Queen of the Cats 14: The Ballad of Ed and Alice

It was never that Nix disliked Ed or Alice. Most of the time she thought that they were pretty nice, if somewhat bizarre people, and figured they had probably had some seriously jacked up lives to turn out the way they did. She mostly didn't understand them and wasn't sure how to best get along with them. 

When she was young, Nix felt that Ed was clearly a farmer of some kind as he could coax anything to grow. Each strain of marijuana that he planted grew to magnificent, rich, tall plants that were fat with buds. Nix actually found Ed's plants to be beautiful as each one seemed to be the perfect textbook example to represent a species or cultivar. Over the years she discovered that her encyclopedia and botanical books showed specimens that looked so anemic, they hardly looked like the same plants that Ed grew.  

Neither Alice nor Ed liked to talk about their years before coming to the compound. They didn't speak much about families, friends, jobs or anything save each other. Over time Nix got the distinct impression that Alice's pregnancy was part of the reason they dropped out of the 'shitty world' and came to live on the commune. One thing was very clear though, no matter how high they were or how just plain odd they were- Ed and Alice were intelligent. They were smart in the way that comes naturally to people, but they had honed their intelligence with education. Rather a lot of education, if Nix put the pieces together correctly.

Old magazines in the attic had her parents names in them, as authors. Those magazines were not the types that were at Nix height when she was allowed to go along to town to the bookstore or the library. She would have to step back and crane her head up to see the titles of the journals that were like the ones gathering so much dust in the attic. Her father wrote about improving crops through continuous genetic selection of the best possible specimens and cultivars from a wide range of plant communities, soil amendment, micro-irrigation and fertilization delivery, and companion planting with border deterrent plants and sacrificial crops which were more attractive to the usual crop pests rather than using traditional pesticides.

Well, looks like he had been on to something there. As she grew older, Nix found out that Ed had designed the crop planting schedule for the whole commune. He had picked the crops, the best areas for each crop to be hosted, tested the soil and brought in what was needed to make it perfect for the plants it would host. He taught a community of non-farmers how to farm, build and repair irrigation lines, make fertilizers, and test for chemical imbalances at all steps so they could be fixed as little problems, long before they became giant problems. Companion planting, cover crops, crop rotation. Keeping the land healthy so you could grow healthy plants.

Not all of Ed's ideas had been well received in the academic community or mass farming industry, but they hit home with some niche markets. NASA was very interested for some obvious reasons involving long term space flight and colonization on Mars. There were a handful of government and foreign government agencies who needed to create better self sustaining operations in remote locations where they preferred to not have people travelling on and off site so often. Ed got used to being driven to sites while wearing a blindfold and mastered napping during such trips. He was contacted by some incredibly rich South Americans who wanted to grow many plants, and he designed terraced plans for them for which he was handsomely paid. Additionally several ultra wealthy people who wanted to fade from life in the public eye and a number of private communal groups offered sometimes remarkable and sometimes just regular sums of money for his designs. He drew them all up, collected all of his pay and while visiting, Ed found a commune he really liked. He brought Alice back to check it out. It turned out that she liked it too.  

So, Ed may not have found acceptance in academia or industry, but he found fans in government agencies with trillion dollar budgets and people who didn't care how much they were paying someone for a job, so long as the job did what it said it would do- deliver higher crop yields, take the farms off the grid, create healthier plants and allow the farming to be managed by fewer but more skilled people. It turned out that this method paid very well and that Ed was wise enough to pick a good financial advisor as he knew that was not his strongpoint. He was also able to discern the growing intellect in his daughter as she aged, and he taught her everything he knew along with how to hack the things that were no longer available.

If asked, Alice would simply say that she liked stargazing and being made of star stuff. This was mostly because terms like astrophysics, extragalactic astronomy, gravitational lensing, and space telescope deep field studies seemed to make most people uncomfortable as they did not have a point of reference to continue the conversation. About the closest Alice could ever get was to mention one of the observational or radio telescopes she had used and their locations so people could tell her how much they enjoyed visiting Hawaii or Puerto Rico while she made her face look like a smile. Except in very small circles, cosmology and astronomy just were not vogue conversation topics that could stir up a dull gathering. 

When Ed brought Alice to look at a 'bullshit hippie commune' while she was three months pregnant and had to pee all the time, she had stared daggers at him for the entire drive. Once they arrived and Alice began meeting the couples and families starting this new community, she fell in love. Everywhere she looked, everyone she met... it was wall to wall brilliance, stacks of diplomas and hat racks festively hung with doctoral hoods and caps in every color. Scientists, philosophers, engineers, master class musicians, artists, writers and some of the greatest thinkers of their generation had come together not only to create a haven where they might apply their skills and knowledge, but also keep producing their work for publication, performance, and development without the rest of the world in the way and with other great minds to inspire them.

Small problem. It turns out that most great minds like being the big fish in the medium sized pond. However, at the Haven, everyone was the same sized fish in one small pond. Even if they looked different and had neat fins or colors, they were still just as cool as all of the other fish and none of them would swim in a school, because no one knew how. These brilliant creatures were all used to forging their own paths which is fantastic as individuals, but not a effective when it comes to communal living. Some left. Some new people came. Some ordinary folks arrived and that helped a great deal because they showed that work just needed to get done and then you could be whatever remarkable thing you wished to be once the chores were finished. After a few years, things settled out for the most part and people contributed and worked hard for their community.

However, it was the damnedest thing. World class minds are terrible at taking direction, even from their own family. On the day when the sick apprentice blacksmith staggered out of the infirmary as the now undead apprentice blacksmith, no one listened very well as Nix tried her hardest to sound the alarm. Maybe it was because most of the commune had never seen a walking corpse before and did not believe that Kevin was no longer Kevin- instead Kevin was very much dead and very much interested in sampling all the commune had to offer in human blood types and flesh tones. 

Kevin had bitten a bunch of people before Nix dropped him with a shovel to the head. She made her pleas to Ed and Alice, to the other longest term settlers to not let his victims die, rise and keep spreading this terrible death. Nix was told that she was 18 and needed to leave this issue to the adults. To Nix, this meant fixing a crew cab pickup truck with a topper on the back, hiding it in a barn with supplies, gas, rations, some guns and go bags, and then teaching all the tame cats how to get into the truck with a whistle. That turned out to be the best of plans. 

When the day came that the second wave of sick people shambled out as bitey undead people, Nix was the only one prepared. She scooped up Nocta, grabbed Ed and Alice and told them to follow her and that she had a way out. With one look, she knew they were not coming. The pair handed Nix a bag with water and soil test kits, carefully wrapped and labeled seeds, a spyglass, a compass, a set of star charts and maps, a bag of celestial navigation tools, a solar powered GPS and so many other things she did not have time to consider. 

"No. Ed, Alice... I have things packed in the truck for you, come on." Nix tried to explain but Ed just shook his head with a smile. "We'll slow you down. Fly, Phoenix. We put some other things in the truck for you. We love you." 

Alice smiled gently and echoed "We love you, now fly, darling. Be free and whole and safe." With that, Alice kissed Nix's forehead and turned her toward the front door. Nix turned her head and sobbed once. "Dad. Mom. Come with me. I need you."

Ed bent and kissed the top of Nix's head and whispered "No Phoenix, you never have. Now run. We love you." And thus her parents pushed her out the front door of their home and closed and locked it behind her. She stood very still, holding her black cat and a bag of God-knew-what and surveyed the wild chaos taking place ahead of her in the commune. Running humans screaming. Dead humans snapping their jaws and giving chase. Things on fire. Shapes on the ground in clothing that Nix decided to consider mannequins at present, for the sake of her sanity.

She considered the layout of the commune, the shape of the land, the routes to the barn and closed her eyes for a moment to let all of that information come together and gel. Still standing as a statue to not draw notice, Nix heard music start inside the house: Fleetwood Mac's Landside began to play, and not quietly. The noise would get attention soon. Ok, she thought, go.

From that first step until her last, Phoenix flew and nothing touched her, nothing even came near her. She did not turn. She did not look back at the house, the buildings, the commune because that was just the past. The only thing to be gotten from that glance would be nightmares or a pillar of salt. Resolutely, she went and watched forward and continued to do so every day since. As she sat in the wagon with Sampson and Garibaldi inside the great old barn on the eve of Market Day, Nix remembered what it looked like to run through your entire world as it caught fire and crumbled around you. 

She had no intentions of making that run again or of letting that happen a second time.

Nix curled up in the wagon for a nap and slipped in one ear bud from the iPod she had somehow kept working for years. She pressed play and closed her eyes to the opening notes of Landslide and slipped an arm around Sampson.

Queen of the Cats 13. Of Observation and Arrivals

By the end of the night, Danny and Jason had found seven herds of the dead and twenty two men and women equipped as a rag tag militia. Well, not so rag-tag considering the number of guns and amount of ammunition they were toting along.

Only Daniel had a near run-in as a loose rock dropped out from under his foot and threatened to tumble him into a pit full of the dead. When the guards came to check out the noise, he had somehow managed to spider climb inside the overhanging roots of an ancient oak and hang there, silent and motionless. For half an hour, with gunmen above and hungry corpses below, he mentally recited his favorite speeches and monologues from Shakespeare to Dune, trying not to think of the pain gathering in his back and shoulder. By the time the militia boys had wandered back to their beers, Danny had silently slipped out of his hiding place and slithered back up to the leafy forest floor. He memorized all of their faces so he could be sure to personally terminate them in repayment for his pain and suffering. He was too old for this tree-dangling superhero crap.

He took counts on the herd then swiped a can of gas and box of ammo from the militia truck. He applied the contents of both quite liberally to the milling dead in the hollow, watching the gas soak into their clothing and the dry leaves below them. He really did admire how well their shuffling steps camouflaged the dumped rounds of ammo under the leaf litter. That, Danny thought with a grin, would be super fun for those assholes in camo to find.

Danny transmitted his intel by radio and made it back to the barn just behind Jason. Yep, he'd hear about that for at least a day. Back at the big table, everyone had gone quiet waiting for them.

     "So, seven herds?" Nix asked.
     "And 22 bad guys. Plus whoever shows up pretending to be selling produce for the Day family." Jason finished.
     "Well, shit." Nix groaned.
     "Yeah. Pretty much. But I have some really hilarious ideas" Danny tried to grin but grimaced while rolling his shoulder.
     "Oh? Enlighten me, brother" Jason smirked at his brother and slipped him a pill and glass of water.
     "Well, how many pressure plates do you think we can make in a day, rig to explosives and then bury under the cover of darkness right in front of militia idiots and hungry, hungry corpses?" Danny asked, swallowing back the pill and some additional offered naproxen.
     "Hmmm, at least seven. Eight or nine if we play some Norwegian death metal while we work." Jason nodded sagely.
     "Danny, can you do this with a reasonable chance of not killing you and your brother? I really don't want to have to keep up the house by myself." the General asked in a firm but not unkind voice. It was clear that he was a bit concerned.
     "Solid 70/30 odds, sir. Are you good without either of us being here? We are going to need to work at the house and well... deliver the pizzas directly door to door" Danny answered, motioning his chin in the direction of the forest.
     "Hey Nix, save us some Applejack. We're going to earn it" Jason grinned.
     "Try not to die. Again." The General shook the hand of each son and exchanged some quiet words.
     "Just a head's up, we're going to take a roll by the Day farm on the way home. If it looks like any of the ladies are being held as captives we'll be doing a bit of captor extermination and hostage extraction." Jason's arms were folded across his chest. He was no longer smiling.
     "We have a bigger problem here, son..."
     "Dad, this isn't a negotiation." Danny cut in. "We'll take the ladies back to the compound and set them up in the bunk house and infirmary. We're not leaving them there a minute longer than necessary. They are good women, good girls, good neighbors and we aren't monsters." Danny finished and nodded to his brother then slid his eyes to Nix and held her gaze for a moment. The General nodded to both. Nix nodded almost imperceptibly to Danny. The guys headed for the truck then the General turned back to the gathered group.

"Time to get back to work."

Once the good times special forces lads were gone, the setup for market day began in earnest. Outside, stalls were being staked out and canvas hung while trucks and carts were backed into place. Inside the barn, a 15 foot walkway had been marked out with rope, keeping a clear lane around the interior perimeter of the barn. Family and single sized sleep spaces were marked out and some were claimed by the early and vigilant arrivals. Members of the council were carefully spaced around the barn so that there weren't any dark corners left un-watched.

Stalls for horses and livestock were setup beneath the great hayloft and some solar powered lights were hung from the underside of the loft to illuminate this darkest area of the barn. A few stalls were taken up by teen boys who would make a little money by turning the stalls and doing feed and water runs. The barn had been set up so no one had direct access to the walls where they could be unobserved and the darkest sections of the space had been reworked with lights and young eyes to keep watch. It was the best they would be able to do on the short notice of 24 hours.

With that setup complete they didn't have to wait long for more excitement. Within a few hours two interesting things occurred. First, a small army of tired cats arrived, many carrying small bags and packets in their mouths. The odd parade of black and calico and tabby was led by Sampson and they ignored all manner of beasts and people, instead they just walked inside the barn, found Nix and followed her to her family size reserved space. The four walls had been hung with canvas from the partition rope above and James had helped her find some extra lumber to construct cat benches along the sides of the allotted area. The wagon had been cleared out for Nix to sleep in, her sale goods were stacked underneath and low, wide benches were covered in fresh straw onto which the cats hopped and settled down. Nix collected all of their small packages, kissed Sampson all over his face, and placed him in her own bed to sleep. Garibaldi climbed into the wagon and laid down in a guard position in front of his best friend. Sampson's sleep would not be disturbed.

About two hours later, the huge produce wagon from the Day farm came rolling up the track with a team of four massive warm blood horses pulling the heavy load where usually six horses were used. The harness and traces were jumbled and poorly strapped in places and the horses were sweat soaked and foaming, clearly having done more work than was meant for them. The members of the council looked askance at each other, each hating to see their awful predictions coming true. Nix felt like a stone had been placed in her heart so that it stuttered in its beating. James and other young men ran up to unhitch the horse team quickly. The horses badly needed water and to be cooled down and calmed down. Their wide rolling eyes began to settle under the hands of people familiar with horses and they allowed themselves to be lead away into the barn. As he passed, James gave Nix a long, meaningful look. He did not suffer well the abuse of animals.

Three people sat on the front bench of the wagon and had not helped a bit with unhitching. Now, with the work done, they began to gather their belongings and descend from the wagon. One man and two women stepped down and beamed their smiles at the gathered crowd. Not a single one of them was a member of the Day family.

14. The Ballad of Ed and Alice

Queen of the Cats 12. Party Planners

As she pulled up to the group of young people splitting wood and digging the fire pit, Nix halted her wagon. As a fellow lead homesteader, even just in his mid-20's also, James Early set down his ax and came forward to greet Nix as another member of the council. He looked a touch perplexed at the broad smile from the usually wry and sarcastic young woman, but as he started to open his mouth to ask if she had taken a fall and somehow become nicer, Nix rushed him with a boisterous greeting "James! I am so happy to see you! Come here! I have a present for you!". She hugged the young man fiercely as if reunited with a paramour and whispered in his ear "We have big trouble James, I need you to roll with my lead. Treat me like any other girl."

James pulled back enough so she could watch his face re-shape into a giant grin as he picked her up under the arms and swung her in a circle. As he placed her back on the ground he returned her greeting with "Oh, I bet you do Miss Alexandria" and planted a huge smack of a kiss right on her lips as Nix kept herself from biting him and only snarled a bit at the use of her middle name. She never should have drank that bottle of applejack with him, but that was a couple years and a lot of cares ago. "Follow me!" she winked and nodded for James to follow.

Rather than unhitching her wagon outside, Nix drove Cow and her wagon directly into the barn with James walking just behind, scratching Garibaldi who was a whore for his belly rubs. It was plausible that her wares were delicate and couldn't stay outside or could be ruined by the moisture of dew or a light rain. Nix drove straight to the far wall where the big council table was set up for any meetings or decisions that needed to be made.

"James, we have a big damned problem. Who else from the council is here, because we need all of them and every map we have... but we also need to look calm and normal because we are very much being watched. Within 48 hours they will have slipped spies in among us, and no, I am not being a paranoid nut." Nix dropped Cow's rope and sank into a chair, finally realizing the toll that even a few hours had taken on her. In them, she had relived the deaths of everyone from her childhood and imagined the deaths of everyone she knew as an adult dozens of times while trying to act like a regular person, a task at which she was already no good.

"Nix, what the hell? Who is watching us? Spies? What is this?" James looked confused but not panicked as he asked. He was not a young man given to sudden and thoughtless responses.

Nix rasped, "Well, someone has collected a bunch of dead folks in small paddocks spaced around this farm and those dead include the freshly killed Day men. I'm betting they are going to drop those dead herds on us during the harvest bonfire and win themselves a bunch of valleys and homesteads and goods all in one night."

"Yeah. Shit. That's a big damned problem. I'll get everyone. You have a sit and a drink." James squeezed Nix's shoulder and slipped a flask into her hand. With a final ruffle at Garibaldi he took off with hands in his pockets, looking to not have a care in the world. He was a good man, even if Nix wasn't sure if she wanted to punch him or hug him from minute to minute.

In under an hour, James had passed the word around and all of the homestead representatives present had casually made their way into the barn, just happening to carry their bedrolls or other items from their wagons that served as excellent disguises for map rolls. After ditching their unneeded goods, they came to the large table and placed their maps into the patchwork so the whole system of mountains and valleys became visible.

Using stones, pipes, flasks, and other goods from pouches and pockets, the group marked out every homestead and important landmark. A box of colored chalk allowed them to sketch in paths, creeks, old roads and derelict buildings. Nix chalked in the herd of dead and four likely positions for the others as she explained what she had found and who she could confirm among the dead. She talked out the routes, locations, and tactical plans she had considered for both sides, including the spies posing as  farm workers and even the upsetting possibility of them creating a back door into the barn itself.

Just one question was asked. A middle aged woman with tight blonde curls and the strong body of a blacksmith queried "Are you certain it was the Day family and that they had just recently been killed? Sometimes we see the faces of those we lost or know in the dead and it sets our minds to terrible worrying." Nix turned to her respectfully and nodded her head. "Yes ma'am. I saw Richard Day bumping through that crowd of dead and his own dibble was sticking out of his chest right where his heart should have been. His face was clean and he was wearing that awful Grateful Dead shirt with all the holes that Karen keeps threatening to burn."

Off to the side, someone whispered "What's a dibble?" The piercing blue eyes of the blacksmith flicked in the direction of the question as she answered "A dibble is a farm tool. It's a graduated metal spike on what looks like a pistol handle. It's used for planting bulbs and transplanting small plants to the field. Imagine a vampire stake made of metal that you hold like a handgun and you are about there. I made that dibble for him." The blacksmith frowned deeply. Several people flinched or recoiled as one.

The group at the table became very quite. No one laughed at Nix. No one dismissed her. Anyone who had survived on their own for this long after Revenant Day had good instincts and was probably not a hysteric. An older and soft-spoken man known simply as "The General" (because he had been) leaned forward and perused the map. Two of his sons moved forward with him and others stepped aside so they could get in closer. The General picked up the blue chalk which marked possible locations for dead herds and placed two more small X marks on the maps and then tossed the stick of chalk to one of his sons who snatched it out of the air, seeming not to have looked up. He added one more X and similarly his brother added two more. One known location and nine possible locations.

One of the sons, Daniel, nodded to his brother Jason and began "We both ran a couple of tours of special ops in the military." At this understatement, Jason smirked. "We'll go run recon tonight after dark. These sites are all close enough that if we split them up between us, I'm pretty sure we can put eyes on all of them. We have scopes and rifles in the truck. We'll get a look at their arms, placements, numbers and any other intel we can gather"

Jason continued "Let's number these sites one through nine." He turned to the General, "Dad, at 0300 I'll broadcast on CB channel 1. Two short, and then one long..." what followed was a complicated system of CB channel changes indicated by counted seconds of broadcast dead air and then counts of dead and living at each site given by a system of clicks, not unlike Morse code. However, as Jason and Danny were making up the code and channel hops right here, not using a set system, no one else would be able to follow them on the dial or understand what information was being transmitted. It was low tech, but so was everything these days.

James asked the General why Dan and Jason wouldn't just come back and give them the info, rather than all of this complicated radio play. The General let out a long breath, watching his remaining sons plan a dangerous strategic mission in just 15 minutes, knowing they were the most likely to make it succeed.

"Well," the General said softly, "it is very possible they can be followed, spotted, shot or captured. They are walking into a lot of area with almost no intel. Those boys have seen and done some crazy things, so even if they are chased or shot- they know they can keep moving and hiding for at least a few hours, long enough to transmit the information they have before they are killed. They know these woods and this valley better than whoever is out there and are likely better trained. Even if someone gets the drop on them, they will find a way to get us the information. Even if it kills them."

James looked at the men, impressed and suddenly understanding them so much better. Nix just nodded sadly to the General. She laid her hand on his arm, stood up on her toes and kissed his perfectly, regulation shaved cheek. "They are damned good boys, General, but you already know that." The General nodded once and turned to look at Nix. "And you, Miss Kobesky, you are a damned tough young woman and we are lucky to have you. That was a hell of a catch today. How did you find that herd all tucked up in a hollow like that?"

"Cats found them and led me over for a look." Nix nodded toward Garibaldi, now sprawled across the council table being absently scratched by Jason and Daniel as they planned their final details. Shaking her head slightly, Nix continued "They aren't always that... brazenly indolent." 

The General chuckled. "All those years we used dogs in the military. Maybe we should have had a few cats too."

Nix grinned "General, I just don't know how you would have gotten military cat ladies. We are terrible at rules."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder and leading her back to the table, the silver haired man smiled and quietly promised "There is always a place for you in this old man's army." Jason and Daniel were standing up from the table and gave their father identical claps on his arms. He nodded and they walked off to go toss their truck for supplies. The General headed off to meet with other family heads to start setting up some signals and creating security measures that had never been used before. As Nix began to follow and took a slightly staggering step, the General pointed her toward a bench. "Sit. Rest. Drink. Food. Work more later."

Nix nodded and sat on an old bench. James brought her a sandwich and mug of coffee with something very alcoholic mixed in. She asked no questions, closed her eyes and leaned back to sip the potent brew, only half listening to the planning around her. James sat beside her in silence and Garibaldi hopped up between them on the bench. It was going to be a very, very long day.

"You... you're worried about the Day farm... and..." James trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

Without opening her eyes, Nix whispered, "My friend, that might be the understatement of this apocalypse."  She did not smile. There was no joke.

13. Of Observation and Arrivals

South. East. South.

It was never a case of the mountain not being there anymore, but rather that the mountain was still a little bit there and you just needed to know how to look for it.

In memory it remained indomitable and black, only ever glimpsed with the right kind of eyes. Small eyes that saw in pixels. Unrefined animal eyes that saw in only shades of grey and motion. It was especially revealed in strange edges of visions when an eye did not look directly at the mountain, but to the side of it. In the periphery, sharp planes and time-worn but geometric shapes played in the margins between vista and simple brain.

The Monarch butterflies remembered the mountain, mostly because it was hard to forget something you could still see. In the foreign light of their insect eyes, the mountain still stood. Indomitable, and a bit blurred about the edges as if swathed in a mist. However, the sun shown upon its frozen, jagged planes and lines, and it sometimes winked a knowing brilliant gleam from an inky black and glinting jet facet.

It was not a kind place, nor had it ever been such. The butterflies that stopped there to rest were sometimes just gone the next morning. The massive clumps that hung in trees like overburdened grape vines depleted in numbers overnight. There was no sign of fallen butterflies upon the ground. They were simply vanished. The remainder of the flight would then take off as a rather truncated flock, no longer a glorious spectacle in a cloud of color with the gentle susurration of millions of wings. Instead, the sound was that of a rustle of some dozen satin ball gowns as small orange clouds curled away like smoke into the mists.

Once those survivors were gone, no eyes were left to notice the butterflies remaining behind the wine-dark glass, each flying frantically in an attempt to reach the sunlight and their fellows. Following the instinct to fly, they battered their own wings and wore down their stored nutrients. They slowed and then stopped like a child's toy as the battery runs low. Nothing outside the glass was left to witness the battered insects give in to the cold inside the mountain. Each by each, they tipped over and fell dead. The mountain fed and was sated.

With enough years and generations, the island had culled out the butterflies that would rest upon that mountain. Over the ages, the tiny minds of butterflies became hard wired against stopping on the island overnight. Their minuscule memories or, perhaps seeing the mountain in the far distance somehow dissuaded them, so they flew on. The Monarchs changed their route of travel and did not stop. The lighter than paper insects began taking their pass over the lake as one long flight. It was grueling but that was somehow better. The new route created some loss, but ameliorated the yearly decimation of their species.

The stream of southward flying amber and black wings would suddenly turn at 90 degrees east and fly for about five miles. After that, their course with abruptly correct to south and the creatures that hardly possessed a brain and had never flown this migration path somehow knew precisely where to go and where to avoid.



Between the coming of people and the departing of the butterflies, other species, mostly small mammals, birds and fish would try to make a go at a colony on this island seemingly without predators.With smaller populations, the mountain needed to wait for there to be enough living creatures, breeding creatures and extra creatures that some could just become lost as they slunk, or crawled, or fluttered, or hopped, or swam around their home island of black glass and basalt. The diet of the mountain dwindled and year by year it became a bit harder to see. Misty, sliding further into the periphery of the eye and also curling in upon itself in some atrophy of starvation.

Humans have always had a difficult time arguing with any disparity between eye and mind. The changed course of millions of butterflies was quite noticeable, but it took humans rather a long time to notice since the navigation of the Monarchs took place far out in a deep lake. Humans had few vantage points from which one might glimpse this spectacle and most of those were boats.

And thus, via boats, early people came to this strange island. The first people were of the oldest tribes who searched for good hunting, fishing or resources. None of those were found save shards of black glass that could be chipped and flaked into wickedly keen edged weapons. Unlike with the small animals, the tribal people noticed when fewer people returned and boarded their boats at the end of the day than had disembarked in the morning.

They searched until the sun was setting, the light burning gold over the black planes and angles of the rock, blinding the searchers. When no trace of the missing was found, they retired to their boats and moved further out into the water. Lashing their crafts together for the night, they passed a solemn and near silent night on the water. In the morning, they searched again and saw only strange reflections of their own faces, reflected back with rippled details that sometimes did not look like their own visage, but rather that of the missing.

There is something that reads as deeply wrong to the human mind when you look into a reflecting surface and note that your reflection does not precisely mirror the actions of your own body. The head in the mirror turns slower, the smile lasts too long, the expression in the face is not your own or someone is standing behind you but that image exists only in the faces of the obsidian and there is no one behind you when you turn to check.

Thus, the first peoples left and told stories of terrible loss and a mountain of death to any who would journey to this black island of nothing but sharp edges, pain and loss. The mountain sat for many ages and again became hungry again. From Black Island, one might notice the occasional rumble like thunder from far beneath the mountain. The very earth there growled, considering releasing a bit of magma from the center volcano but usually only managed a few wispy belches of smoke. From time to time, a group of brave men in small boats would come and try to prove themselves against the island. They were not victorious in anything but feeding a nameless monster that contentedly returned to slumber when the few surviving voyagers ran screaming toward their boats in hasty departure.

Many years passed and the mountain noticed boats. Large boats. Large boats that must hold many people. As the mountain was invisible to most eyes, the larger ships just did not come its way. Somewhere in the black heart of a black volcano, amid the chorus of weeping voices in many languages, an idea emerged. The mountain consolidated to one last tall peak. Pulling back the energy of the many lives that bound the island together, the outlying volcanoes, the young ridges of obsidian began to crack and with just a single year of ice and heat, they crumbled into the water forming an inconspicuous shoal in an otherwise very deep channel of the giant lake.

The last volcano slipped almost entirely behind a veil of mist and shadow and light and illusion and discomfort to any eye that might land upon it. Black Island, above and below the water line, waited and it was quite ready. Those ships did come. Oh, yes. Full of people and treasures, they ran at speed through the deep channel night and day. Most were lucky. Others were not.

With a keel torn asunder, rudders detached and holes sliced through the hull by sharp volcanic glass, there was very little time for the people on board to make decisions. Some ships began their sinking right there where the damage occurred. Sometimes survivors of these accidents would see the Black Island and swim furiously for its shores. Washing up on the sharp, black shore, they called themselves lucky for a little while. Soon, concerned with the lack of fresh water, game, vegetation or cover they grew anxious about how they might survive until rescue. They needn't have worried. Soon they were just reflections in the midnight glass.

Others went down with their ships and were probably the lucky ones, unless that ship sank at the roots of the black shoal. In that case, they just became rippling faces in the midnight glass facets that were underwater.

Wrecks small and large would be shifted away to deeper places in the lake. The shoal would sometimes rearrange itself to be much lower like a channel but in an entirely new spot. The peaks of the shoal would then be found closer to the formerly safe passages, sometimes just 20 feet beneath the waterline. The perfect depth for snagging a moderately drafting boat that had considered itself safe to run at speed. Oh, how the wood would cracks and shatters, and upon hearing those sounds, the hungry black glass would let itself be glimpsed by the ship wrecked humans.

The island did not know how much or what it had eaten. It was just a monster of rock and intent. A darkling maw waiting for the next bit of prey to arrive. The prey always came. It still does sometimes. The mountain remains hidden and sated. The ships remain sunken and full of fish and death. The black windows of obsidian below and above the water line can still be viewed with so many pairs of eyes of so many species trying to look out.

But, the butterflies can see the mountain. They have not forgotten to cross the immense lake and make no stops. They fly south, then east, then south again and are precise in their directions.



Copy write 2019, Kristen Gilpin
All Rights Reserved



Sources and Inspiration:

NOTE: The pop articles state something very different than the scientific articles. Lincoln Brower does not ever suggest a giant mountain, rather how flyways develop around obstacles. But a mountain that could 'go away' with little trace. to me, means volcano. Sure enough, Lake Superior's Superior Shoal is a massive conglomeration of basaltic lava flows which are mostly well below the center of the lake- except that pesky part that is only 6 meters below the surface of the lake near a busy shipping channel. So here we have butterflies, a missing mountain, 20 square miles of underwater shoal and debris, a area previously volcanic active and a rift which can sweep away rather a lot of rocky mess. To me, this equals a story

1. Gizmodo Article (2013)

2. MONARCH BUTTERFLY ORIENTATION: MISSING PIECES OF A MAGNIFICENT PUZZLELINCOLN P. BROWERDepartment of Zoology, University of Florida,Gainesville, FL 32611, USAThe Journal of Experimental Biology 199, 93–103 (1996) 93Printed in Great Britain © The Company of Biologists Limited 1996JEB0122

3. Lincoln Brower (1931-2018) Memorial

4. From Wikipedia: The Superior Shoal  is a geologic shoal of approximately 20 square miles (52 km2) located 50 miles (80 km) north of Copper Harbor, Michigan in the middle of Lake Superior, the highest point of which lies only 21 feet (6.4 m) below the lake's surface.[1] The shoal is a hump of Keweenawan basaltic lava flows with ophitic interiors and amygdaloidal tops in an otherwise deep part of the lake, and though fishermen had known of its existence for generations it was only officially charted in 1929 by the United States Lake Survey.[2]:193 It has been theorized that the World War I French minesweepers Inkerman and Cerisoles, which disappeared during their maiden voyage on Lake Superior in mid-November 1918, may have run aground on this shoal[2]:192 and some have theorized that it may have been to blame for both the disappearance of the "Flying Dutchman of the Great Lakes" on November 21, 1902 and the sinking of the "Titanic of the Great Lakes" on November 10, 1975 (the SS Bannockburn and SS Edmund Fitzgerald, respectively).[3][4] It is one of the known off-shore spawning and foraging habitats for the juvenile lean lake trout.

5. Monarch Butterfly Migration: A Mystery Of The Natural World - HD Documentary