In the early 90s Ann, Marie, and Chris, on different occasions, had visited Washington, D.C. and toured the White House. The White House dining room had been lovely then, and Chris and she had fallen in love with its beauty and charm. When this house was designed and built, it was decided to pattern the Great Room after the White House dining room.

The exact dimensions were followed, but since state dinners or elite guests were not expected to be served here, a few changes were incorporated into the design. Not that esthetic beauty was not considered, it was, and completed the room was exquisite, far beyond the room that had inspired its design. The rooms' beauty and serenity are largely attributable to the design that drew in the natural setting of the valley along with the seasonal richness of its native environment. The south wall overlooked the creek and the majestic view of its sojourn through the length of the valley. The entire wall, from floor to ceiling and nearly corner to corner, was all windows and French doors, with a slight bay effect. The large windows pulled in the warmth and light of the sun through the southern exposure that provided a glorious backdrop for an atrium area of indoor plants.

Plants filled the alcove around the French doors that opened onto a Victorian pillared and covered dining deck. The deck extended to the edge of the creek, and was shaded year round by old growth cedar trees. Directly opposite the French doors, in the center of the north wall, stood a huge walk-in fireplace, the size of a small room. In the cold winter months several large hanging pots of soup and racks of homemade biscuits were kept ready for self serving over a warming fire. The fireplace it self could easily accommodate two or three large round tables, creating a cool, comfortable alcove for playing cards or games in the summer months when a fire is unnecessary. A 20 foot long heating table for hot food service was recessed into the wall on the east side of the fireplace and created the L extending from the main building. Above the heating table, a stained glass window depicted the Light of Consciousness ended about a foot from the ceiling. The L section of the east wall, in a direct line with the Light of Consciousness, held a 15 foot section of clear beveled windows depicting the stairway to heaven. The Cherubim, Seraphim, and Angel hierarchy surrounded the staircase in stained glass. During the day, the cross lighting infused the room with colorful sunbeams, creating a rainbow impression of color and warmth, even in the coldest day of winter.

Heat from the fireplace had been diverted into ducting passing under the heat table and into vents placed around the room. On the west side of the fireplace, a 16x16 foot walk-in butlers' pantry and china closet opened to the kitchen. There china, linens, and a variety of center pieces were kept. A plate warming oven, two double sinks, and countertops for preparation and cleanup lined the sides and back wall. A pass through opening into the kitchen allowed prepared food to be passed into the butlers' pantry for serving. Clean up and storage in the pantry saved storage and worker space in the kitchen area and separated the cooking and prep area from the cleanup area. Heat ducts passed through the pantry floor and warming ovens, heating the west side of the Great Room and the library.

In the Great Room the ceiling rose to 13 feet. Four massive chandeliers were placed in line at 13 foot intervals along the center. Candle wall sconces holding nine candles each were placed at 7 foot intervals along each wall for light in the event that electricity became a precious luxury used only for necessity. They serve for effect and ambience as the hydro plant provided an abundance of electricity. The center of the west wall enclosed an elevated stage, complete with a sound system, lighting, backdrops, dressing rooms, and all the necessities for a variety of productions from theater, music, plays, meetings, and presentations. It could be closed off to look like any other wall or opened and used for indoor events. This room was always the center of collective activity for the village residents, and this morning was no exception.

Ted Soaring Eagle had taken his place beside the light switches. Dressed in buckskin his soft quiet presence seemed cloaked in the invisible. Tall and strong, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His soft, deeply set brown eyes belied the strength in his squarely set jaw. Long, thick, black hair flowed freely over his shoulders and down his back.. He patiently waited for everyone to be seated, then turned off the lights. The giant room was thrown into complete and instant blackness. The depths of the silence only broken by the sound of the giant double library doors as they opened, filling the room with a huge movement of air. The children, dressed in long white satin robes began their procession and entered the room in pairs, each carrying a silver candelabra. Three long purple candles lighting their way. As they walked around the outside circle, two on each side, Mattie�s beautiful soprano voice softly began to sing "Joyful, Joyful." The air filled with the magic of her voice, and in a matter of moments the entire room was nearly bursting with the joy of rhythm and song. The procession made one complete circle, then separating, they made their way through the rings of the horseshoe. Each person lit their candle from the candelabras and placed it in a holder directly in front of them. In a short time the room was bathed in the soft glow of candle light from nearly 250 burning candles. The Bearer of the Light moved to the single table and two white candles were lit and placed in the center of the table. The children took their places, honoring the four directions of the Creator at the center table. When the song ended, Eleyse took her place in front of Chris and Marie. Her little face alight with a bright glowing smile, her body trembling with tiny quivers. She took in a very deep breath and began the prayer of Remembrance.

Acoustics in the room were astounding, her tiny voice carried to the farthest corners. As everyone joined in the prayer the room was electrified with vibrations. Ted Soaring Eagle began his chant over the top of the prayer. His body moved with the rhythm of his song as he danced through the inner circle. One by one, he was joined by the travelers in this mysterious symbolic journey.

Lester�s hands flew to cover his ears. He clamped them hard against his head and tried to will the sound to stop. It hurt his head. They always hurt his head. He wished they were dead. He wanted to shout for that damn Indian to stop, but controlled the urge. Hidden deep in a shadowy corner of the kitchen he turned to the wall, jammed his head tightly into the corner and hummed loudly inside his head to drown out the sound, to stop the painful vibration the chanting made in his body. He knew he would not be able to stand the pain much longer, but if he ran his beautiful plan would be thwarted. He clamped his teeth as tight as he could against the sound. His body began to shake as he tried to maintain control. His own voice filled the inside his head, he had to make it, to stay still, not to listen. And it seemed to go on and on into forever.

Soaring Eagle, with his chant and dance led the team on a mystical journey around the room creating a path from sconce to sconce. In his right hand he carried an a colorful, iridescent abalone shell filled with smoldering sage. His left hand held a majestic Eagle feather. He chanted and cleansed the travelers with sage smoke as they lit the candles in each sconce. They returned to their places amid clapping and cheering, honoring their safe return.

The hollowness of the scream filled Lesters head. He heard only the sound of his own voice before he realized that his body had stopped shaking. At the same moment as his eyes snapped open the scream clamped shut in his throat. He listened, registered the silence, and the sudden painlessness of his body. He turned instantly, his eyes darting around the kitchen, hoping he had not been seen or heard by anyone. He strained his eyes, trying to pierce the darkness of the kitchen, it appeared empty but he knew the shadows of the two men that traced his every move were not far. He could only hope that his agony had not been heard by anyone. An eerie low growl escaped from his lungs as he slipped along the wall seeking solitary sanctuary in the darkness to wait out the celebration.

George, at ninety-three the oldest village resident, gave the invocation and grace. He posture and poise still regal at his age gave him an aura of strength and confidence. He had spent the last month preparing just the right words to bless the travelers, the food for the celebration, and the season�s abundant harvest. He had thought it out, wrote it down, and committed it to memory, quite a feat at ninety-eight. Born in Virginia in 1914 the son of a poor coal miner, at sixteen he had lied about his age and joined the Army. He made a career of the Army, retiring as a general after twenty-four years of service, a World War, and a police action. He entered college on what was then the GI bill and six years later was admitted to the Bar in Washington State. He practiced law for several years, and at sixty was appointed to the State Supreme Court. With George's help, the village had established a set of rules and consequences that kept the valley peaceful. He acted as Judge when necessary and taught the history of law, and the Constitution of what had once been a great country in the school. He had a delightful sense of humor and admonished anyone who took themselves to seriously. He rarely talked about the pain he suffered when his wife, children, and grandchildren were murdered in a terrorist attack in the early 1990s. But, he frequently talked about how he found his way to the village, which he believed was ordained and accomplished by divine intervention.

He ended the prayer, and with a flourish in imitation of the old TV announcer Ed McMahon, "Heeeere's breakfast!"

A roar of laughter filled the room as spoons and plates and conversation met in a joyful symphony. Chatter, laughter, teasing, joking, and playfulness collided, enveloped the people, cushioned them and swept away reality for the moment, the journey and the possible consequences pushed into the deep recesses of their minds and emotions.

Fear and necessity had given birth to the first journey. The expedition began the morning after the community�s celebration of the fall equinox on Wednesday, September 23, 2002, subsequent to several months of dramatic earth changes. Winds, rains, hail, tornadoes, earth quakes, thunder, lightning, and every other form of natural climactic events had pelted the area during the spring and early summer. Floods, fires, rock slides, and fissures became an expected daily event. Sudden changes in air pressure seemed to suck the oxygen from the air, leaving the inhabitants breathless or oppressed and heavy with humidity. Speculation centered on a small axis shift, which was later confirmed by the communication. A nearly three degree shift had occurred in tiny incremental moves during those months.

Two large earthquakes shook the upper valley, one in April and the last on July 27, 2002. The second quake caused substantial damage in the valley and several homes and barns were destroyed, and 7 miles of fence line had been uprooted. The surrounding forest also suffered grave damage with trees downed, waterways blocked, and hundreds of rock slides. No news or visitors had passed through the valley for two months. Injuries had been kept to a minimum and though nervous and shaken, the residents maintained the arduous job of constant cleanup.

No one had a need to venture down to Colevale; they were busy with their own cleanup, garden maintenance, and fence repair. Several weeks went by before anyone noticed the Forest Service had not yet cleared the roads into the upper valley to check for damage. Once noticed they knew they had to make their way down the mountain, to see what had happened below them.

Following the riots of 2001, what was left of organized government had literally functioned on a day-to-day basis. The few government employees who chose to hang on experienced severe cutbacks. Some government body still calling itself the Forest Service had managed to keep the road open, but not well maintained. Poor road maintenance combined with the winter thaw, rains, mudslides, and two earthquakes had swept away any sign of the road. The last time anyone had been down the mountain was on May 31 for the old Memorial Day celebration in town. The little village had its hands full repairing the damage in the upper valley, and for no other reason had waited for the Forest Service to clear the road.

Finally, realizing something was wrong, the residents had called a meeting. It was eventually agreed they would try to repair the road and make their way to the lower valley. They drew straws, and a group of nine men and women set out in trucks with a bulldozer and a road grader, clearing and rebuilding the road on the way down to Colevale. It was a short distance under normal conditions, only eighteen miles, but the earthquake had caused severe damage and it took a day and a half to make it down the mountain. One truck had been abandoned as hopelessly stuck and left in the mire with the idea of digging it out on the way back.

When they finally left the mountain and dropped into the neck of the Aladdin Valley, they knew immediately something was terribly wrong. As they drove along the asphalt road, they were awe struck by the damage; every house and farm looked empty or abandoned. Some had been leveled by what appeared to be an invisible force, others were burned to the ground, and still others stood like sentinels in witness to a disaster. Doors were off the hinges and askew, window panes broken and many with the frames knocked out. Lawns were overgrown, fences down, gardens bursting, and farm animals were loose and ranging the countryside. These people had been their neighbors. People they knew worked these farms, they were their friends, acquaintances. They rode in silence, stunned and terrified. When they arrived in Colevale, they found the little city near total devastation.

The city had a population of about seven thousand busy, active people. It had been a bustling county seat for over a hundred years; the hub of the area for work, shopping, trading, and news. It had been their community, their town. No one really thought the gangs would ever leave the cities and sprawling urban areas and travel in packs through the countryside. It was an urban war, not a rural war. It was generally believed that the Army or National Guard would go into the cities any day now and end the conflicts. That had been the general consensus of opinion since the riots began on New Year�s Eve in the year 2002. They never expected what was all around them. Later they learned that what little was saved in this town had been defended by the least likely folks. The quiet ones, the loners, the hunters, the loggers, the ranchers, the farmers, the outcasts, actually anyone who was able to shoot a gun.

It all began in earnest one year after the Presidential election that had rocked the nation with corruption and conspiracy. With in days of the swearing in of the new President the country began a spiral that moved into the most sever depression the world had ever seen.

That first group of nine men and women worked with the town�s survivors, and after three days of searching they had counted 1,527 people alive and well. Happy reunions and sad news were encountered daily. Most of the previous residents were gone, hundreds were dead, and hundreds more were wounded, sick and dying.

A severe flu epidemic had followed on the heels of the last major gang attack and more fear had raged through the community. The hospital tried to treat the wounded and sick, but its capacity had been exceeded weeks previously. Unless folks had a good chance to survive, they were sent away to die in their homes or someone else�s home. Body patrols had been set up and coordinated by the hospital staff for daily house by house searches to remove and bury the dead. Outside the city they dug mass graves with backhoes, filled them with lime, and tried to keep more disease from spreading. It wasn't long before they realized the lime supply was running out and there were many more bodies to bury. The lumber kiln at Rapier Lumber Mill was turned into a crematory. Not unlike the logging trucks of the past, filled with timber when they had entered the gates, the trucks filled with bodies made their way to the same kilns.

Whole blocks of houses had burned to the ground and every store, office, and business in town had been ransacked by the marauding gangs. The folks who were left were exhausted and terrified. It was hard to comprehend, to understand, but all this had happened in three short months. They knew the problems had been escalating across the county, but no one in the valley had dreamed how bad it had become.

What the earthquakes, snow, rain, and flooding hadn't destroyed, the marauding gangs had decimated across the country even into this small remote community. Communication by phone, mail, and computer was up and down, nothing remained permanent for any length of time. With the power down, battery operated TV's brought the only news, and even that was sparse. The TV stations, broadcast studios, and cable stations in the major cities had been commandeered by the gangs. The gangs were now fighting amongst themselves, and with what was left of the military. With every takeover, more damage and less broadcasting occurred. CNN was the only news channel broadcasting, and how or from where no one knew or didn't tell.

The government was completely shut down. Politicians, aides, judges, and attorneys were being hunted and executed all across the country and into Canada. It was anarchy everywhere, in every country around the world. Whole countries were at war with themselves and everyone else. The new world order had collapsed before its birth. The rich, powerful, and government officials were being blamed. It was believed their greed and lust for power had spawned a system of haves and have nots: a class system not unlike the feudal system, where the law, big business and the IRS had become the feudal lords, reigning absolute on the individual, on the family. From the very young to the very old, every generation made up the groups of hate-mongers, religious fanatics, the oppressed, and the killers. It was a war of breaking free. It was race against race, religion against religion, haves against have nots; and disease, hunger, famine and moral degeneration were the aftermath. It seemed The Seven Plagues had visited the earth and overpowered sanity. The apathy of the late 20th century was a dream of the past. It no longer existed. In its place was anger and revenge.

The first year the lower valley had few supplies. No trucks, planes, or trains with food or medicine arrived to replace what had been stolen and ransacked, no fuel or other supplies had reached them. The gangs not only killed, trampled, mutilated, and left disease in their wake but also took what food, supplies, guns, and ammunition they wanted and kept on traveling. Most moved off to the south through Cormorant Basin, Swedish Valley, and down the river road. Some went north through Bermuda Creek, Deep Lake, and up the Northside Highway into Canada. The townspeople expected that when winter set in, the gangs that had turned north would head back south and pass through the town again.

Through the ingenuity of the survivors, the electricity was finally restored that fall to much of the little city and to the radio station. Most of the station's equipment had been destroyed and though repairs were attempted, they had not been able to broadcast or pick up any satellite transmissions. Several small groups ventured out to explore a wider area on foot, horseback, or in trucks and cars, and three planes had taken off from the airport but none had returned.

The first gang attack occurred on July 28, the day after the second earthquake. The police had been the first targets for the gang that struck in the middle of the night. No official had survived the attack. The city police station, sheriff�s office, and state patrol office had all been demolished. The jailers had been slaughtered and all the prisoners were set free. Most ran for their lives from the gangs, others joined the pack. The town�s three judges, the prosecutors, and every attorney except one had been hung from a hastily constructed gallows built on the back of a flatbed truck. It had been parked in the center of Main Street for all to see. The armory had been raided, the hospital vandalized, and every drug store ransacked.

No one had ventured across the river in the two months since the earthquake. The bridges at the Falls and Boundary were so severely damaged that they remained impassable. No one knew about the bridge at Red Mountain. The gangs had arrived with a vengeance, one after the other, from the east and south. Many probably traveled I-90 between Seattle and Boston and veered off the main roads to avoid clashes with larger gangs or other heavily armed resistance. They looted and pillaged everything in their path. Some townspeople and others from Adden, Barden, and Orus, helped defend the little city and those that remained. Others ran, some hid, but by the time summer had turned to fall there was little left that reminded one of the busy, alive, thriving community it had been. No one came to the rescue, the assaults just kept on and on until the town was destroyed.

The travelers helped the local town survivors rebuild what they could or demolish what they couldn't rebuild. Defense tactics were established through meetings and group discussions. They plotted an area on the map they felt they could defend and organized 15 heavily armed groups of 10 volunteers each to establish a perimeter patrol. The patrols set out in cars, trucks, and on horseback searching for more survivors in the outlying areas. They worked from the Canadian border south to the Spokane River, west to Lake Roosevelt, and east to Qsac on the north and Chewela to the south. Most raids had taken place along the main roads and the patrols were surprised to find pockets of people, little armies prepared for battle, scattered all over the county side. They had come together for protection. Little had been disturbed in the more remote areas, on rough dirt roads, and folks had found a way to form small communities in these undisturbed areas.

The patrols carried a variety of communication tools; cell phones, radios, walkie-talkies, and CB�s hoping that at least one or the other would work at any given time. The equipment often failed and they found the isolation frightening. They checked Boundary Dam and other smaller dams in the area for earthquake damage. In less than two weeks they managed to secure the defined area with what little equipment and supplies had been available.

Over the next three months they organized patrols, blasted impassable holes in major roads and limited direct ingress into the area. The remaining supplies were collected and inventoried, the co-op revived, and a daily barter market had grown in the city park. The survivors, beginning with the children, were fed, clothed, housed and given what medical attention could be provided.

Patrols searched for survivors at Miracle Ranch, a Christian community near Northside, and at the New Age community in Bermuda Creek. Miracle Ranch had suffered major damage. All the buildings had been burned to the ground and their church, though left standing, had been entirely desecrated. Their visible food stuffs and other commodities had either been taken or dumped on the ground. They were a small community, fifteen families totaling 35 adults and 40 children. The Ranch had not been popular in the area. In the early 1990s they had been accused of using militia tactics and racist beliefs hidden behind religion. None of the accusations had ever been proven true. They were a loving group of people who welcomed everyone with open arms and trusted in God. The rumors had been started by the Baptist pastor in Colevale, a hateful man who ruled the ministerial leaders of the area. He convinced the Organization of Pastors to blackball the group simply because they were not connected to any organized religion. It was clear that he feared their spiritual influence as much as he feared the influence of the New Age community. He had purposefully set out to systematically discredit and create suspicion of both groups.

The elders of the Methodist Church in Johnstown fell into his trap. Fearing they would lose control of their church, they came to believe the Miracle Ranch people had devised a sinister plot to steal their church from them. Encouraged by the Organization of Pastors, they aided in the poison rumors and blackballing. Their intolerance belied their preaching of tolerance which went unrecognized or silently supported by the majority of townspeople who were prejudiced and intolerant. The group had its beginnings as a popular gospel singing group who believed they had been called to share their land with like-minded Christians. The community, unbeknownst to outsiders, were well prepared for the anarchy and social chaos and had built most of the little village underground. Their forethought had saved their lives. Forgiving and compassionate people, they opened their community to the survivors of Johnstown and several other small nearby communities. In the years that followed they proved themselves an asset in defending the northern border.

The Bermuda Creek group numbered thirty three and had also been spared. A group member who had been in town on the first night of the gang slaughter had manage to escape. He had made his way through the woods on foot, nearly a 20-mile journey and warned his friends. They too had an escape plan and in less than an hour had hidden themselves in the surrounding national forest as they made their way to Gardener Cave at the border. Along the way they removed all signs leading to the cave, felled several trees, and used explosives on the lower section of the road leading to the cave. They were heavily armed and prepared to defend themselves in the face of an attack. Once inside the cave they had removed the outer ladder and locked the iron gate from the inside. They had set traps just inside the entrance, moved to the lower levels of the cave, and set up their camp. As the days passed it became apparent that they were not in harm�s way, and they ventured out to set up an outside warning system and found themselves in relative safety.
Isolated, they never saw or heard any of the gang violence but had been shaken by several small earthquakes that occurred while they were in hiding. With enough food and water for six weeks, they had quickly settled into their new home. They increased their spiritual rituals, prayers, and meditations and hoped it would not only sustain them but would help the people of the world and the earth itself. The tiny group, alone in a mountain top cave and without confirmation from the outside world only hoped they had been successful.

Grateful for their safety, they gladly shared their new home with packrats and other small animals until their supplies ran out. They had stayed put in the cave until the last minute before venturing back to Bermuda Creek. From abandoned homes they passed along the way they collected medical supplies, food, and weapons that increased their already sizeable arsenal. To their great relief they found the community relatively in tack. The main house had been minimally ransacked but their supplies and stores were untouched. The animals had not wandered far and were easily convinced with food and water to return to their pens. A perimeter had been quickly defined, bobby trapped and foot patrols organized. Heavily armed, they had agreed to a limited patrol plan of the north central sector of the border.

Reaching the Spokane and Colevale Reservations on the southeast and southwest end of the lake, they discovered a nation of people already dug in and doing well. Fighting head on with the gangs, they had quickly won several skirmishes and caused the perpetrators severe casualties. They had suffered no losses and only a handful of minor injuries.

They had established a security patrol along their perimeters booby trapped with rattlesnake pits and other equally unpleasant traps awaiting the next attack. A problem had not come up that they couldn't handle. The had adequate medical care and their food supplies were in good shape.

The team met with the Elders of both reservations, connected them to the communication network and made an agreement to meet early the next spring to participate in a search team. Come spring the newly formed search and rescue group would explore Canada and other outlying areas for survivors. Left amidst their spiritual rituals, dances, and native medicine, they planed their continued survival, and continued to search and locate their missing people. It had been clear to the first travelers that these two reservations created the safety on the southern perimeters that would protect everyone in the trine.