The Everglades - Chapter Seven

7

1949. The warehouse bustled with activity. It’d been four years since the Germans arrived. Systems had been developed for acceptance and shipment of inventory. Goods flowed precisely into and from the building used as a façade; an illusion of that which society deemed legitimate. Legal products and contraband increased the financial position of two men who executed a war from within the borders of their enemy.

Most workers were satisfied completing a hard day’s work. Johnson Billie wasn’t. Some things were acceptable; almost forgivable. If adults wanted to ruin lives through drug use, that was their prerogative. When it came to the welfare of children, the Miccosukee hadn’t the ability to dismiss crimes against humanity.

The native had five children. His oldest were nine year old twin boys. No less intense was the man’s understanding of intergenerational effects of child-abuse. Johnson was a spiritual man; a man whose perspective was based in an eternal soul given an assignment from deceased ancestors.

It’d been a century plus thirty years since Andrew Jackson, and the United States Military, drove the tribe as far south into Florida as possible. Forced to exist in the Everglades only strengthened resilience.

Tales of the government’s need to eradicate the tribe for harboring runaway slaves never reconciled within the man’s thoughts. Less than three decades after the war, the government led another war ostensibly to eradicate slavery. He’d attributed contrary experiences to the two-faced nature of US politicians.

Billie resided himself to the realization the Civil War was nothing more than maintaining control of the country that had yet to come into its own.

Populations of cities across the nation grew. Immigrants possessing intellect and skills risked life and limb to come to the country offering freedom. Growing numbers of citizens embraced the concept of personal sovereignty. The nation transformed into a haven for humanity.

Privilege of prosperity couldn’t be allowed by those possessing animus for humanity.

Industrialists, who’d funded the Nazi war machine, ensured valuable officers were saved from prosecution at Nuremberg.

Hochstühl and Von Unterscheisse were two such men.

Johnson looked upon his bosses with a jaundiced eye. From the moment he became aware of their existence, he was certain they were responsible for the 1945 disappearance of young lovers. Two natives who’d stolen away deeply into the Everglades as a rite of passage had lives snuffed out.

Bodies decomposed; embedded within moist, earthen tombs. Without ceremony, spirits were left to drift aimlessly seeking purpose. The warehouse worker knew souls must be given the opportunity to experience life’s challenges in order to fulfill destinies. 

Inconsequential to the Germans was the memory of the two lovers.

The threat recognized by Johnson Billie was paramount. Vim and vigor to protect his tribe resonated within the man who knew its struggles throughout history.

He was an army of one.

For four years the Germans smuggled children and drugs through the warehouse. Human flesh was preferred. It could be sold over-and-over. Psychosis of compulsion titillated men who’d long ago lost connections to God. Children’s screams of agony echoed and resonated along the destructive frequency upon which paedophiles existed. More money was charged for younger, fresher children. Those who hadn’t numbed to evil’s predilections shrieked loudest.

Johnson Billie imagined the fate of the thousands of children brought through carefully constructed tunnels; leading from the beach to a point beneath the warehouse floor. Most heinous acts were completed during the wee hours of the morning; a time when witnesses were few.

Four years participating in the destructive environment was all the native could bear. He knew by murdering two white men he’d be quickly tried, sent to Stark, and executed. The appeals process would happen more quickly for a Miccosukee.

Johnson held strongly to the beliefs of his ancestors. Prior to intended retribution for the children who’d been harmed, the man participated in several ceremonies meant to invoke the strength of those who’d gone before him.

The time had come. Dates had been chosen by the positioning of stars. Only that which was in alignment with Billie’s mission was allowed to express its energy.

The warrior painted his face in the same manner as those who’d fought Andrew Jackson so mightily.

He’d prepared for death.

Hochstühl and Von Unterscheisse allowed few to know the true nature of their business. Success was easily visualized by the man who understood evil’s army was comprised of few participants.

The warehouse was dark when the warrior arrived. Clues to the schedule fastidious Germans maintained had been compiled during the man’s employment. Evil energy drew upon the same forces native Americans did for inspiration. It was however a different frequency upon which they transacted business.

It was the sole vigilante’s plan to trap the men in the tunnel as they made their way back from the ship carrying children.

Secondary to the elimination of evil was Johnson’s desire to free the children from sexual slavery and certain death. Lives were offered by God as a way to strengthen souls for future endeavors. Every soul’s participation within humanity must be made full and fruitful.

Johnson Billie moved slowly and quietly across the concrete warehouse floor. He was dressed in war-time garb.

When he approached the door to the interior space he saw that it was ajar. The man’s heartbeat quickened. Adrenaline fueled the task ahead.

The warrior moved slowly into the long corridor, toward the shaft leading downward, into the subterranean tunnel.

Once next to the opening, he stepped across the gap and rested his moccasin-laden foot on the top rung. Once the second foot rested comfortably, he quickly descended the ladder.

His heart beat strongly as Johnson stood, peering down the tunnel. Light lost its effect as the man’s sight; becoming ineffective at his vision’s vanishing point. Only darkness remained beyond that which his mind conceived.

Softly and silently Billie strode toward destiny. There was no conception of hero within his consciousness. Fanfare wasn’t a desired outcome. All the man wished was a quiet, Everglades existence.

The darkness at the end of the corridor grew as Billie approached. He stood beneath the dimly lit hatch matching the one he’d descended toward destiny. The warrior stood visualizing the scene he’d encounter once he breached the tunnel door. He was fortunate that he’d scouted the area beforehand. Topography presented known challenges. Anticipated were a handful of adults necessary to corral and control children into the tunnel one-by-one; a journey leading to their eventual death.

Johnson ascended the identical metal ladder fastened into the concrete wall. Through the darkness he saw the latch hanging away from its purpose; securing door-to-frame. The padlock that usually secured entry dangled open and freely from the semicircular metal ring welded to the door. Evidence proved he’d properly replicated the criminals’ schedule.

Upon reaching the metal cover, he slowly lifted the lid; exposing a fifteen degree sliver of the external environment.

Hurried activity was obvious, but indiscernible. Torsos and legs flashed within his perception before quickly disappearing from his narrowed field of vision.

The warrior’s moccasin covered the lower part of each leg with leather that rose to mid-calf. Johnson reached down and removed a hunting knife tucked between boot and leg. The blade had been honed to a razor-sharp edge. He lifted the weapon toward his mouth and clamped its back edge firmly between his teeth.

When he was certain human activity shifted toward the shoreline, Johnson lifted the heavy metal door and crawled through its opening. Once on sandy ground, he quietly closed the hatch; and then sprinted behind a dune.

From there he witnessed the activity between the boat drifting in the bay, and the tunnel that concealed the existences of children being smuggled into Miami. Once into that darkness, all possibility for a fruitful life was lost.

The wonder associated with children, whose minds were filled with infinite possibilities for bountiful futures, were to be consumed. Evil knew all humans carried a connection to one another. Causing pain and destruction resonated and negatively affected the overall consciousness of humanity. Their goal was to stoke hatred of God. Anger must resonate until it controlled the minds of most on Earth. Once that occurred, all of humanity could be easily stirred and controlled.

Johnson Billie understood the long term plans of global elite. These were the same families who ordered the US Government to murder all the buffalo; taking away a vital Indian food source. The eventual goal was to starve tribes of food; bringing about famine and death. Evil’s agenda advanced beyond the physical realm. Its newest intent was to create despair among the wider population. Financial collapses, man-made viruses, and diseases stressed the population into voluntary contraception. Populations declined and became more controllable.

Infallible was the plan; but it took decades to reach fruition. Children were a direct assault on God’s gift of a bountiful human existence. Evil was only capable of experiencing satiating climaxes through intense violations of Yahweh’s principles.

Billie took up a position atop the dune behind which he’d scurried. Sparse sea oats offered camouflage.

In the bay drifted a thirty-five foot powerboat. Its bow-anchor had been set. The stern was pulled toward the shore by natural tidal forces. There were two men in the boat. Hochstühl, Von Unterscheisse, and two other adult males stood knee deep in brackish water; taking delivery of precious cargo.

Children were methodically lifted from the boat and placed upon dry land. One-after-another were delivered to the shore.

Actions resembled an abbreviated bucket-brigade.

Innocence milled-about not understanding what life beheld.

Johnson surmised these children had been brought from Haiti. The population’s existence was kept at subsistence levels. Financial stress fractured families. Children were sold or lost. It was a time when the system of global control began taking shape. Elite families, who’d controlled vast armies for millennia, finally conceived enrichment from labor toiling within every corner of the world.

Before Johnson Billie stood a dozen of the most pure souls on the planet. That which was to be struck at and destroyed for the sole purpose of harming God. It was the light of unfettered benevolence they wished to replace with a darkened planet. Hatred was on display for the warrior in its most intense and destructive embodiment.

His best plan of action was to wait for the boat to leave. Four adults would be eliminated from the required confrontation.

Hochstühl spoke harshly to the children in their native Creole language. The man kept them tightly herded on the shoreline.

The boat trip through the Caribbean and into the Atlantic Ocean hadn’t offered the children opportunities to relieve bladders or bowels. Girls walked into the water and submerged themselves waist-deep. Waste was evacuated much to the relief of children. Once it became apparent individual children completed bathroom tasks, the General barked for them to return to the shoreline and huddle together.

One boy, who appeared to Johnson as the oldest in the group, chose modesty over the informal. He drifted unnoticed behind the sand dune where the warrior waited for his opportunity to rescue the children.

Not until the boy squatted and dropped his pants around his ankles did he look up. His sightline naturally fell to the top of the dune.

The two made eye-contact.

Johnson quietly held his right index finger over his closed lips; hoping the signal for not speaking to be universal.

The boy glanced down at the happenings along the shoreline, and then back up toward Billie. His nod of acknowledgement was muted and hopefully unnoticed by the Germans.

The ten year old evacuated his bowels, stood, and hiked his pants back up around his waist. He took a couple steps around the edge of the dune. Before he disappeared beyond the mound of sand, he looked back at Johnson one last time. The boy held his hands together at his chest, as if in prayer.

The offering to a higher power for his well being was acknowledged with a smile from the Miccosukee.

A grateful grin was returned by the young Haitian.

Before returning to the group of children the boy diverted his path into the surf. He squatted; using Atlantic waters to cleanse his behind.

As he stood, walked, and rejoined the group, he glanced toward the top of the dune. There was no sign of the man. The boy took comfort that he was still there. The Miccosukee tribe excelled at camouflage.

Having had time to assess the situation offered Johnson the realization he couldn’t allow any of the children to be forced through the hatch and into the tunnel. Either the Colonel or General would certainly go into the tunnel first to keep the children corralled. His best chance would be to allow the first man into the tunnel and then strike. Hopefully, those in the boat would be far enough offshore to prevent assessment of happenings on the beach.

Boat engines roared to life and offered comfort to Johnson. A greater threat requiring neutralization drifted from the shoreline.

The General and Colonel gathered the children as would an Australian Shepherd keeping track of a flock. The men drifted around the circumference of herded children as they shuffled through sand toward the tunnel opening.

The warrior moved toward the opposite end of the dune as the Nazis approached his position; hoping to achieve an advantage from behind. His best chance was to launch a surprise attack. If one military man could be immediately eliminated, chances with the second increased markedly.

Thoughts of the children clouded his vision of the battle ahead. If he was able to secure their safety, how would he get them back to their families? He’d operated as a lone warrior for four years. Not until that moment did he realized there was no one he could trust. Visions of life back on the reservation for the children offered comfort. They’d be well taken care of; as were all children of Earth’s ancestors.

Johnson Billie once again settled into his role as warrior.

“You can’t let a single child make it into the tunnel,” was a mantra he repeated silently in his thoughts.

Hastily, Johnson slid down the far side of the dune, outside the purview of all approaching the hatch. He hunkered down and stepped carefully, yet quickly, around the base of the dune. His goal was to exit the berm nearest the paedophiles in order to effect a surprise attack.

A short prayer to ancestors for guidance and safety echoed silently in the man’s consciousness before he lurched toward the strongest of the two Germans.

Children’s screams resonated through the night air at the sight of a Miccosukee, possessing crazed eyes, running at the group.

Johnson held the knife by its handle. The blade’s flat, dull edge was positioned along his forearm. His first strike was toward the throat of the younger, healthier Colonel.

Alerted by the screams of the children, the underling swiftly turned and faced the threat. He took up a defensive position.

With the thrust of the Indian’s blade, Colonel Von Unterscheisse fended it off with his left forearm. A gash opened on the meatiest part of the man’s arm. Without acknowledging pain, the man struck at the attacker; landing a blow to the man who’d lost his footing in the soft beach sand.

Advantage shifted quickly.

The heavy-set General continued herding children; indulging the Colonel as he neutralized their attacker.

Sand continued to slide beneath the feet of the warrior. Incapable of righting himself gave the Colonel a decided advantage. A quick punch downward and to the face of Johnson Billie dazed the warehouse worker.

Nazis never trusted anyone beyond the life that could be taken in retribution for betrayal. Kneeling on the ground before Colonel Von Unterscheisse was a man he’d grown to trust over a half decade.

The fit and healthy Colonel continued thrusting punches downward until Johnson Billie neared an unconscious state.

Once the German felt a decided advantage, he leaned down and took the long-bladed knife from the Miccosukee. He tucked the weapon into his belt along his left hip; a position from which he could easily draw it; if necessary.

The Colonel breathed heavily and turned to the General. “Take the children down into the tunnel and wait there.”

The old man dutifully followed the directions of an underling.

Children were forcefully directed through the hatch and down the ladder. Once the last prisoner disappeared into the tunnel, the General followed.

All eleven stood at the base of the ladder and waited for the Colonel to join them. The old man was certain Von Unterscheisse wanted to save the children from the trauma of watching the man’s murder.

A commotion was heard atop the shaft.

The old man surmised the deed had been done, and that the Colonel was joining them to carry out their night’s mission.

Suddenly, a body dropped, hanging upside-down by its feet. The General recognized Johnson Billie. A rope had been tied around the man’s ankles.

Nearly unconscious, the warrior felt pain, but only offered a muted groan. He was without energy to defend himself.

Shortly thereafter, the Colonel joined the group. He made his way down the ladder, pushing aside Billie’s body, until his feet were firmly planted on the tunnel’s concrete floor.

The Colonel slid the knife from its security on his left hip and held the shiny, long blade aloft for all to see. He turned toward Johnson Billie and thrust the blade deeply enough into the man’s flesh to cause extreme pain; but not kill. That was not his intent; at least, not yet.

For several minutes the German took a great deal of pleasure slicing long, shallow channels from Johnson’s belly to his chest. Reminiscent of wartime, youthful exuberance, the Colonel felt wholly alive once again. Nothing satisfied more than destructively taking life for a man who embraced evil.

The former Nazi officer expressed intense pleasure in demonstrating his desire for destruction. It nearly rose to the level of orgasm. Hatred compelled the man’s inverted perception of that which was right for humanity. Doing so in front of children focused contempt for the human experience onto its most innocent souls.

Johnson Billie’s screams of pain were echoed in children’s expressions of horror.

Just before the warrior succumbed to injures, crossing into the realm of ancestors, the Colonel took pleasure in exposing their plan to the man. “There is nothing people like you can do to stop us. We’re too powerful. We have every resource at our disposal; or will have soon. We are going to invert life to reflect the perspective you’re witnessing now. The human family for which you fight, and are willing to die, will be destroyed. Snuffing out a spiritual man such as yourself is merely another cobblestone on our path toward world domination.”

The Colonel stepped back; away from the dying man. He admired his handiwork.

When Johnson Billie perished for all to witness, the Colonel turned to his superior officer. “I’ll take him into the Everglades and bury him myself.” He shook his head. “Nobody can be trusted.”