Chapter 9

Phases of Tim’s master plan fell in to place very quickly after his deification. His followers, now called the True Believers, enthusiastically came up with lists of actionable items, action plans and time tables for their completion.

Alas, the driven are never content with merely starting a brewery.

Instead, the True Believers began to infiltrate government jobs. Since, apart from a couple of deicides (which never get reported to the police), their records were sparkling clean, they were able to get into positions where they had access to sensitive and powerful information. They were also able to get in to positions of authority and power with no problem. After all, no one expects a group of followers of a newly minted god to attempt a hostile corporate takeover of the entire world.

Just because no one expects it, though, doesn’t mean it is not happening.

The true believers rapidly filled positions in the F.B.I., C.I.A., and all the other alphabet soup agencies that conspiracy theorists were certain would enslave us all. Really, the only thing the conspiracy nut-jobs had gotten wrong was that the Jews had nothing to do with any of it.

Most of the agencies were thrilled with the enthusiasm of their new employees. Had they known they were all members of the New Paradigm, they probably would have sought out more of the members. Meanwhile, the True Believers were thrilled with the level of information access available to them.

Tracking down a god isn’t particularly difficult once you know the patterns to look for.

The New Paradigm began executing other gods at an incredible rate. Others were closely monitored to see if they could be of use. If not, they could always be executed.

Tim began to wine and dine several gods who he felt could help his cause. Whether he planned to kill them after they had ceased to be useful was irrelevant, at least to Tim. Some gods, particularly gods of chaos, were happy to give Tim all the information he needed to find gods, or to help his people get into ever more powerful positions in exchange for the most trivial gifts.

Soon he didn’t even need to bother with the other gods, as the Will of Tim was enough to ensure his followers success. Most of the time, anyway. Enthusiastic or not, they still tended to be starry-eyed dipshits.

While the true believers worked their way into high places, they also recruited new True Believers. It was pretty easy to find new recruits. All they had to do was find someone who seemed a little depressed, maybe somewhat disillusioned, and tell them all their dreams could come true. It almost never failed.

Soon Tim’s flock was huge. The conspiracy theorists were completely in the dark, as well. If you’d told one of them what was really happening, they probably wouldn’t have believed you. It was that big.

One sunny Tuesday, Tim declared “It is time.”

One of his assistants, a true-believer in a gold jumpsuit, picked up the phone, called someone, and repeated Tim’s message.

Within minutes, hordes of white, middle class, upwardly mobile, and heavily, heavily armed American True Believers began moving towards congress and the white house. The Department of Homeland Security were well-prepared for one or two turban-wearing maniacs toting AK-47s and shoe-bombs to try and attack these houses of liberty and freedom, but not several thousand of their smiling neighbors with H&K .40 caliber pistols, hand grenades and crazy kung-fu moves.
The True Believers stormed congress with guns blazing. The attack was so fast, and so discrete that no one outside the building had any idea that anything had happened. The power of positive thinking is a scary thing when misapplied.

At the same time congress was being invaded and decimated, True Believers massed at the White House, and barged in. Again, the attack happened with such speed, and was so unexpected, that no one was the wiser.

Six True Believers opened the door to the oval office. The president and vice president were conveniently in the same place at the same time.

The president dropped the comforting drawl that endeared him to the American public and hissed “Who the fuck are you people?”

“Candygram for Mongo,” one of the True Believers said, and the six of them tossed Flash-Bang grenades in to the room, then shut the door. After the grenades had detonated, they stormed into the room and took the two dazed men captive. They were handed off to another group of True Believers, to be squirreled away in one of their own secret prisons. An aide who was unlucky enough to be in the room at the time was summarily shot.

Outside the building, life went on as usual, and no one was the wiser to the coup that had just taken place, unbelievably, on American soil.

Such was the will of Tim.

By the end of the day, Tim had followers in every position of power in the nation. All they had to do now was let the nation know that Tim was in control. Tim and his followers expected the transition to go well. This was because when faced with the choice of acceptance of Tim as supreme ruler or death by firing squad, most people figure they’ll simply make do under the new leader.

That night, one of Tim’s high ranking followers went on television and explained the the American public that there was a new boss in town.

Given the general apathy of the citizenry, it took a bit longer for the word to get out than Tim would have liked, but most of the country fell in line within a week. As expected.

Dan and Sarah, as well as the other pagans who had heard about the adventure with Hep and Scroat, were extremely alarmed. Dan and Sarah were especially alarmed because, although they had helped Hep and Scroat rescue Pan and had a lot to lose as well because of their association with wanted gods, they had been entirely unable to make contact with Hep, Scroat and Pan.

Hep, Scroat and Pan, were equally alarmed. So far they had remained hidden pretty well, but now that Tim’s power had grown exponentially, it was going to be a lot harder to stay out of sight. Even in the middle of the desert. After all, a thirsty biker god has to stop in town every now and then for a bottle of beer and a newspaper.

The three gods were also rather annoyed, because they kept having new and interesting animals and other objects pop into existence next to them at the most inconvenient times. No one, after all, expects an annoyed platypus to appear directly in front of him or her. Especially not a platypus with a note written in Sharpie, reading “Seriously, what the fuck you guys?” stapled to his forehead. Particularly when the hissing platypus appears when one is attempting to shit behind a stand of brush.

Pan leapt backwards, screaming, when the platypus appeared. Once he’d recovered from the shock (Pan, not the platypus), he wondered if he should remove the note stapled to the animal’s forehead. Pan took a look at the creatures venomous claws and decided against it. He told it to go hang out in Hep’s garage, which it did.

The other sacrifices in Hep’s garage, by the way, were less than happy about the arrival of the platypus. The platypus meanwhile wished that, just once, someone would be happy to see him.

Pan went back to the campsite and sat down with Hep and Scroat. There were in a small clearing at the bottom of a valley somewhere in the deserts of New Mexico. They had a small campfire, some rocks to sit on, and not much else. They had hidden the bikes in an abandoned shed and hiked out into the desert, figuring they could stay out of trouble there until they could come up with a plan.

“You know, Hep, you might want to go ahead and clue Dan and Sarah in on what’s going on,” Pan said.

Hep thought for a moment, and said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

He disappeared.

“You know, I’m getting sick of him doing that fucking trick,” Scroat said.

About twenty minutes later, Hep reappeared with Dan and Sarah. Dan and Sarah were carrying sleeping bags and backpacks.

“Did you remember to bring some beer?” Pan asked.

“Ahem,” Hep said, then addressing the valley at large,”I sure wish I had a beer right now.”
“What the fuck?” Scroat asked.

About thirty seconds later, they heard a buzzing, ripping sound in the distance, and very soon a frosty, cold bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon landed on the rock next to Hep. The cap popped off of its accord. Hep picked it up and handed it to Pan.

“What, none for me? You cheap bastard,” Scroat said.

“Get your own beer, you lazy son of a bitch,” Hep said. He turned to Dan and Sarah.

“So, welcome to our humble abode, for the time being. How have you guys been?” Hep said.

“You guys have really been hiding in the desert this whole time?” Sarah asked.

“Yep,” Pan answered.

“That would explain the smell,” Sarah said.

“Oh, hey, you live in the fucking desert for weeks on end and see if you still smell shower fresh, dumbass,” Scroat said.

“I think it’s very likely that you’ll get an answer to that question, Scroat,” Hep said. “These guys are staying with us, it seems. I’m guessing that they’re fairly high on Tim’s list of people to get, only slightly below, you know, us.”

Scroat looked at Dan. “If you try make up for not bathing by dousing yourself in Old Spice, I’m going to have to kill you,” he said.

Dan looked mildly ashamed for a moment, then took the bottle of cologne out of his bag and said, “I thought the alcohol in it might be good for starting fires.”

“Sure you did,” Scroat said, “and I bet you thought your favorite strippers actually liked you, you sick fucking monkey.”

Dan’s ears turned red, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Come on, you two,” Hep said, “We’re going to be stuck with these two until we figure out what to do about Tim. We might as well get along.”

“Hey, I’m getting along,” Scroat said. “He’s provoking me. You’re a fucking instigator, Dan. Don’t get me into any more trouble!”

Scroat laughed as Dan sputtered.

“I can’t believe my choices are stay in the desert with you guys, or go and be killed by one of Tim’ goons,” Sarah said to no one in particular.

“Hey, baby, I can make you feel like a princess right here in this valley,” Pan said, leering at her.

Sarah kicked him squarely in the balls, and he fell to the ground, gasping for air.

“Maybe getting shot isn’t such a bad option after all,” she said.