Shift!

By Bill C. Castengera

Unauthorized cloning threatens to destroy humanity and the fight begins as evolution accelerates at a pace never seen before in human history.

The country is defunct. Revolutionaries attempt to inflict chaos upon the new union. The President is a coward and cannot regain control.

Minister Faldo supports righteousness; he is a soldier for Order. Pablo Benito cannot seem to get past his obsessive thoughts of death, and Kyle Fredrick is a drummer whose wildly popular band has had to cancel several performances because he decided to stab the lead singer's eye out. They must work together to save humanity and God must quit drinking cold turkey if they are to have any chance at all...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill C. Castengera
• Release date: Sep 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311559128

Bill C. Castengera

Bill Castengera lives in Jacksonville, Florida with his wife and three children. He maintains a philosophical blog in his spare time and considers himself an expert in all things, large and small, but mostly small.

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A special thanks to my mom, whose relentless support of this project fueled my ability to finish it, and Steve Wood, who nudged me precisely when I needed a good nudge…

Shift!

By Bill C. Castengera

Published by Bill C. Castengera at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Bill C. Castengera

NEVADA, POST GPF, 32 YEARS

In true antiquated fashion, and without much adverse attention to detail, the great state of Nevada is currently two technological baby steps behind the rest of the world. This is based on a national average and not to be confused with the fact that, though Nevada is a mere two steps away, other states are lagging by several, while still others are above the average by three or four. Based on this average, and only God knows who is in charge of these directives, Nevada has a little catching up to do. For instance, only four states in all their American glory, still hold on to a state seal. Nevada’s seal, grand as it is, and golden, embossed with the words, The great state of Nevada, around the outer edge, is a relic almost as ancient as the state itself, and, naturally, as relics of that type go, disposing of such a useless facet is undoubtedly difficult.

The state is undergoing a dramatic change which, in the overall scheme of things, will put it on the forefront of modern technological advancement. No one can see it just yet, not even the inexplicable individual in charge of rating each state’s progress who believes, with conviction, that Nevada will remain a petty two steps away from the national average for a very long time. Nonetheless, Nevada’s progress will advance so dramatically, it will leave every other state in the proverbial dust.

Nevada, home of Lake Tahoe and the Great Basin, like many other states, has a prosperous tourism industry from Las Vegas to Del Gibralla City. The capital is Carson City, and is only a few hops away from Reno to the north, off of US-395. Reno, at one time was a booming city, cloaked in the mystery of the night and the bright lights of fortune. The Great Power Failures of ’31 destroyed the city and forfeited it to the land, transforming it into little more than rubble. In counterpoint, though it had passed away so quickly, Reno suddenly became a tourist hot-spot for its ghost town appeal. The upshot to the death of Reno was that Del Gibralla City sprang up just to the east of it off of interstate 80 and was nearly busting at her seams with people. The city was massive, like a state all its own, but of course smaller than that, and it was called the ‘New York of the Midwest.’

CHAOS vs. ORDER IN MODERN SEMANTICS

Rule of thumb: never give unless you know you’re going to get back. The clock showed six minutes past the hour, marking with a click each passing second. He did not get back, nor did he expect to, and at the same time he hoped he would eventually. Giving was exceptional, receiving was phenomenal. He was not greedy per se, but he did err on the side of want. He wanted to get back, to be recognized in some sort of way, celebrated for giving so selflessly, but the truth of the matter was that he was not going to be. Too much time had passed. The point of no return had come and gone. There would be nothing given in return for his efforts.

The natural order of things dictated, he thought, that he should receive some sort of incentive to give again possibly, in the future. True, perhaps karma, or something of that sort that he could not physically see could have been his reward, and he would have been none the wiser. However, he was looking for a physical reward, not a spiritual one, and so he was slightly pissed off that he did not receive after giving. Charity was a dirty word when he wrapped his lips around it. He felt cheated. It should be the natural order: you give, you get.

The post-operative scar was healing at a speed he was happy with and with the remote control as far from his reach as it was, for lack of something better to do, he calculatedly ticked off the minutes in his head with each light click of the clock’s second hand. The room was sterile. The small window just above the cooling unit was slightly hazed with condensation. He could hear people shuffling about on the other side of his room’s door, purposeful strides, they had to be somewhere. He did not have to be somewhere. He lounged. He stretched, feeling the tightness of the skin around the scar on the left side of his forehead. He yawned and clicked off another minute in his mind as he envisioned the second hand reaching its apex at the twelve-mark and beginning a new cycle.

Saint Joseph’s Medical Center, Lipton Street, Mesquite City, Nevada, was a towering mass in an otherwise petite city just outside Desert Valley, and typically overrun by prairie dogs. They were everywhere, and though the population, according to the Wildlife Endangered Species Institute, was waning, exterminators scoured the building 24-7. They were like large rats (the prairie dogs) burrowing their way through the inner walls, and as of late, made themselves invisible to avoid notice. Their presence was felt, though, and the exterminators all knew, just knew, that the little rodents were hiding in the walls somewhere. There was a fabled Prairie Nest, though none had seen it, and as legends of that type go, none had to see it to know that it was there, somewhere in the lower basements, around winding stairwells and hidden corners where the air was thin and smelled wet with vinegar.

Catching a prairie dog was no easy task, and while most of the other contractors used a poison mixed from concentrate, Jeff Arenstein used an environmentally safe, prairie dog safe method of capturing the little rodents that he had concocted himself, though the contraption was a bit bulky to carry. Industrial Vacuums, Ltd. had modified a version of their hideously powerful machine with a thick, hollow Plexiglas extension tube. The vacuum was powerful; it could rip an eyeball from someone’s head if you but put the tube up flush against the skull’s socket. Jeff Arenstein had bought one before the model’s recall and now employed it to suck up prairie dogs from their burrows within the space between the dry walls.

The door to Pablo Benito’s room suddenly burst open, interrupting his rigid counting of seconds, making him sit up, startled and losing his count with no hope of regaining it without looking up at the clock on the wall behind him again.

Did you see him? Jeff Arenstein did not even look in Pablo’s direction as he spoke to him, but scanned the floor desperately. The man had a vacuum strapped to his shoulders, backpack-style, and it looked like the sort of machine landscapers used to blow leaves away from the streets. His finger rested on a large red button at the base of the tube he held.

See who? Pablo, feeling a bit off balance at the sudden intrusion, pulled his blanket further up on his chest as though it were some kind of shield. He felt a bit helpless, though about what, he could not put a finger to.

He scurried in here all right. I heard him. He’s in the walls. Do you hear it? Listen. He put his ear up against a section of the wall.

Excuse me, but you can’t just—

Shhhhhh! Listen! He slid his ear across the wall, carefully as to not make too much sound while doing so and tapped the wall gently with his first finger. He whispered, They can feel you when you’re close. They know it. It’s like they can sense your thoughts. When it’s just the two of you and you’re battling and you know one of you will win and the other will lose. But he knows I will not lose. Not today. Suddenly, moving like a blur, the tube went up against the wall, red button depressed and appearing in the dry wall, a hole, and a prairie dog sucked forward from the wall into the tube with a thunk. It was quite disturbing to watch.

Order is planned, without surprises, without variables. Order is comfort in knowing what will happen next, what to expect, and how those expectations will be realized. To expect some kind of order is natural. The flow of time is ordered, mathematics and science are ordered, and even smaller things have order. For example, we know that we will eventually blink to moisten our eyes. We know that we must eat to sustain our life. Abstractly, everything has a set of rules. If A happens, then B must happen. For most, an orderly life is a comfortable way to live. Unfortunately, with so many variables involved, order is an illusion. The natural order of the universe is the lack of order.

Chaos is the lack of order. Chaos collapses in on itself. It is the way in which things happen or could happen but do not necessarily happen at that particular moment. Chaos is the whole not-knowing of how something will turn out. For instance, an infinite number of things could have happened differently after Jeff Arenstein burst through the hospital room’s door. As a result of what did actually happen, another set of infinite possibilities are spawned from that and awaiting their birth into the world while others are mere ideas of ideas, so vague that to try predicting what could have happened or what might still happen is utterly fruitless. There are those who still make the attempt, and there are those that are trying, with all their might to inflict some sort of order on our chaotic world. Chaos is how the world works. Chaos is the universe’s natural order. Pablo Benito could not live without order, without rules that govern the world and what he should expect out of this world, and thus, expected rewards despite his handy rule of thumb regarding this matter.

Jeff Arenstein, for perhaps the first time upon entering Pablo’s room, realized where he was. He scurried out quickly with no word or apology to Pablo. According to Pablo’s belief system of order, he expected one, and was absolutely appalled when the door clicked shut without it. It was complete chaos.

A DOOR IN AN ILL-LIGHTED ALLEY IN THE HEART OF DEL GIBRALLA CITY

In quiet solitude, there is a door. Above this door is a neon sign in the shape of an arrow, pointing down to the door. There is no more detail to be revealed, but has been mentioned here purely for the role it has yet to play in the overall direction of the lives of certain people. In a lot of ways, it represents a choice, a unique decision of fate on the part of these certain people. The door has properties that either repel or attract evil and to be attracted or repelled is a true testament to the type of person you truly are. Nothing has ever been seen in this world in which to compare it, but the world is quickly changing, and technology is ever advancing.

THE GREAT HOLY CHURCH OF NEVADA, LED BY MINISTER FALDO, CO-FOUNDER

Angularly speaking, the assemblage was approximately octagonal in shape. The word ‘approximate,’ though it is a loose term to begin with by its very nature, is used additionally loose in descriptively portraying how the congregation was configured. Shape, however, was not the hot topic of the day.

While the sun dipped brightly into the church through the stained glass of the long windows warming the crowd, the minister also grew heated, not by the sun, but by exertion.

Then, he said, head down, peering into his podium, they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he saveth them out of their distresses. He sent his word and healed them, and delivered them from their destructions. Now that, my good friends, is what the Lord can do for you. He pointed out at the congregation to emphasize his point. He was good at what he did.

The good minister Faldo, rich cheeks, all rosy and fat, gave off an impression of warmth, of hospitable welcome, where none felt as though they were a burden to him in speaking or indulgence. He made time for everyone, never feeling overwhelmed or aggravated for lack of it, and certainly tried to help as many people as possible, with a smile and a kind word of advice should they be so inclined to ask. He was as a servant of God should be, and God was surely proud of him. Minister Faldo did not like giving sermons and such, though he did relish in advertising the free love of God. He didn’t like to push his ideas on anyone or preach to them on how they should behave, and speaking to the congregation in sermon could not be anything but. Regardless, they were receptive as always.

Faith is a hard concept for the general public to grasp. It is not the definition of Faith that has folks perplexed, but the idea and certainly the practice of it come unnaturally for many. As a collective people, and this is an obvious generalization, human beings have been taught to believe only in things that they can see and prove exist. The scientific method is just such an example. It has proven a productive means for the entire world to advance at break-neck speeds, with no time to stop and realize that technology could, in fact, be the devil’s way of distancing us from the Divine Creator. This whole business of God being real, yet intangible and not provable in any way, presents an inherent problem for our exceedingly scientific minds. Faith: believing without question. Faith is what the good people of the congregation strive for, and sadly, half practice religion ‘just in case.’

The sun sparkled through the translucent glass picture of Saint Anthony, giving the pellucid sections more sparkle, contrastingly. Few eyes ventured up that high, to where the windows were situated, and not only because they were so high up on the wall, and still only halfway up to the vaulted ceiling, but because at that very moment, the good minister Faldo was on stage and captivating the congregation with his words.

The minister cleared his throat and for reasons known only to him, absently thumped his thumb on the dark podium before him. The hollow sound reminded the classier folk that the podium was comprised of cheap wood, though they felt comfortable in that for the fact that it was so completely lacquered that they could not see the grain to remind them of it further.

Yes, then, I’m turning to Mark, here, and if you will find the pages with me, ah, yes, Mark 16.12, 13. Jesus asks them, ‘What were you talking about as you walked along?’ Then the one named Cleopas asked Jesus, ‘Are you the only person from Jerusalem who didn’t know what was happening there these last few days?’ ‘What do you mean,’ Jesus asked. The minister crossed his hands behind his back and stepped away from his podium in pause. Now, what, he said loudly, so that the people nearest the back of that octagonal mass could also hear him, did Cleopas mean?

Suddenly, he ran to the foot of the dais and leapt off into the aisle. It was smooth, calculated yet surprising and unexpected. As he flew through the air, from that raised platform, he was a feather. His robes were gliding behind him angelically, wisps of air tucking themselves around him as he flew, and the crowd gasped in awe.

The good minister Faldo, who loved God to his core, and truly kept Faith in his heart and believed without question in God’s existence, was also, in a peculiar sort of way, afraid of death. This was only magnified by the fact that as he descended, he came to the dramatically frightening realization of his fear of heights. Though his position in the air at that point was only slightly higher than the dais he leapt from, it was still not very high at all and even he had not thought that it was all that high before he had made the leap. Point of view changes everything, as it changed what seemed like a good idea at the time into a very bad idea at the time. Not foreseeing the fact that he was not to know his fear of heights had progressed this far for him to be afraid of a trifling four foot drop, and supposing he did not try to turn mid-air to reclaim the platform and thus make his agonizing fall shorter, he undoubtedly would not have rolled into the aisle on his back and sliding, on his silk robes, almost to the third row. The crowd gasped collectively.

As the good minister Faldo laid there on his back in the middle of the aisle, he took a moment to peer up at the high ceilings, and the heavy support beams that ran across from wall to wall. Support was paramount. Support could make or break entire countries. It surly would make or break his religion, everything he held to be true by it. God could be forgotten if not for His supporters, and it was up to minister Faldo to see to it that that did not happen. It is strange the things you notice at odd times, and minister Faldo had felt strange indeed when he realized that those support beams and his podium were of the same lacquered color, which, he did realize was pretty petty in the scheme