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The Vision chapter 1
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6 A.M., Seattle, February 11
Asher Joel felt strangely
detached, staring at the thick,
gray morning fog cloaking the
world beyond the diner’s window.
A single droplet of water,
released from the window’s
condensation, captured his attention
as it zigzagged down
the inside of the plate glass,
finally dropping onto the windowsill.
He glanced down to
the lightly rolled newspaper
lying by his left hand. Last
night’s bombing in Atlanta
dominated the headlines, but
Yellowstone’s latest series of
earthquakes competed for the
public’s attention. Funny—
they were getting used to the
bombings.
He unconsciously murmured
as he thought of the
irony of the big deal the news
was making of a few small
earthquakes while keeping
the big news of Yellowstone
quiet. He understood why
his brother, a government
volcanologist, had told him the whole truth would not be released to the
public. What use would it be to awaken the public to the knowledge that deep in the
recesses of Yellowstone Park lay a waking monster? What could anyone do?
A small burst of laughter from two tables down caused him to shift his glance toward
two old fishermen that had often come in to eat while he and Dan dined. Now, even in
the diner people were subdued and withdrawn. Laughter had become a strange sound
that caught your attention. Again a mumbling groan escaped from Asher’s clinched
lips as he mulled over a more local threat. The locals called it The Muslim Invasion.
This threat tempered the locals’ usual ready laughter, their interest in politics, even
their fishing.
It muffled every aspect of their lives.
It happened gradually, the influx of Arabic speaking Muslims into their small coastal
area of Washington State … but now the fear subdued all of life’s joys and trials.
Even grief.
Quickly Asher turned again to face the window. A solitary tear slid down his face,
a manifestation of his loss. Old Dan had been a good friend—more than a friend. Dan
had been almost like a father. A rush of the cold morning dampness accompanied the
sound of the door opening. Another pair of old fishermen pushed through and took
their customary seats, each turning stiffly to Asher, offering silent condolences with the
meeting of eyes and the slightest of nods. It was a gesture that expressed their shared
sorrow, only understood and appreciated by proud alpha males. Asher’s cold blue eyes
acknowledged their tribute before turning back to look at the gray swirl.