a boy your age, yet you seem to be calm and collected.
Judah: It was extreme; you’re right about that. But I was used to
extremes. We’d been living off the grid for several years, and we
had gone into the mountains many times for extended stays to
prepare before we left. Still, there was a lot of adjustment that had
to take place.
Stella: Tell me about those adjustments. What effect did they have
on you?
Judah: There were many effects. I guess in the beginning, the

immediate effect was I had to get used to the idea of going without
all the luxuries even our simple farm life had provided, like the
comfort of a bed or toilet paper or a warm bath. It was scary, not
knowing how long we would really be able to survive like that. But
after a couple months, that fear faded, and I began to feel secure in
our ability to survive out there. I thought less and less of the
comforts we had left behind and became more and more enchanted
by the simplicity with which we approached everything we did. I
don’t know when exactly it happened, but at some point the forest
just seemed to open itself up to us and accept us as one of its own
natural inhabitants, and we passed our days as freely as the birds
and other animals that had taken their first breath there. In the end,
the effect it had on me was that I realized how little I truly needed
159
in order to survive, and with that realization came an enormous
sense of freedom.
Stella: So, let me make sure I’m getting this straight. You’re saying
the experience was not traumatic, as the whole country has as-
sumed, but instead it was liberating, a positive experience?
Judah: Not exactly. It was traumatic at first. There’s clearly no

way it couldn’t have been. Making that kind of adjustment would
be a shock to anyone’s system. But the trauma didn’t destroy
us…we allowed ourselves to grow from it. Within any trauma lies
an opportunity for growth if you look for it. Once we were out
there, faced with the very real fear for our survival, we had a choice,
to let our fears destroy us or to face them head-on. We chose to
face them.
Stella: But why? Why not just return to your home and face your
fears there?
Judah: That’s difficult to explain, but let me just put it this way.
There came a point when we had to decide which fear was greater,
our fear of what the future held for us out in the wilderness or our
fear of what it held for us in civilization. We had been out there
already for a while, our primitive instincts had begun to kick-in, and
we had become increasingly connected to life as it unfolds when
governed by the rhythms of nature. I meditated long and hard on
the subject, as did my parents, and what I came to realize was we
were closing ourselves into a box unnecessarily. We were limiting
ourselves between the choices of two fears, and what occurred to
me was we could, if we wanted to, take fear out of the equation all
together. If we let go of our fears, all that would be left was an
opening for appreciation. Looking around at the beauty that
surrounded us during every waking moment on the mountain with
quiet minds and open hearts, we made the choice to stay and
appreciate it.
Stella: You say you took fear out of the equation all together, but
how can you possibly do that when you’re struggling to survive in
the wilderness? Or anywhere, for that matter. How is it possible,
really, to take a natural instinct like fear out of the equation?
160
Judah: I’m not talking about the sort of fear that kicks in when
you’re faced with an immediate threat to your life, like say a bear
rearing up for an attack. That occurs at a chemical level in the form
of an adrenaline surge and serves to cause you to run or to fight,
whichever is the best option, and gives you the extra energy you’ll
need to face that immediate threat. What I’m talking about is the
sort of fear that arises from the realm of imagination, when you sit
and worry about threats that might confront you, even though they
haven’t yet confronted you and may not ever confront you. The
sort of fear that leads you down one worrisome path of possibility
after another, until you’re lost in a giant maze of your own making.
This is the sort of fear that leads to misery and blinds you to
appreciation of the only certainty you have, the present moment.
Stella: Yes, but fear does serve a function beyond dealing with
immediate threats. It enables us to prepare for the future, to make
good decisions that will ensure our survival in the future. We can’t
all live in the moment with no regard for the future. That would be
irresponsible, wouldn’t you agree?
Judah: You can enable the future without fear. It’s really just a
matter of perspective. Every day I do the things that are needed for
my own survival, and in doing these things, I enable my future to
unfold. But what I don’t have to do is complicate these tasks with
worries about their outcomes or concerns about what forces may
act against them. I can do what I have to do to the best of my
ability, with honest intentions, and know whatever comes of that
will be exactly what should have come of it.
Stella: What you’re saying sounds nice, and I don’t mean to argue
with you, but I must confess it still doesn’t sound very practical to
me. With everything you do, there is a choice involved. From a
broad spectrum of possible actions a person could take, they have
to choose to take one. How can you make that choice without first
weighing the possible outcomes, to try to avoid the sort of things
you might fear?
Judah: I’m not surprised you think it’s impractical. I think most
people would, given the way our society has been constructed.
161
Everything in our culture teaches us to think differently, to feed the
ever-hungry belly of our fears while starving our minds of the peace
that comes with appreciation. We’ve amassed an enormous amount
of mental knowledge, dissecting, labeling, and categorizing the
world around us into digestible bits of information we might better
manipulate, all in an attempt to gain control over each other and
over the forces of nature so we might dissuade our fears. In the
process, we’ve lost our ability to simply experience and appreciate
the invaluable gift of life. While mental knowledge has brought us
many comforts, it has not brought us contentment. We still live in
the bondage of fear. We fear what other people think of us, we fear
the loss of loved ones, we fear the loss of our prized possessions.
We’re so busy being afraid of what we might lose we forget how to
truly appreciate the beauty we have right now, in the present
moment.
But there is another sort of knowledge, the innate knowl-
edge that comes to us naturally, instinctively, when we look at the
world from the perspective of love and appreciation rather than
fear. If we want to, we can make our choices based on what seems
right, with honest intentions, knowing we have the ability to accept
and appreciate whatever may result from our choices. Like my
family’s decision to stay in the mountains. We made the choice that
seemed right to us at the time and found peace in the awareness
that whatever happened, as long as we were alive, we could still
cherish whatever blessings we opened our eyes to. It is when we
view our world, our lives, through the filter of our fears that we are
unable to see all we could be thankful for.
Stella: So, if everything we’ve been taught tells us to live in fear,

how can we learn to see the world with appreciation?
Judah: It’s a process, changing something so ingrained within your

frame of reference, but all you have to do in any given situation is
recognize when you are responding to your environment with fear
and then ask yourself, what’s the worst case scenario if this doesn’t
go the way I think it should? Then, can I still find contentment
even under those circumstances? Of course, since contentment
comes from within yourself, you will find you can be content under
any circumstances if you want to. If the worst case scenario is
death, and in fact the root of most any fear can be traced back to
162
the fear of death, then ask yourself if you can accept that too. Once
you’ve faced the fear of death and have accepted its inevitability,
you will find you are finally free to fully appreciate your life.
Stella: So, what you’re saying is accepting death is the only way to
find contentment in life?
Judah: Yes, I am. It may sound radical, but that’s okay. I’m
comfortable with that label. Death is going to happen to each and
every one of us whether we accept it or not, so why not just accept
it and enjoy the precious moments of life we have now?
Stella: Well, I can think of one reason, a little matter of Darwin’s

law of natural selection. Since there is clearly a struggle to survive,
in other words, we’re not able to just sit back and exist without
feeding and sheltering ourselves and so on, it’s obvious those who
spend more time concerning themselves with preparations for their
future survival will be the fittest to survive the longest. We have to
be properly prepared to compete for our own survival.
Judah: The way we have come to understand the concept of

survival of the fittest is ironic to me. What most of us are fighting
for in today’s society is not merely survival. We’ve far surpassed
meeting the needs of our own survival. What we’re competing with
each other for now is status and luxury. As a species, one of our
greatest assets in terms of Darwin’s natural selection is our mind,
because it gives us the ability to adapt quickly and consciously to
our environment. What we have done with this asset is to seek to
conquer nature, not adapt to it. We are consuming far more of the
earth’s resources than we need to, and that means our way of life is
out of balance with the earth. While at the present moment and
throughout our recorded history, it has appeared our species is the
fittest to survive, if our way of life ultimately endangers the survival
of the planet as a whole, we may find we have caused our own
destruction.
Stella: And that would mean we weren’t the fittest to survive.
Judah: Exactly. Our irrational fear of death, and I say irrational

because it is not rational to refuse to accept what is absolutely
163
inevitable, has led us to a compulsive addiction to the basic means
of survival. We find ourselves caught up in an endless struggle to
build larger homes, to feast on bigger, richer meals, to stockpile
more and more possessions. Somewhere along the way we’ve
forgotten we could be quite content with what we already have,
with even much less than we already have, if only we allowed
ourselves to be. This mad pursuit for wealth, this obsessive addic-
tion to the act of consumption, is all ego, all vanity, all one grand
statement that lets us believe for a moment we are invincible. That
we may not have to face the certainty of death. But this of course is
a lie, and why should we be bound by a lie when we can experience
the freedom that comes with the truth?
The truth is, of course, we all will die someday, return to the
oneness from which we came, like a river flowing back to the sea.
Once we accept that, truly accept it, we can begin to embrace the
beauty that comes packaged in every little moment we’ve been
granted. We can begin to look at the shelter over our head and
appreciate it for what it is, rather than fear what it projects to our
neighbors about our financial stability. We can begin to eat our
food with an appreciation for its sole purpose, instead of using it as
stuffing because we believe we are not already whole. We can wear
our clothing with an appreciation for its warmth or the shade it
provides from the sun, rather than with a fear that others might
disapprove of its style or logo. Suddenly the struggle for survival
doesn’t seem so big, does it? This is what I’m talking about. This
is the sort of simple contentment I discovered on the mountain.
There is no need to pass judgment or to fear, if you don’t want to
be bound by judgment and fear yourself. Contentment comes from
within, from the heart of appreciation. All we have to do is open
ourselves to it.
Stella: Well, I must say you do make a convincing argument on a

topic I certainly had not anticipated us discussing. To be honest, I
wasn’t sure what to expect when I came in here. I didn’t even
prepare any questions beforehand. But already this interview has
far exceeded my expectations. It seems to be taking on the air of a
philosophical debate.
Judah: Life is funny that way, I’ve found, always exceeding our
expectations when we don’t fixate our minds on them. When I
164
came down from the mountain, I had no idea what I would en-
counter, no expectations whatsoever. All I knew was I had to see
the world with my own eyes, as a man responsible for my own life,
my own decisions. I won’t lie to you. When I was first confronted
with the many changes that had occurred since my family left, faced
with the many forces that swarmed around me out of my control, I
succumbed to fear. I saw the news about the war with Venezuela,
heard about the continued abuses of our environment, watched the
people around me struggle for the approval of others, felt the tug
and pull of people wanting to exploit me, and all I wanted to do was
return to the peace I had found on the mountain. But I realized if I
ran away, I would be giving in to fear. I had to remind myself the
source of my contentment was not the mountain; it was me.
Stella: But don’t you think it’s a little easier to feel content when
you’re living in the midst of such grand beauty, like you were in
Olympic National Park, than it is to find contentment in the middle
of the city, with cars honking, people screaming, and every one
moving at a rapid pace?
Judah: Yes, I think the quiet grandeur of the mountain can help
remind you there is much to appreciate, and that is why I said at the
beginning of this interview that I hoped my story would rekindle
people’s interest in the earth. There is much to be gained by simply
taking the time to acknowledge the earth’s beauty, to connect with
the source of your own survival, to recognize your part in the
natural scheme. But remember when I was living in the mountains,
I could very well have chosen to confront my environment with
fear. I made a conscious decision to accept it with appreciation.
That is a choice every person has within their own lives as well.
You don’t have to live in the mountains to learn to accept
nature’s perfect balance between life and death. You don’t have to
live in the mountains to recognize the beauty that already surrounds
you and abounds within you. Anyone, no matter where they are
living, will find they can be happy at any given moment with what
they already have, if they choose to be. Every person determines
their own level of contentment by the least of their blessings they
are able to appreciate and the greatest of fears they are willing to
release. It is all a matter of personal choice. All you have to do is
remember you have the ability to choose in the first place. And it is
165
within this recognition of choice that individual empowerment
resides.
Stella: Tell me something, because there’s been a lot of hearsay

about why you and your parents moved out into the wilderness,
with theories ranging from environmental activism to participation
in terrorist plots. Why don’t you clear the air where that’s con-
cerned?
Judah: It’s funny I should be discussing that with you here tonight,
given that tomorrow is December 21, 2012, the end-date of the
Mayan calendar. That is in fact the reason we moved into the
wilderness, to be out of the way when the end-date approached.
My parents had studied many end-time scenarios, and they all
seemed to speak of similar signs of the end times. With the Mayan
calendar’s prophesied date approaching and some of the other end-
time signs occurring, they decided to separate us from civilization.
In their eyes, civilization had become increasingly corrupted by an
array of human atrocities such as war, greed, and environmental
pillage. They wanted to separate us from that unnatural, destructive
way of life and reconnect us to a respectful, harmonious relation-
ship with the earth for whatever time was left.
Stella: That’s a pretty fanatical stance to take, wouldn’t you agree?

To be that certain the end of the world is coming, based merely on
the stopping point of a calendar that was devised hundreds of years
ago?
Judah: They weren’t certain of anything. Not in the least. In fact,

it was their great hope the alternative interpretation of the Mayan
calendar would prove to be true. That is that the calendar comes to
an end tomorrow not because the world is coming to an end, but
because this present age is coming to an end, clearing the way for a
new era, one that might finally elevate humanity above the very
atrocities I just mentioned.
Stella: Well, let’s talk about those atrocities for a moment, because
many people are also by now aware of the fact your parents were
strong political activists, working in a variety of capacities for
environmental and peace movements. It seems we’re heading to
166
war right now as we speak, and many of the social and environ-
mental issues your parents fought against are still occurring. Do
you intend to carry on their work in these areas?
Judah: Yes, I do.
Stella: How?
Judah: By choosing to live according to my highest right. By

allowing myself to interact with the world through creativity and
appreciation, instead of acting as a force against it, driven by fear.
In doing this, I will live peacefully because I am at peace. I will live
thriftily because I am content. I will live respectfully because I
recognize my real value and the value of those who share this planet
with me. I will be a living solution to the problem.
Stella: But that’s just one person. I don’t mean to sound cynical,
but what real good is that going to do?
Judah: There is nothing more one person can do. Every person,
and I mean each and every person, must take responsibility for his
or her own actions. We are all parts of one whole, and as such we
each impact the reality the whole can experience. Wars will only
end when leaders refuse to declare them and when soldiers refuse
to fight them. The weapons of war will only fall to decay when
workers refuse to construct them and when scientists refuse to
conjure mechanisms of death, turning their talents instead toward
the nurturing of life. Over-consumption will only end when people
learn to love themselves and therefore others, and seek to fill
themselves with love and truth rather than an abundance of food
and trivial possessions. Poverty will only end when hoarders open
up their cupboards. Hatred will only end when people understand
they are all connected, all emerging from and returning to one
whole. Anger will only end when people acknowledge their fears.
And fear will only end when people make peace with their mortality
and accept death as openly as they accept life.
No one person can change the world, and if I were to try, I
would only meet with disappointment and defeat, a sense of
hopelessness borne by the fact that every person has freedom of
choice for his or her own self. I cannot determine what others will
167
choose. But I find hope in knowing each and every person can
change themselves, and if they should try, they will meet with as
much success as they allow themselves to experience.
We are not as powerless as we have grown to believe we
are. We are not enslaved to the current system if we choose to
exercise our free-will. Freedom is only renunciation of fear, and
each and every person, no matter their condition, can choose
freedom over fear if they want to. Many people are afraid to
choose to live a life that is different than what their current cultural
system dictates. They are afraid to meet with disapproval from
others within their community. They are afraid that if they do not
function within the accepted guidelines of their culture they will not
be able to survive. So they go on about their lives, ignoring the
inner voice that tells them something is not right, rationalizing their
choice to simply go along with the status quo and instead seek
comfort and self-worth in the stockpiling of possessions, awaiting
the arrival of someone else who can redeem them. Perhaps it is
easier to be enslaved by fear than it is to face the risk of being free,
like a jailbird who has lived most of his life behind bars finds
himself terrified when faced with the uncertainty of how he will
survive beyond the prison’s walls. But fear is merely a state of
mind, based on the illusion of ego.
So far in human history, we have relied on the sacrifices of
prophets from the past to bring forth the fruits we wish to see
borne unto the tree of humanity. We expect their sacrifices are
enough to account for all of humanity throughout the ages. And
why is this? Is it out of love or true reverence for these prophets?
Or is it because we are too afraid of death, of our own personal
sacrifices, to bring about the changes ourselves? What if we were
each of us willing to sacrifice? What if we were each of us willing to
abandon fear, to understand we are all parts of one whole? What if
we were to recognize the fierce struggle for our individual survival
endangers the survival of the whole, much like a cancer cell endan-
gers the survival of the body? Is that not what the prophets of long
ago recognized? Did they not abandon personal gain for the sake
of all? Did they not realize that the law of brotherly love and the
renunciation of self-aggrandizement was the only way to attain true
abundance? If we were each to take up our staffs as fearless proph-
ets, imagine what our legacy could be.
168
Stella: I imagine it could be pretty amazing. Too good to be true, it
seems. I mean, to really put an end to war, poverty, hatred, envi-
ronmental imbalances and such, we’d be working against many
centuries of ingrained cultural ideologies. It’s idealistic, to be sure,
but it’s not really realistic, wouldn’t you agree?
Judah: Perhaps, then, the very first step must be releasing the very
notion you just put forth…the idea that what is ideal cannot also be
real. It is a limiting concept with which we have chosen to bind
ourselves. If you let go of that presumption, just for a moment,
long enough to really entertain the potential that lies within the
alternate reality, you can breathe life into hope. You can taste
freedom, true freedom, for the first time in your life.
Let’s assume for a moment the Mayan end-date tomorrow
is in fact ushering in a new era for humanity. What would it take
for that to happen? Couldn’t it be as simple as a little flash of light
flickering in the minds of the masses, a light that opens the mind to
the realm of infinite possibility we exist in? What might happen if
suddenly individuals around the world awakened to the fact that we
have the ability to determine what our reality will be, that we can
indeed make the ideal real?
It is, after all, only our minds that tell us this is impossible.
Because our minds have evolved along the way, both individually
and as a collective whole. Each choice that has been made has led
us down a certain path, and as we’ve ventured down each path,
we’ve left other paths uncharted. But just because we have not yet
explored these other paths does not mean they do not exist within
the realm of possible realities. Just because our minds have evolved
in a certain way thus far, does not mean there is not another
possible way we could evolve. If we want to, we can choose to re-
evolve and this time, take individual conscious control of our own
evolution. In this way, we become active co-creators of our shared
reality. We are not mere victims of circumstance, as many would
like to believe. We are active participants. Every choice we make
manifests the reality we will experience. If we choose to believe we
are victims in all this, we are buying into an illusion and enslaving
ourselves to someone else’s vision.
But this enslavement is a result of our own choice. For far
too long, the masses have accepted the presumed authority of
social, political and religious leaders, following them down paths of
169
destruction, violence, and corrosive greed. In the process we have
come to distrust our own inner source of wisdom, our own inner
desire for a more ideal way of life on earth, and having subverted
our true potential, we have come to disdain ourselves and each
other. It doesn’t have to be that way. We can embrace the power
that lies within each one of us as conscious creators of our reality
any time we choose to. We can let our highest aspirations shed
light upon infinite paths of possibility and choose our own steps
with courage, hope, and wisdom. And in doing this, we can reclaim
the dignity and unconditional love for ourselves and each other that
is our birthright.
But all of this is of course a choice we must each make on
our own and there is no judgment here, only the inevitable fact we
will bear the fruits of our own choices within our own lives, and as
a collective whole we will eat of our communal banquet. As for me,
I have chosen to abandon fear and take up my staff. I will not
travel the land asking others to join me. I will not attempt to make
a choice for any other because I do not have the right to do so. My
way of life will be my prophecy, plain and simple. I will be living
proof there is another way to survive, a fuller, freer means of
existence. The earth will sustain me as long as it so pleases, and
when it is time, I will return to the oneness from which I came,
peacefully.
Stella: Well, I hope you find you are not walking that path alone.
I, for one, intend to join you. You told me before we started
tonight this would be your last interview, your last communication
with the public. Is there anything else you’d like to tell your
audience?
Judah: Yes…Wake up.
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2012: Waking of the Prophets

by Rose Elizabeth Hahn

2012: Waking of the Prophets

Re:Evolution Media, LLC. Publishing Division

Copyright © Rose Elizabeth Hahn, 2008

Cover Art: Illustration by Elen and Graphics by Melissa Webb

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

Manufactured in the United States of America

December 11, 2012

Judah awoke to the glare of the morning sun through the

December 13, 2012

The next morning Judah awoke before sunrise, eager to ac-

December 14, 2012

A thick fog rolled across a bald plateau like an ocean wave,

Kulkulkan’s command seemed to rip through the cobwebs

The public is rarely aware of the political and bureaucratic

Judah awakened early the next morning feeling refreshed

The next morning, Judah awoke early, drawn from the

December 18, 2012

As the sunrise approached, his eyes were growing heavy

December 20, 2012

“Looks like this is the end of the line,” David commented.

Love to watch you grow-

“Have you forgotten so easily all you learned on the mountain?”

Judah: Well, oddly enough I was asked by some influential people

Judah: I certainly don’t think there’s going to be any sort of rush to

Stella: One would think experiencing such an extreme way of life,

Judah: There were many effects. I guess in the beginning, the

Judah: Not exactly. It was traumatic at first. There’s clearly no

Stella: So, if everything we’ve been taught tells us to live in fear,

Judah: It’s a process, changing something so ingrained within your

Stella: Well, I can think of one reason, a little matter of Darwin’s

Judah: The way we have come to understand the concept of

Stella: And that would mean we weren’t the fittest to survive.

Judah: Exactly. Our irrational fear of death, and I say irrational

Stella: Well, I must say you do make a convincing argument on a

Stella: Tell me something, because there’s been a lot of hearsay

Stella: That’s a pretty fanatical stance to take, wouldn’t you agree?

Judah: They weren’t certain of anything. Not in the least. In fact,

Judah: Yes, I do.

Judah: By choosing to live according to my highest right. By

Judah: Yes…Wake up.

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