Tribes of time, p.1
Tribes of Time, page 1
TRIBES OF TIME
Copyright © 2012 by Jaymes E. Terry
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and dialogue; except for incidental references to public figures, products or services are imaginary; and are not intended to refer to any living or deceased person or to disparage any company’s product or services.
Title ID : 3770570
ISBN-13: 978-1469910758
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62112-315-6
Published in USA by Jaymes E. Terry
The views expressed in this novel are not the personal beliefs of the author.
Dedication
To my late mother Rosa L. Mizell and my Aunt Grotis J.
Smith; two very integral figures in my life.
&
My wife Sueko and son Kapu-Maasai for putting up with me through the creative process. To my brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, cousins and extended circle of friends for your love and support.
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1: EMANATION
CHAPTER 2: APOCALYPSE
CHAPTER 3: BET NOIRE
CHAPTER 4: HOMESTEAD
CHAPTER 5: ACRIMONY
CHAPTER 6: CONCORDAT
CHAPTER 7: PLENTEOUS
CHAPTER 8: MAUDLIN
CHAPTER 9: BAD MOON RISING
CHAPTER 10: ANALOGUS
CHAPTER 11: CASTIGATION
CHAPTER 12: TINCTURE
CHAPTER 13: AFFLATUS
CHAPTER 14: DUBIETY
CHAPTER 15: RISIBLE
CHAPTER 16: CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
CHAPTER 17: DOWN ON THE BOONDOCKS
CHAPTER 18: REJUVENATION
CHAPTER 19: RECOMPENSE
CHAPTER 20: DUDGEON
CHAPTER 21: CHANGE OF VENUE
CHAPTER 22: ELEEMOSYNARY
CHAPTER 23: TRAIPSE
CHAPTER 24: BEATITUDE
CHAPTER 25: EXTEMPORANEOUS
CHAPTER 26: DIAPHANOUS
CHAPTER 27: RECONDITE
CHAPTER 28: RECOMPENSE
CHAPTER 29: CHICANERY
CHAPTER 30: CHICKENS COME HOME TO ROOST
CHAPTER 31: THIS TOO SHALL PASS
CHAPTER 1
EMANATION
T
he sun slowly crested the horizon over the beautiful skyline of the River City Jacksonville Florida. Dr. Haines Johnson had been watching its gradual progress from his favorite armchair in the den. He glances at the wall calendar to reassure himself that the date had actually arrived. The date was January 21, 2011; a date that had been seared into the psyche of this consummate perfectionist. Dr. Johnson began to ruminate over the list of things that needed to be completed before his dreams came to fruition. Before he could finish his thoughts, the phone rang breaking his contemplation. As he walked towards the phone, he tripped over the prostrated outline of his assistant Shelton Davies, who was oblivious to the incident.
“Hello” the Dr. grumbled into the receiver.
“Haney….! I just called to wish you luck in your endeavor before you embarked.”
“Jason, do you know what time it is? No normal person would be up at this hour.”
“I know that’s why I called. I’ve always thought you were a little symbiotic; especially when you came up with this idea and then talked me into backing you with the grant.”
“I can never thank you enough; I know you put your career and reputation on the line. But if this succeeds all of the hassles will be trivial. By the way, give thanks to your students for the extensive research on extinct languages for me.”
“If this thing really works, there will be no need for thanks. I better let you get back to the thingamajig.”
“You mean the Sankofa Project.”
“If you say so; Haney…..be careful.” He stated with a tinge of solace in his voice.
Both men hung up their receivers without really saying goodbye, they knew it was the finality of their friendship; and neither could fathom the idea. Dr. Johnson stood for moment thinking about his old friend Jason Abercrombie, and he knew why he had called. The two men had met during freshmen orientation at Fisk University in the fall of 1966. They were both 18 years old and fresh from tobacco road towns of the south. Jason had always thought of Haines as an impulsive thinker with an ideology to change the world. Haines felt similar about Jason, but knew he wanted to do it through educating the next generation. They became inseparable friends, and that friendship was tested through the Vietnam War and the Black Consciousness Movement. Now forty-five years later they could visualize a possible end to their marriage-like relationship. Before Haines could realize his emotions had taken over he felt a tear roll down his right cheek.
“Look at me dripping like a leaky faucet, it’s not like I won’t return.” The Doctor said out loud. I feel a little hungry, maybe I should throw something in the microwave, Haines thought to himself. While in the pantry his thoughts returned to Abercrombie and the predicament he had placed himself in by helping.
Jason Abercrombie was the Dean of African-American Studies at Jacksonville University; he had a tremendous amount to lose if the project went awry. It was his backing and financial support that secured the NASA grant. If the investors or the school Regent had known the full scope of the project named Sankofa, they would have backed out; understandably. This machine has the propensity to change the world geography as we know it, not to mention the status quo. Dr. Jason P. Abercrombie had to pool all of his resources, call in every marker and deceive the Board of Directors. If discovered, the Board members would have alerted the Secret Service and the Justice Department to the nefarious actions of Haines Johnson.
ARRGH! Haines dropped his hand full of fettuccini noodles and slammed his back against the pantry wall. He thought instantly and realized where the bone chilling sound emanated from; it was Davies, his assistant stretching the night’s sleep away. He chuckled to himself for being frightened.
“So now I know the dead do rise to walk the earth at sunrise.” Haines chided his young assistant.
“Look who’s talking, I thought we were being burglarized or worse, that you were making them eat your infamous egg drop soup.” Davies retorted
“I take it you’re not hungry this morning, did you get your fill of blood last night?” Haines replied. This banter had become routine for the two since they became associates twenty six months prior.
“I’ll tell you what Dr. Johnson; let me cook us something palatable for a change.”
“You won’t be able to eat anything if you continue to call me Dr. Johnson. How long have you known me Davies, almost three years?” The Doctor hated to be called Dr. Johnson by those he considered family.
“Okay Haney, I’ll stop if you promise to call me Shelton.”
“Point taken Davies, I mean Shelton.” The men looked at each other and smiled.
CHAPTER 2
APOCALYPSE
S
helton Davies had too much respect to call Haines anything but Dr. Johnson. As far as he was concerned Haines was omnipotent. Six years prior Dr. Haines Johnson was traveling through a portion of rural Tennessee and had experienced mechanical problems outside of Ocelia, about 80 miles northwest of Knoxville. While waiting within his vehicle he heard the curdling screams of someone in shear pain. He got out of his vehicle to investigate the origins of those screams. At most he thought someone had accidentally injured themselves while hunting or hiking. The sight he beheld would forever be the catalyst for him to work harder in completing his project. Three hundred yards away he saw six white sheeted men throw a hangman’s noose around the neck of a badly beaten black man. Initially, he was frozen experiencing that hardwired instinct of fight or flight. He then realized that he was obligated to provide assistance or he could never live with his conscious. Haines ran back to his vehicle, rummaged through his glove compartment and retrieved a .40 caliber Glock pistol; which he usually traveled with in the southern parts of the country. Being a veteran he knew he couldn’t just bum rush them like in the scenes that proliferate the movies, so he began to survey the terrain for the best vantage point of approach. He spotted a likely opening about ten yards away through a dry creek bed. Instinctively, he crouched down as he had done numerous times while in ‘Nam and made his way through the thick underbrush. As he crept closer he could hear the men laughing and teasing the man on how they would take turns raping his “sweet black bitch”. Haines was now directly at their six o’clock and could see that one of the loathsome men was urinating on the terrified man.
“Alright you sons of bitches, stay put and you won’t get shot!!” the vituperative outburst even startled him, Haines rarely used profanity; but this was no time to feel genteel.
“Who da hell you thank ya’are boy?” one of the men stated in a strong southern drawl.
“J-J-J-just let him go and I won’t be forced to do anything drastic like cap your inbred asses.” Haines was so scared that he could barely stammer the words out.
“I’ll tell y’all what nigra, you drop the gun and we’ll let’cha go.” The remaining men burst out in raucous laughter at the statement made by their friend. They all were now gaining some composure they had lost.
“Boy where y’all from, I know you ain’t from ‘round here. We got our coons trained better than that.” Again they burst into laughter, one laughed so hard that he appeared to be cryi ng.
“I don’t want any trouble; just let the man go free. What has he done to you anyway?”
Between chuckles one of the men stated “Oh you don’t want any trouble, then why the hell didn’t you mind your own business. You didn’t know trouble ‘til now.”
“Let me take him, I’ll teach him how they’re supposed to act.” After saying this, the man took a few steps towards Him. Haines pointed the gun at the man’s head.
“Muthafucka stop or I’ll light your ass up so help me god!” By now Haines realized that he would have to kill one of them to make his intentions poignantly clear.
“Go head Jesse, there ain’t been a nigger that had the guts to shoot a white man in these parts, Show’em how we do things.” Apparently, this must be the leader since he was willing to coax someone else into doing what he was too afraid to do himself. Haines had the gun fixated on the one identified as Jesse. He could see that the man’s eyes were beginning to widen, which he knew was a physiological sign that he was preparing to attack.
“Jesse don’t do it, I’ll drop you where you stand.” Haines told the man.
“He won’t shoot or he’ll have done so by now. GET HIM!” Just as the man was taking a step the silence of the pecan grove exploded with thunder likening of a cannon. Haines witnessed the sequence of events in slow motion as the round exited the barrel and smashed into the forehead of the man named Jesse. The expression on Jesse’s face was that of utter surprise. His head snapped back violently and his body appeared to be yanked backwards by some invisible cord. He hit the ground with a hollow thud and the crackling of the fall leaves. All of the men were now looking down at the prone body; he was twitching and frothing red bubbles at the corner of his mouth. His white robe was now crimson red around the shoulders.
“I told him to stop, I told him to stop!” Haines was shouting at the remaining Klansmen. He could no longer talk himself out of this when the Police were notified; he grew up in the south and knew that the law takes care of their own kind.
“SCATTER! We’ll get this jigaboo.” Another one screamed
“He shot my brother, oh god he shot my brother. I’ll kill you, you black Muthafucka!”
The scene was ethereal with everyone scrambling for cover. Haines took up a position behind a fallen hollow log. His mind was crystal clear and his previous training instinctively took over. Haines raised his head a few inches over the log for a quick view but couldn’t see anyone, not even the battered local. He started thinking to himself about the irreversible situation that he was now embroiled in. He would surely have to kill the remaining five men, and possibly the black man. The latter thought sickened him; because of this man he would either die or go to prison. Just as he was going to make another move to see better he heard the men whispering out to each other.
“Frank, did you see which way he went?” The voice came from his left in a clump of bushes.
“Naw, but Cyrus ran behind that Magnolia tree over yonder.” The tree was directly behind the position Haines had taken cover. Haines overhearing the men discuss this swung his barrel around towards the Magnolia tree. He couldn’t see anyone but still trained his gun in that direction. Finally his eyes caught what appeared to be blood on the tree, when he looked closer he saw that the local man had tried camouflaging himself by hugging the tree. Since he was brown skinned it worked pretty well. The man’s eyes were locked onto the barrel of Haines’ gun. Haines motioned for the man to be quiet.
“Gentlemen let’s talk about this before someone else gets hurt.” He said knowing there was nothing to talk about, what he truly wanted to know was their locations. They couldn’t be too hard to find with the flowing white robes, but he wanted to know more before he systematically stalked them.
“Listen here boy, you done fucked up; there’s nothing to talk about.” Okay, where did that come from? Haines thought it came from his right. He looked at the man named Cyrus; the man was looking to his right and attempted to direct Haines with his eyes. Haines followed the man’s gaze and saw what he was looking at; it was the one that was giving the orders. The man had his back partially turned to him, so there wasn’t a clear center mass shot. Haines scanned the ground looking for a small rock or stick to throw; he didn’t want to shoot the man in the back. He found one and gave it a toss behind the man. The man swung and blasted away with his shotgun BOOYOW! BOOYOW; Striking nothing but the bushes behind him. Haines took careful aim and slowly squeezed the trigger until the hammer slammed down BOOM! The man screamed and rolled to his left. The other men began calling out his name.
“Bailey you best be saying something right now boy.” That voice came from directly in front of Haines’ position. He thought thank God I didn’t raise my head a second time.
“I’ve been hit; help me I’m losing blood!” Damn, I thought it was a sure head shot to the temple, Haines thought to himself.
“Don’t worry we’ll finish this asshole and get you outta here and to a hospital.” That’s right idiots, keep talking and give away your positions. Haines thought to himself. By now Haines was crawling on his belly towards the wounded man, he could see his feet moving. One foot was digging into the soil with the heel, a sure sign that the man was in excruciating pain. Haines could see the man’s entire torso; he had his hand cupped around his throat with blood squirting through his fingers. Haines pondered if he should wait until he passes out from a loss of blood or should he finish him off. While still advancing towards the wounded man he came across a jagged stick, he then grabbed the stick and placed it between his teeth. The man must’ve heard him coming because he looked directly into the eyes of Haines. He was weak from the loss of blood and couldn’t raise his shotgun. Haines grabbed the stick from his mouth and knew what he had to do. He cupped the man’s mouth to prevent him from calling out and jabbed the stick into his Larynx, twisting as hard as he could. The man attempted to remove his grip but slowly slumped back to the ground. His mouth agape and eyes wide with the blank stare of death. After dispensing of his adversary Haines felt nauseous. He looked down at the wound he had just made; the stick was swaying back and forth from the blood pulsing through the wound. There was a slight hissing sound of air escaping the opening.
Haines then wiped his bloody hand on the man’s robe and reached for the shotgun. The two barrels were spent so he rifled through the man’s pockets.
“Damn, three lousy shells.” Haines heard himself say. He looked back towards Cyrus, good he was still there.
“Come over here.” Haines whispered to the now fright frozen Cyrus.
“Naw’sa, I ain’t wontin’ no troubles’.” Cyrus said.
“It’s a little late for that don’t you think?” Haines replied with a hint of sarcasm.
“Please Mista I have a wife and two chilluns.” He persisted.
“Listen to me, if you want to see them again you better do as I say.” Haines said as a demand rather than a request. Cyrus slowly lowered his head as if to contemplate the options.
“Come on Dammit! We don’t have much time.” Haines hurled at Cyrus.
“Im’a comin’.” Cyrus stated in resolution. Cyrus wanted to move but his arms wouldn’t release the vise-like grip he had on the tree. He knew that if he stayed where he was the Klansmen would surely find and shoot him or finish the lynching. Haines loaded the shotgun that he was going to give Cyrus and began crawling to meet him half way. Cyrus too was now crawling on his belly as he had seen Haines do earlier, but he had a more determined action about it.
“Do you know how to shoot one of these?” Haines asked.
“Mista, I maybe country but I ain’t stupid; how else we gonna eat without shootin’ most of our own game?” Haines smiled at his simplicity.
“Here take this; you only have three shells so make them count.” Cyrus’ eyes were about the size of a golf ball at the thought of what Haines expected him to do.
“Look Mista, I live in these here parts and everyone knows me; I can’t get involved.”
“Well you’re involved whether you like it or not, unfortunately so am I.” Cyrus’ face became more grimaced as the logic of what Haines had said. Either way he was in deep trouble if he let the men go, they surely would pursue the incident. Secondly, he didn’t know the white talking stranger who could easily kill him too and move on down the interstate.
