Free The Myriad Resistance by John D. Mimms

inside. As the corner of the tarp fell, total darkness descended on us.
    â€œYou ever heard of Chief Powhatan?” Burt asked in the dark as he flicked his flashlight on.
    I scanned my brain for recall on my basic American history, a moment later it clicked.
    â€œJamestown?” I said.
    â€œYep,” Burt replied.
    â€œWell, that would make his daughter …” I said, trailing off in amazement.
    Burt finished my sentence for me.
    â€œPocahontas.”

CHAPTER 7
    THE EUROPEAN INITIATIVE
    â€œDo not let spacious plans for a new world divert your energies from saving what is left of the old.”
    ~Winston Churchill
    â€œHe called her Matoaka … and he said his name was Wahunsunacawh,” I said, probably bungling the pronunciations.
    â€œRight,” Burt said as we stepped under the outer tarp and back into the dark, humid air of the woods. “Those were their real names, not what the English called them.”
    I wore a stupid expression in the ambient glow of the flashlight; history was not my forte in school.
    â€œHe was chief of the Powhatan people, hence the name Chief Powhatan,” Burt explained.
    I laughed.
    â€œIsn’t it like calling the president … President America?”
    Burt shrugged as we continued our slow march through the woods. “There’s a lot of things I would like to call that cowardly idiot,” he muttered. “He’s the whole reason we are out here.”
    â€œHim and my father,” I added.
    Even though it was dark, I could see the expression on Burt’s face, as if he had just stuck his foot in his mouth.
    â€œI didn’t … you know,” he stammered.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. “I think he ceased to be my father a long time ago. I put it behind me. He always believes he is doing the right thing, no matter how bizarre or hurtful. After many painful years I finally realized that his right and wrong and my right and wrong come from different places and arrive on different buses. He is a misguided asshole.”
    I shared this with sincerity in my heart; I meant it more than anything I have ever said. The problem was, there was one point I did not share with Burt, the one thing that made my job all the more difficult. Like him or not he was still my father and just as bad, he was my daughters’ grandfather. It hurt like Hell.
    We couldn’t help sharing a laugh about him being a misguided asshole. The most humorous things in life often contain the most truth. The truth in the world now was darker than it had been in a long time and one of the best weapons against dark truths is laughter. Didn’t Mark Twain once say that against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand? While history was not my strongest subject, English was. I couldn’t help wondering if my favorite author, the scribbler from Hannibal, Missouri, might be around. If he was, I hoped he found a safe location like this one.
    After getting back to the cabin, I found Barbara and the girls sound asleep. I lay down on my cot, careful not to disturb them, and stared into the darkness. It was so black I might as well have closed my eyes. The dark was my whole world for the moment, which was also an appropriate metaphor for the world’s present state. Earth might be experiencing a miraculous event. Many would even say it was wondrous and joyous. However, humanity had once again shut its eyes out of fear. The ignorance of man turned a miracle into something despicable, something dark, and something terrible.
    â€œMy father’s ignorance,” I whispered.
    I am not certain when I fell asleep. I awakened to see Abby leaning over me.
    â€œCome on Dad,” she said. “You’re gonna miss breakfast.”
    The sun was streaming in through the window above her head, the lavender tint from the cosmic storm made her appear as if she wore a purple halo. Sitting up slowly from my cot, I surveyed my surroundings in the