All fluttering flags
And wave them for you
In a great huzzah
Until the sun blacks out.
But whether a shout,
A whisper,
A letter or scroll,
Doesn’t matter—
I can't take back what I did...
Only give this regret instead.
The following day was misty and damp but no rain. I figured Frank would be by to help me search for the other entrance to the cave and hopefully he'd bring Helen. The girls needed some social interaction too.
I couldn't believe how smoothly things were going though having two strong women share the cabin with me.
At worst, I was anticipating the occasional cat fight―at best, I was fantasizing about some version of the 70's sitcom, Three's Company.
It turns out neither scenario occurred and the girls got along well―their only struggle, dealing with me...
So, the 'problem' is me. I suppose I need to get past my college outlook on women and my own conflicted needs.
Just past ten the Cliffords show up and we all enjoy a mid-morning coffee break and commiserate about rain.
It's good to relax in the company of friends and feel life's normal flow return, but Brooke happens to ask about the local gossip and I feel the tension build again.
Frank has a scowl on his face as he recalls the latest events. "Ike Helmsley, a local petty official, is pushing the town council to begin enumerating people."
"Are they planning municipal elections?" I ask naively.
"I wish," Frank snorts, "No, that little Nazi wants to track everyone in the district to make sure everyone takes the vaccine."
A chill runs down my spine. "Do they even know we're here?"
"They won't find out through Helen or me but Ike is deputizing locals to visit every house and farm and even track the homeless to make sure no one avoids getting the shot."
Brooke suddenly pipes in. "Why are you so opposed to the vaccine, Frank?"
"It's not the vaccine per se―I mean if it were available earlier then that fool, Ike, would have been spared the scourge. He's a mess covered with plague sores because he refused to wear a damn mask. No, it's not the vaccine so much as the fact it's a method of tracking and controlling everyone. They want you to check in periodically using a QR code on your phone just to eat in a restaurant or go shopping. It's a way of tracking your whereabouts, like Big Brother is watching you."
Brooke looked worried. "But there's nothing in the vaccine itself, like some kind of marker or memory chip?"
Frank laughed cynically. "I wouldn't put it past Ike, but no, I think it's more of a control thing. Still, I can't help seeing it as the Mark of the Beast, even though it's just a scar like the type you get from a smallpox vaccine."
Brooke looked puzzled. "I don't get why you say it's the Mark of the Beast then, if there's nothing toxic in the shot."
"The toxicity is in surrendering to the Beast's control―giving him a foothold. You may not understand the spiritual implications but you will 'get it' when he exerts control through physical means―when he flies drones over your farm and spies on you and compels you to worship him when he sits on the throne in Jerusalem in a rebuilt temple."
She gasped in surprise."That's what a colleague of mine wrote in his research notes―he thinks Satan will use the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles to reveal himself."
Frank nodded grimly. "That's a real possibility only when he does manifest himself, people will mistake his appearance for the return of the Lord and believe they're witnessing the Second Coming."
A bleak silence settled on all of us as we contemplated the implications such an event would bring.
I had thought I had time to weather the gathering storm and eventually write a series of articles for The Toronto Telegram exposing the Cabal and its malevolent activities.
Obviously, time was much shorter than I thought and we needed somehow to alert those in authority and hope there was still a remnant of elected officials who could convince our allies about the Cabal and its devious schemes.
But even if we could find someone to listen, who could we trust? I was beginning to despair there was any help out there―no one we could talk to or wield enough power to make a difference.
I wished I had listened to Breton back when I was his student―I might have learned something that could make a difference. But now I'm powerless.
It's useless to even contemplate mounting a resistance let alone avert a global catastrophe.
For the first time I feel we're staring at defeat.