John Frum The Reluctant Messiah

Finally Answers Revealed

Aiden kept the plane in a tight, steep banked circle as the guys tossed out carton after carton. After several passes, the boxes were beginning to pile up, forming a sloppy haphazard cardboard wall behind the circle of warriors. The Nephs stood watching the plane with curiosity. As everyone watched Aiden and his crew drop box after box with startling precision, John felt an overwhelming need to turn around. He gazed towards the tree line behind him. His eyes narrowed and he found himself staring at it for some reason, studying it. Suddenly, one by one the elders appeared, much in the same way the Neph's did. It was very much like one of those 'magic eye' pictures that required a concentrated stare while simultaneously defocusing the eye in order to see the hidden picture within the picture. Even as they approached, they seemed to be ever so slightly out of focus and John was unable to clearly see them as he saw others. Sam was back and it was as if  he was leading them.

"Sam is an elder?" John thought to himself. The group of elders held back, hands clasped at their chests in an almost prayerful posture while Sam hobbled to the center of the palm frond floor covering the large pit Em and her fellow villagers had created. With his back to the remaining village warriors, Sam faced the large circle of Neph invaders, grasped the leather strap from which his nautilus medallion hung and ripped it from his neck. The very one he had forbidden John to touch while he was recuperating. Even with his crippled body an undeniable determination in his stance. He thrust his arm to the sky, the dangling medallion in his clenched fist and held it there. His thin, brown arm trembling- not in weakness, but rather defiance.He held it there, the glint of the sun catching the eyes of the enemy as it tossed and turned in the wind. He slowly placed the nautilus on the ground and turned to address his fellow villagers.

"It begins," he announced. "It begins with you, John Frum."

John, too tired to take Sam to task and correct him for the millionth time, stepped forward without comment.

"No John Frum!" Sam abruptly scolded. 

Confused, it shocked John, stopping him dead in his tracks. Sam looked him square in the eye, a sudden look of compassion coming over on his face.

"Your father."

And there it was. Professor Wharton, with tears in his eyes, looked to John and with an affirming nod, he silently took his place in the center. John stood in disbelief, staring at the ground trying to process this revelation. What happened, what had he just heard? 

He turned to look at Sam for some sort of explanation but looked just in time to see Sam's back as it retreated into the dense jungle. There was no time to think this through or to sort it out. He had to get back on task, back to the job at hand. His life, and the lives of others depended on it.

One by one the elders took their place in the circle, each standing behind one another until they formed a perfect nautilus shape. They placed their hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them signifying the solidarity, the union, the one in purpose of their mission. It was like hooking a number of psychic batteries together in series, John being the final contact point, the tip of the spear. From father to son the nautilus was finally complete, the believing of generations was spooling up for one final act.

John instinctively held his arm out pointing directly towards the gathering Nephilim. Suddenly his arm went out of focus. He realized that he was vibrating at an incredible rate. The boxes that were piled about the field began to vibrate as well. With each passing moment the vibration got more and more intense producing that weird, mechanical hissing sound. Suddenly they stopped. Suddenly all was dead silent. 

It was met with confused looks on the face of the Nephs. Each elder closed their eyes and in the silence, although made by many, a singular sound of a solitary breath as it was being exhaled was the only sound to be heard. The first box broke the silence with a loud, startling pop. It shot a column of beige dust nearly fifty feet up into the air. Followed by another and another and another until like a mat of Chinese firecrackers, it reached its peak, culminating in a thunderous roar of continual explosions. Hundreds and hundreds of columns of the beige dust shot into the air until the entire bowl was filled with thick, choking baby formula dust. And then, once again,silence.

The Nephilim looked about and burst into uproarious laughter, brushing themselves off. That was it? That was the almighty Elders defense?

"Is that it? That all ya' got?" a voice rang out from the dust. 

In the thick haze a hobbling figure could be seen dragging himself towards the nautilus. It was a badly battered Fletcher Howard refusing to die, a beige ghost caught in some sort of cruel limbo. 

Cradled in his badly broken and bleeding arm was the bolt action rifle that had killed his mom. He was attempting to load it with his one good arm.

"You had your shot," he said, his speech slurred and almost unintelligible. "Last couple of thousand years... not too bad. It's their turn now... I have the key and there's nothing you can do about it!"

He raised his rifle up as high as his battered arm would go and squeezed the trigger. John could hear the thud as the bullet lodged itself in the bark of the gum tree directly beside him. It was enigmatic.  Instinct would cause anyone else to take cover, but he didn't. There was no fear, not one iota of fear. He felt... Invincible.

"Kahore feaa! No Doubt!" yelled the professor as he glanced over at John.

"Anake whakapono! Only Believe!" John answered forcefully. 

John was first to lower his head. He breathed in deeply and exhaled fully. Each member followed suit, each taking a deep breath and exhaling. The air surrounding the invaders seemed to take on a life of its own, ever building, ever increasing until it was the strength of a gale force wind. It was a Saharan sandstorm, only that of baby formula dust, the air chokingly thick with microscopically small particles. The once amused giants were no longer. Instead, they began to choke, dropping their weapons, covering their eyes and mouths with their hands desperate for some clear air. Any air. 

Another shot rang out.