The Son of Man

  Prince Abdul bin Rahman Aziz Al Saud, the Saudi king’s eldest son, stepped from the limo. His loose, long-sleeved, ankle-length thobe and ghutra gently flapped in the warm late summer breeze as he moved towards the group of dignitaries who had gathered to greet him on the steps of the embassy. He greeted and kissed the familiar faces one by one, until he had reached the end of the line.

  “Welcome to Zagreb, your Excellency,” Muhammad Al Sabah said, motioning towards the building behind them.

  “It is truly a glorious day,” the prince answered, kissing the cheeks of the Deputy Prime Minister of Kuwait. “God has been good to us.”

  The procession began slowly moving towards the building. “We have much to do, Excellency,” the deputy said, walking beside the prince.

  The prince nodded in agreement. “Has everyone arrived?”

  “Yes, Highness, they’ve been arriving all day. Now that you are here, the circle is complete.”

  The procession moved through a large double door, over warm, opulent carpet adorned with flamboyant circles and squares.

  “Are your people prepared for the coming hard times, your Excellency?” the Deputy Prime Minister asked, as they walked.

  “We are Arabs,” the prince said. “We are accustomed to harsh living.”

  They strolled past four perfectly matching sitting stations decorating the peripheral walls, each containing two identical baroque arm-chairs the color of caramel. The chairs flanked a small rosewood table supporting single grey lamps beneath glowing white shades.

  Aides and security darted to and fro at the whim of their superiors as the group moved across the wide foyer, through a cream-colored walkway and into a spacious lobby. They meandered between rows of stout, ornately carved columns, beneath a powder-blue ceiling towering thirty feet above their heads. Dignitaries stopped and moved at their leisure, taking in the astounding scenery or simply stopping to properly gesture a point until they were finally led to a luxurious well-lit wood laden room. A large round table, thirty feet long, supporting water and coffee containers, mugs and decorative identification markers sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by plush, high-backed, blue-green velvet covered chairs. Rows of smaller, lesser chairs lined the perimeter of the room.

  The prince moved to his designated place and sat down. His aides quickly followed suit, taking up a large number of the small chairs directly behind him.

  Small clusters and cliques fragmented as they entered the room, each dignitary moving along with his entourage until they had all been seated at their own place of distinction.

  Piotr Vasilevich, the Russian Deputy Director, remained standing. He began to speak.

  “Дорогие друзья и отличенные сановники. Пожалуйста позвольте мне иметь честь приветствия Вас к Загребу.”

  Translators, sitting in a room on the other side of the building quickly translated the Deputy Director’s words through inconspicuous earpieces worn by each of the representatives.

  “Dear friends and distinguished dignitaries. Please let me have the honor of welcoming you to Zagreb.”

  “Сидя за этим столом(таблицей), являются представителями наций Иордании, Сирии, Ирак ....”

  “Sitting at this table, are the representatives of the nations of Jordan, Syria, Iraq...”

  “Турция, Иран, Египет ….”

  “Turkey, Iran, Egypt….”

  Each of the dignitaries nodded as their respective nations were mentioned. The Deputy Director continued until each country was dutifully recognized.

  An aide moved up from behind and whispered in his ear. The Deputy Director acknowledged him, turned back and continued speaking to the group. “Президент Андрей Николаевич, пожелания расширять(продлевать) его самые теплые поздравления ….”

  “President Andrei Nikolaevich wishes to extend his warmest greetings….”

  “И обещания заканчивают солидарность против оккупантов Сиониста, которые слишком долго растаптывали вашу родину!”

  “And promises complete solidarity against the Zionist occupiers who have too long trampled your homeland!”

  The men at the table stood and cheered.

  Deputy Director Piotr Vasilevich grinned and put his hand out.

  The men slowly returned to their seats.

  “Я теперь приведу к полу(этажу) Его Высоте, мусорное ведро принца Абдула Рахман Сауд.”

  “I will now yield the floor to His Highness, Prince Abdul bin Rahman Saud.”

  Again, the men stood and cheered. The Deputy Director took his seat.

  “My friends,” the prince began stoically, remaining seated. “God has been good to us.”

  “God is good!” some of the men said enthusiastically. Others grunted and nodded.

  “The protector of the Zionist invaders has finally been vanquished,” the prince said, standing to his feet.

  The men stood and cheered.

  “Allah, in his great wrath, has driven the Americans from their own land!” the prince shouted over the commotion.

  “Now it is the Americans who have been driven forcefully from the land of their fathers!”

  The men cheered and clapped wildly.

  “God is great!” the prince yelled.

  “God is great!” the crowd responded, in unison.

  “God is great!” they chanted.

  “Allah u Akbar!

  “Allah u Akbar!”

  “With the help of Allah,” the prince yelled over the turmoil, “we will drive the Zionists out of our homeland and into the sea!”

  ~~~

  Like everyone else, the Wheeler family had tried to book a flight off the mainland the day following the President’s announcement. Stacey Wheeler had a cousin living in Kassel, Germany and the family had hoped to find refuge there. When it became clear that leaving the mainland was impossible, the family decided to go east towards the New England coast. They were forced to abandon the SUV ten miles east of Burlington, Vermont and had set out to make the journey on foot.

  Eric Wheeler had managed to fashion a couple of bulky backpacks out of small limbs and rope. He strapped one of them on his wife Stacey’s back and she did the same for him. The three girls carried what they could in outrageously colorful grade school book bags.

  The family finally stumbled onto the coast nearly a week later, their food supply completely depleted. Within a day the crowds of panicky clambering people forced the family back inland in search of food and water. They settled on the bank of a wide, slow-moving river somewhere west of Raymond, New Hampshire.

  “Daddy, what are you doing?” six-year-old Sadie asked, her tiny face pulled up in a grimace.

  Eric was fingering a pile of fish guts. He pulled a small portion of guts away from the pile and bound it tightly with a shoelace.

  “Daddy, what are you doing?” Sadie asked, again. She stood near him, stroking his arm as he knelt on the sandy shore.

  “I’m trying to get us something to eat, honey.”

  She recoiled. “Are we going to eat that?”

  “Sadie, leave your daddy alone,” Stacey said softly, reaching out for the child.

  “I’m starving,” she cried, moving towards her mother. “We haven’t ee-un fer ever!”

  “I know, baby,” Stacey said, holding her little girl. “Daddy will find us something to eat.”

  Eric stood and moved towards the river. He slowly lowered the shoelace into the water and sat down. Moments later, little Sadie rejoined her father and sat next to him.

  “What are we waiting for?” she asked after a few seconds.

  Her father didn’t answer.

  “What are we waiting for?” she asked
after a few more seconds.

  “Honey, go sit with your sisters,” Eric said softly. “We have to be very quiet—”

  Something moved in the river. Sadie squealed and jumped to her feet.

  “Shhh,” Eric whispered. “Sit back down and be very quiet.”

  “What is tha—”

  “Shhh, be completely still.”

  She sat back down on the shore, her tiny knees pressed against her chest. She stared with great oval eyes as the creature slowly began making its way towards the fish guts hanging on the end of the shoelace. As it approached, her father gently pulled the bait back towards them just out of the creature’s reach. It moved forwards, towards the bait. Her father pulled it out of the creature’s pinchers just as it reached the shoelace. The creature moved forward again, this time latching its tiny pinchers on the bait. Her father quickly pulled it on shore.

  “What is it?” Sadie squealed, jumping away.

  “It’s a crayfish,” Eric said. “We can eat it.”

  Sadie backed up. “No….”

  Sadie’s mother moved towards them. “Did you catch something?”

  “A crayfish,” Eric said.

  “Are there any more?”

  “I think so.”

  Eleven-year-old Ally and fourteen-year-old Kiara left their spot on the shore and joined them. “Did you catch something, Daddy?” they asked in unison.

  “A crayfish,” he said.

  “Daddy, are we really gonna’ eat that?” Sadie whined, hanging tightly to her mother’s leg.

  “It’ll be good, sweetie,” her mother said. “What should we do? Should we cook it?”

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “We boil it I think.”

  “How….We don’t have a pan.”

  “Do we still have matches?”

  “Yeah, we have plenty of matches.”

  “Girls,” Eric said, pointing towards the woods. “See if you can find a tin can or something.”

  The two older girls turned and scrambled away. Eric and Stacey moved up and down the shore, putting together a pile of kindling. Within moments a small fire was crackling in a circle of rocks.

  “We found one, Daddy!” the girls shouted in unison. They plopped heavily to their knees in the sand beside the fire and pushed an old pop can towards their father.

  “Perfect,” he said, bringing smiles to their faces. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pocketknife and quickly decapitated the pop can. “Put some water in this, will you sweetie?” he said, pushing it towards Sadie.

  “I’ll do it!” Ally yelled, scrambling to her feet.

  “No, let Sadie do it,” her mother said. “She wants to help. Don’t you, Sadie?”

  “I’m not eaten’ any!” Sadie whined, still clinging to her mother’s leg.

  “Oh, you’ll love it,” her mother said softly. “You just wait and see.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want it,” Eric said, smiling softly. Sadie seemed to relax a little. “But will you get us some water?”

  She smiled a large, tooth-bare grin, grabbed the can and ran towards the river. She quickly returned, sloshing water from the brim-filled container, very nearly tripping and extinguishing the fire in the process.

  “Careful now,” her father said, laughing. He took the can, placed it in the glowing tinder and sat back joining his family staring into the fire. They watched intently, breathlessly anticipating the first sign of bubbles.

  “It’s boiling, Daddy!” the two older girls called out in unison.

  “Good,” Eric said, dangling the crayfish over the boiling water. “It’s about time.”

  “What are you doing daddy?” Sadie said, as her father dropped the crayfish in the boiling water. “Don’t that hurt it?”

  “No honey,” her mother said. “They don’t feel it… How long should we leave it in there?”

  “I think it turns red.”

  “Yeah, Daddy, look," Kiara said breathlessly. "It’s turning red.”

  “Yew!” Sadie moaned.

  After a few moments Eric knocked the can over, spilling the bright red crayfish onto a flat rock. He tried to pick it up and snap off the tail, but it was too hot. The family stared at the creature.

  “Is it cool yet, Daddy?” Ally asked.

  He reached for the crayfish and popped the tail off. Everyone but Sadie moved forward in anticipation. Eric pushed his finger into the tiny tail and pulled out a thimble full of white meat. He put the morsel in the palm of his hand, divided it into four pieces and passed one of the pieces towards Ally, who immediately pushed it towards her mouth.

  “Wait,” Eric said. “We have to say the blessing.” He passed a morsel to Kiara and offered one to his wife. She stared at it longingly and slowly shook her head. Eric smiled softly at her. “We’ll catch more,” he said. He offered his wife’s share to little Sadie, who immediately recoiled.

  “No, I want something else!”

  “Look, Sweetie,” Eric said. “It’s just meat. Pretend it’s a chicken nugget.”

  Sadie looked it over closely.

  “Smell it. It smells good, see.”

  Sadie sniffed at it.

  “Hurry!” the two older girls yelled in unison. “We’re hungry!”

  She reached, and gingerly took the morsel into her hand.

  “Dear Lord,” Eric said, his eyes tightly closed. “Thank you for this crayfish…and if it’s not too much trouble, let us catch some more.” He opened his eyes. The two older girls quickly popped the pea-sized morsels into their mouths. Sadie eyed hers a moment before slowly putting it on her tongue. She grimaced and began chewing. Her face brightened. “It’s good!” she said. “Can I have some more?”

  “I knew you’d like it,” her mother said, hugging her.

  Eric divided the remaining morsel three ways and passed it around to his children. He then tore what was left of the crayfish into three equal parts and passed that around. “Chew on it,” he said cheerfully, trying to ignore the desperation in his wife’s eyes. “Maybe you can find more meat in there while I catch some more.”

  The children gobbled up the remainder of the crayfish, quickly moved to the riverbank next to their father and eagerly huddled around the baited shoelace. Two crayfish hovered over the shoelace for over an hour and decided to take the bait at the same time. Eric pulled the bounty onto the sand amidst squeals of happy children.

  “I told you we’d catch more,” he said triumphantly.

  The family quickly rekindled the fire and within moments the two crayfish were boiling in the old pop can.

  “This time, I want more.” Sadie announced, grinning.

  “Oh you do, do you?” Eric said laughing. “We told you you’d like it.”

  “I love it too,” the two older girls said in unison.

  “What ya' got there?” a stern voice sounded behind them.

  The family whirled.

  Two filthy men were standing on a knoll just off the shoreline. Eric was surprised he hadn’t smelled their approach. The man on the left, the older of the two, stood around six feet tall, had a thick neck and flabby shoulders over a protruding pot belly. He wore blue denim bib overalls over a white sweat-stained tee shirt. A spray of wet tobacco flecked his teeth and gathered in the corners of his bearded mouth. His matted grey hair, looking like something pulled from a shower drain, clung to his greasy head. “Smells good,” he said. “What is it?”

  Eric moved towards a large rock a few feet to his left.

  The older man doing the talking saw him. “I wouldn’t do anything stupid. We got guns.”

  A younger man stood beside him, obviously a son. He was tall and skinny, dressed in blue jeans too short for his spindly legs. A tattered red flannel shirt gathered in a bunch at his pants. He was wearing a stained Chiefs baseball cap and grinning stupidly. Both men had rifles slung over their shoulders.

  Eric stopped and sat on the rock.

  “Whatever that is…we?
??ll be taking it,” the older man said, leaning forward to spit on the ground.

  Fourteen-year-old Kiara scooted behind her mother in obvious response to the lustful gaze of the filthy younger man.

  Without warning Eric reached behind the rock and produced a high-powered deer rifle. The men jumped back but it was too late. Eric already had them in his sights. “Move on,” Eric said, evenly.

  The shocked look on the older man’s face slowly melted into a menacing grin. “Fine,” he said. “Have it your way, but we’ll be back. You gotta' sleep sometime.”

  Eric hesitated, aimed the rifle at the chest of the older man and pulled the trigger. The force of the round folded him up like a jackknife. He fell to the ground kicking. The younger man yelped and went for his rifle, but Eric had already pulled the trigger. Within moments the two men lay dead on the ridge. The three girls screamed and piled on their mother. Eric moved towards the dead men.

  “Daddy had to do it,” Stacey told her children. “He was only protecting us.”

  “I know,” fourteen-year-old Kiara moaned.

  Eric moved back to his family, his face ashen. “I’m sorry,” he said, tears filling his eyes. The family jumped to their feet, crying. They ran to Eric and clung to him. “I’m sorry,” Eric repeated. “I didn’t know what else to—“

  Stacey put her hands on his face stopping him mid-sentence. “Don’t you ever be sorry,” she said. “Thank God you were able to protect us!”

  ~~~

  Todd had been following the slow-moving Cumberland River eastward for days. In the beginning, the river had been crowded with people desperately trying to snag fish with whatever make-shift tool they could devise but the supply had quickly dwindled. He had been managing a living chasing down frogs and an occasional mouse. The frogs tended to be a bit bitter but he hadn’t had any ill effects.

  He taught himself how to start a fire using a couple of sticks and a string so he was able to at least cook his bounty. He wasn’t sure which plants were edible. An Eagle Scout badge on a resume would take a man far these days, he told himself.

  At one point along the way he had inadvertently stumbled into a patch of poison oak. He wasn’t able to sleep for days afterwards, but the nagging, stinging sensation had finally abated to the point where it could all but be ignored. It had been a while since he had heard any birds or insects. He decided they had either been eaten or frightened away by the strange new mob of foraging humans.