Chapter 11: Devil in the Midst

Allen wrote the article on the new farm equipment, and announced positions open to learn its operation. The airport would make the next issue. In a dream that night, Allen learned of two commuter-size aircraft that would arrive once there were safe destinations to visit. He also foresaw trouble in a city along the coast involving the giants and their allies.

In the morning, he, Lena and the girls drove over to the new airport site. The runway had grown to 49 feet in width, and embedded itself into the grass, and soil. It was also harder than concrete, textured lightly, and marked with 18 at the north end, and 36 at the south. The site also drew a crowd to see, along with the four who set the runway the previous day. Joe and Luther struggled to keep everyone away from the site so they could work.

When Allen arrived, Lena stayed in the vehicle with the girls. He walked up, and saw what was happening. Luther explained that they were becoming irate at the cable across the site entrance.

"Hey, how come you get to go up there?" asked Bill Fowler.

"See the airplane?" Allen pointed, "It's mine, or rather I fly it, along with two other pilots. This is going to be our new airport when we find places in our new world to go to."

"Why can't we go look at it?" complained Harry Forrester. "We have as much right as anyone to see what's being done."

"Maybe we need to elect someone to lead us," countered George Prescott. "A town needs a mayor, and a country a president. Let's go meet on the square and we'll draw up a constitution for this place."

"I'm here to report on the construction progress to let you know," said Allen. "We all have jobs to do here, and that's mine. Building this is theirs. Not only are you keeping them from it, but your own work is not getting done."

"We'll see about that," challenged George. "Wait until the election, and we'll see who runs this two-bit burg."

The crowd left, murmuring in discontent. Lena pulled over and let them pass before driving to the gate. "That sounded like trouble," she noted. "What should we do?"

"For now, we pray that Yeshua comes back and sorts this out," offered Allen. "I sure hope he's not part of that other dynasty. If he's a politician, how did he escape hell?"

There was another trailer hooked to one of their trucks with a 49-inch roll of the fabric. With the crowds gone, Luther began mapping out the taxiways. He explained how it worked.

"Here's the layout," noted Luther. "Since this cloth expands as it hardens, we have to place it precisely as the directions indicate. Everything has to be within an inch, or we'll have gaps, and uneven spots."

Allen looked over his shoulder at the plans, and nodded. "Then I suppose I'll leave this with you and your crew."

"I'd hope so," said Luther. "I'm no pilot, but if I'm ever going to ride on these things, I want to know the runway or taxiway part is right. I will get it right, don't you worry about that. Tree and I will survey it, and mark it before we put any of it down."

"We appreciate it," replied Allen. "Do I need to move the plane?"

"Not until the pad sets, and we have the hangar up. It's out of our way, and it can stay there until the weekend unless you need it." Luther set the blueprints on the trailer, and went to his truck. "This little instrument uses GPS, and tells me exactly where everything goes. You can watch, but you'll probably get bored."

"No, I have to see what that troublemaker is up to," relented Allen.

"Yeah, isn't he part of that family dynasty?" wondered Joe.

"I don't know, but I'll find out," said Allen, herding his family back to the car. "I was just curious how the runway looked."

Allen left the crew to do their job, and returned to town with Lena and the girls to cover the political upheaval. In New Eden, Yeshua was the undisputed king until now, and there had been no problems or corruption. Allen sensed trouble, but did not recall the man from his dream. This had to be demonic in nature.

When they arrived, about 30 people gathered about the gazebo in the center of the town square. George Prescott raved about forming a new democratic government, where the people elected their leaders, and worshipped as they chose. Allen saw Bruno and Sonia, and they walked over beside them.

"This man is trouble, Allen," opined Bruno. "He has all these glorious ideas, and I am afraid the crowd is eating it up."

"We're supposed to be thankful to our unseen benefactor for our cookie-cutter, mine's just like yours houses," Prescott rambled. "Supposedly we're all paid the same, regardless of how important or dangerous our jobs might be. Have we seen the first thin dime to compensate us for our efforts? No, because there is no money, that is how the system cheats us.

"That brings me to the taxes deducted from our so-called credits. Who represents us for those taxes?" he challenged. "They want us to believe someone called Yeshua is Jesus H. Christ, the Son of God Almighty. As we speak, 10 percent of our pay goes to this invisible, imaginary, and absent being. Then there is the matter of conscription into what they call a militia. Guess what we have a militia to protect us against."

"Giants and dragons," Bill Fowler called out.

"You pay taxes without representation to protect us from beings from fairy tales," said Prescott. "Has anyone here seen them?"

"Yes, we have," proclaimed Bruno, holding up Allen's hand. "We've fought and defeated 12 of them. We serve The LORD, and don't need any politicians corrupting our system."

"Take note people exactly who is spreading these lies; the privileged ones who control our meat supply, and propaganda." Some in the crowd booed. "But wait, there's more. The self-appointed propaganda minister now has an airplane at a private airport, not open to the public. Tell us why you get an airplane and none of the rest of us does, and then you direct our citizens to do your bidding."