Children of the Sanctuary

by David Pollitt

Run Fast, Run

  Anne spoke to Carey, "What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?" Her chest was on fire. She heard her voice speaking, but she didn’t know how to stop it. She was repeating exactly word for word what Keel said, "I the Lord have called and chosen you as my witnesses. I will protect and deliver you from harm. Leave this place now, run, escape, and leave everything behind except your Bibles! Go to the mountain! Go to sanctuary!"

  Anne stopped speaking but shook all over. Carey put her arms around her, saying repeatedly, "It’s okay, Anne. It’s okay."

  All the kids felt the burning in their chest now; and for a minute, there was confusion. Anne finally asked, "What was that?"

  Keel said, "I think it was God warning us."

  "I’ve never heard of anything like that in my life, have you?" asked Carey, totally perplexed.

  Keel lowered his head slightly and said, "At my church, I have, but I never experienced anything like it myself, until now. It’s not much different than when a preacher preaches with the anointing of God. God is speaking through the preacher. This time God spoke through us."

  "Where exactly did you say you went to church?" asked Anne.

  "I went to an Assembly of God church ten miles from here." Keel wasn’t much bothered by the interest in his church roots, but he was bothered by the double message. This message couldn’t be ignored.

  "Whatever it was," said Anne, "I know it was from God. I’ve never felt like that in my life. What did it mean?"

  Carey was still shook up about it, and Keel felt they needed to do something fast. Carey beat him to the punch. "I’ll tell you what it means. It means we need to get the heck out of Dodge!" She grabbed a New Testament that she had found in a car’s glove compartment and started to head out the door."

  Anne shouted at her, "Where are you going? You running away?"

  "After that demonstration, do you expect me to stay around here? I heard what you two said. I’m not taking any chances," Carey spoke at them with her hand on the door handle.

  Keel interrupted, "But the message said to go to the mountain, didn’t it? Where is that?"

  Carey swung herself into the door opening and yelled over her shoulder, "I don’t know, guys, but can’t we figure it out later? Let’s get out of here!" They quickly fell over each other and piled into the car lot.

  Freckles asked, "Are we walking or driving?"

  "What do you mean?" asked Anne. She was looking up and down the street as if something was coming but didn’t know what.

  Freckles asked, "If we’re to go to the mountain, are we going to walk, take a bus, or drive?"

  They all stood staring at each other. Carey took charge again, "I’m not walking anywhere! What are our choices?"

  Keel pointed to an old V.W. Super Beetle. He had finished replacing the spark plugs on it yesterday. Anne punched him in the arm, "You expect all ten of us to fit in that thing? What is this— Honey-I-shrunk-the-kids' day?"

  They all laughed, but Keel was so serious they had to listen, "No, just a few. How about the rest of us taking those road bikes in the garage?"

  Carey ran over and hugged him, "Now you’re talking! Does anyone else besides me know how to handle those bikes?"

  Anne held up her hand and frowned, "What’s your problem?" asked Carey.

  Anne whined a little and said, "It’s only whenever I rode those with my nephew on the farm, I always had trouble getting them to go straight. He used to make fun of me."

  "Oh Pooh!" replied Carey. "Get over it, Anne. You poor baby." She was loudly sarcastic.

  "We got worse things to think about than you getting razzed by a relative for running into a tree. That was on dirt, we’re talking concrete and asphalt. There’s nothing to it. You start it. You point it. You move forward. You brake. It’s not exactly rocket science, don’t you know?"

  "Okay, okay, I give, but how many are going to have to go in the VW?" asked Anne, red faced from her Carey scolding but knew that it was the truth.

  "Let’s find out," said Keel as he pushed several into the back seat. Finally, there were five stuck sideways. "Does that answer your question, Anne?"

  Anne and Carey didn’t wait to give an answer. The remaining five ran over and hauled the bikes out front as Keel yelled at them, "They’re gassed up. I did it yesterday. Come on, let’s go!"

  Anne and Carey were mounted, and two kids jumped behind them, leaving Freckles last man out. He started crying, "Don’t leave me behind. Please, don’t leave me behind."

  Anne jumped off the bike while saying, "No one’s going to be left behind." She ran into the garage and returned with a couch cushion. She put it across the bike handlebars, then patted it, saying, "I hope your comfy!"

  Freckles made a dive for it and pushed his back against Anne’s face. She finally got positioned with her face looking out the traffic side from under his armpit and looking like a Keystone Cop routine.

  They were revving up to go when everyone said together, "Where are we going?"

  Suddenly, an angel appeared from around the corner of the garage while dragging his bloodied sword. His face was half torn off along with part of his left wing, and he was missing his arm below his right elbow. He said in a weak, almost inaudible voice, "Go to God’s Mountain, up I-24 towards Chattanooga. Go now!" The angel collapsed in a heap as everyone peeled out at the same time with Anne and Carey almost running up on the VW’s bumper.

  Anne shouted at Carey, "I think I saw my first angel!"

  Carey replied, "No kidding! What made you think that?" She was never more scared in her life.

  Keel led them on a straight shot for the Old Hickory Bypass and headed back towards town. He got off on Stewarts Ferry Pike and turned left, heading for Murfreesboro Road. He turned left again, and they continued till they passed St. Mark’s Episcopal Church on the left and Starwood on the right a couple miles farther. They used a road below Lavergne and connected to I-24 several miles later. He was familiar with this route since his family got their fireworks out this way every Fourth of July.

  Freckles was getting the beating of his life. When they finished this trip, he knew his butt would be black and blue. He kept thinking about the angel as a distraction from the pain, at least for the time being. Anne slowed Carey down, but they stayed together anyway. Carey was doing fine with her riding companion, an 11-year-old named Robert Lee, one of Carey’s favorite people. He thought the ride was a real treat because he got to hold onto Carey, but even that enjoyment was little comfort with the image of the mauled angel in his mind.

      

  The Haman Gallows

  Casey drove up to the Lebanon Road car lot with two of his haunted-looking regulars, a full tank of gas, and a suitcase full of money, silver, gold, and cocaine. In his hurry, he drove up over the curb while missing the car lot driveway.

  After hearing the report about the angels rescuing 15 kids from his motel, he was not sticking around to do a face to face with anything even resembling an angel. He only wanted a couple of the Lebanon-lot girls as collateral, leverage against an angel—fair trade if need be. Once he was safe, he’d turn them into dollars. He could turn any child with enough of the right kind of drugs.

  As he pulled up in front of the office, he saw the garage doors open, the garage empty, and a crumpled feathered form on the ground, and he thought, "Not an angel!" This one wasn’t moving, and he looked like a broken piece of road kill.

  Casey started yelling, pounding on the steering wheel, "No, no, no, no, those stupid kids! I can't believe they're gone! Of all the times for them to leave, not now! If I get my hands on them, I’ll kill them!" He jumped out of the car and ran over to the angel and pulled out his revolver shouting, "I’ll kill them!"

  The angel was barely able to pull himself up on his elbows facing Casey, "Not if I kill you first." Casey didn’t give him a chance and fired four rounds into his face, then turned to leave.

  "Leaving so soon?" asked Dar-Raven
. "It seems you've lost more of my kids, haven’t you? Casey, I had so much confidence in you, such high hopes.”

  "Who in the h…" He wasn’t allowed to finish.

  "Yes, in the, am I. I used to be one of your biggest fans."

  Dar-Raven’s wings shot out of his back draping him in his pitch-dark cloak. Casey recognized who and what Dar-Raven was, and it pleased him. This was his team, one of his own. He was finally in good company.

  He went to his knees and bowed before Dar-Raven and said in humble homage, "My Master."

  Casey’s girls jumped out of the car with his goodie case in hand and ran down Lebanon Road back towards Nashville. They had seen enough and never looked back. Neither Casey nor Dar-Raven noticed.

  "There seems to be a chronic problem developing, Casey, a bad trend. The problem is your habit of losing things. Things that belong to me. Shall I remind you that those 15 at your motel were mine too?”

  Casey got nervously to his feet and noticed that Dar-Raven wasn’t impressed by his subjection. Dar-Raven was repulsed and saw it as a sign of weakness. That wasn't the effect that Casey wanted.

  He thought, "If this angel is disappointed in me, loses his respect of me, doesn’t admire me, then I’m in big trouble. He had heard that one angel while rescuing the children from the motel had cut a man in half. This angel probably could do the same."

  He wanted to make Dar-Raven like him. He’d do anything to prove that he wasn’t a total mess-up. He blurted out while pointing at the other angel, "I killed that angel for you, see? He’s a complete goner. At least, I can do some things right?" He crossed his fingers and hoped it was enough, but high-rise fear came up within him. The warning bells and whistles were going off. He needed to run, but his legs were frozen. He couldn’t move. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? What could he do?

  Dar-Raven bent over looking at the mutilated angel, then stated, "Kill him? I’ve been hurt worse and recently. He’ll be back. Give him time."

  He had his back to Casey, then turned suddenly, and in two quick steps was in Casey’s face and spoke, “But you won’t. Death and fire.”

  Casey felt the flames of hell burning him inside out even before he fell to the ground. Dar-Raven scowled disgustedly at having to waste time on Casey to begin with.

  As he walked into thin air, he whispered, "I can’t stand incompetence."

      

  Close Call

  Dar-Raven stood on the BellSouth Building at its highest point. He was poised like a giant hawk waiting and watching for his kill. It was late Sunday morning, and downtown was practically deserted.

  He said out-loud, "I know you’re out there, Aaron. I know wherever you are so are the children. You know I’m here. You can sense me. Maybe you caught my television appearance with the new governor. I’m doing all this to make you run, to make you show yourself. When you do, I’ll be there. You can’t hide forever. You’ll never make it to a safe haven, no matter where it is. I’ll stop you and the kids, and all of them will be mine."

  He continued to scan for details of movement in the streets. Out of the corner of an eye, he noticed a group of cars heading down the riverfront turning towards Lafayette off of Broad.

  He thought, "Now, where are they going, a picnic?"

  He flew to a near building, the Federal Building. From the top of the gray-marbled building, he saw the cars starting to circle the bus station. He flew closer and landed this time on the Methodist Publishing House roof. They were slowing down and circling the bus station with bibles on their dashboards. He got a disgusting thought, "I bet they’re believers getting ready to leave or coming back from church camp." He got sick at his stomach just thinking about it. He spit in hatred, "I don’t need to endure this scene."

  He flew back to Alex’s Union Station suite. He always liked to see Alex’s skin crawl when he got around him. He knew that if Alex could think of any way out of this, he would. Not because he was a believer because he was, for lack of better words, "Just not a bird lover," he chuckled.

      

  Run Fast Run

  Aaron prepared the children for the escape. He knew the roadblocks were farther out of Nashville. He assigned additional small teams of angels to help the kids get through them. He was sure that The Tennessee Criminal Rehabilitation (TCR) buses wouldn’t have problems, and he doubted that the Country Artist Tour (CAT) buses would have any delays. Everyone was looking for hostages with weirdo kidnappers, but the children in the cars were another matter. They were hidden like hostages, and it didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out they were hidden for a reason. The church members may not be weirdos, but the hidden children could cause further inquiry, a chance for additional trouble and was too risky. There had to be some other way.

  Smitty was an eight-year-old whose Dad was one of the deacons from Cole’s church. He approached Aaron and tugged on his clothes like he was ringing a church bell.

  "Mr. Aaron, sir? Can I tell you something?"

  Aaron answered without looking down, "I love you too, Smitty." Aaron kept staring at the bus station while working through another problem.

  "Mr. Aaron, I want to tell you something."

  Aaron finally turned around to see this skinny black kid staring up at him from behind thick, black, plastic-framed glasses. Aaron felt the respect pouring from this child’s eyes. He saw and felt something else. He got the intuitive feeling that this child was going to say something important although he couldn’t imagine what.

  "Mr. Aaron, is it true that men are going to roadblock us?" asked Smitty as he stared patiently, enjoying being close to Aaron’s star eyes.

  “Yes, Smitty, that’s right. We’ll figure something out." He patted Smitty on the head, but he knew there was more coming so Aaron waited.

  "Why don’t we play funeral, Mr. Aaron?"

  Aaron looked at him and wondered what he meant. "Smitty, this in not the time to play games. This is pretty serious stuff." Aaron never lost his patience with children and always smiled, giving them direct and personal attention. He never interrupted them like their parents did. They responded enthusiastically to such a big dose of equality.

  "Mr. Aaron, we can play a game that can help us?" He continued confidently, "My dad owns a funeral home, and he has a real big hearse. Why don’t we pretend we are following him, turn on our lights, and play funeral? Don’t you know someone who can pretend to be the funeral police on motorcycles?"

  Aaron’s face lit up like a beacon. He snapped his fingers together making a loud cracking sound. "That’s it! You’ve got it, Smitty! That’s exactly what we can do! Where’s your dad?"

  "He’s down the street at the church, and he just got back from a funeral. He’s driving the black wagon. That’s what he calls it." Smitty was very pleased with himself and smiled from ear to ear.

  Aaron shot out the Mission door, ran up to the church and plowed through the church crowds calling out, "Where’s Smitty’s dad? Where’s Smitty’s dad?"

  John, Smitty’s dad, was in the kitchen bagging sack lunches for the kids' trip—an apple, a cookie, a squeeze juice, a banana, a bologna sandwich, an apple, a cookie, a squeeze juice, a banana, a bologna sandwich—repeatedly. They were working furiously to finish up.

  "I’m Smitty’s dad. Is there something wrong, Aaron?" John looked like a grownup Smitty with his thick black glasses and a broad smile.

  "Oh no," Aaron replied. "Your black wagon; is it gassed up?"

  "Why sure it is! I just finished a short run to a funeral off Franklin Road, and I have more than three quarter’s of a tank, and it’s got dual tanks. I’m always gassed up. One thing that always pays well is a funeral. They make sure that I’ve got enough fuel to get through the ordeal, and it’s always first on their list. Why?"

  "We need the camouflage, and we need to do what Smitty suggested. We need to fake a funeral and pretend for the kids' caravan. Can we use it?" Aaron was relieved
and excited about Smitty’s idea.

  "Of course we can, but I’m driving. Something else," John went serious. "I want a favor from you, Aaron."

  Aaron prepared himself. It always happened, the Aaron-in-the-lamp syndrome. Everyone eventually wanted to rub the Aaron lamp. Even those who didn’t ask, thought it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do many things, he could. He had to be in accordance with the will of God. Whether it was retribution or blessing, he was always in harmony with His Father. Angels were always in full compliance with God’s provisions, protection, and deliverance. Aaron braced himself, getting ready to give a canned response.

  "Aaron, I want you to let me take and leave Smitty at Sanctuary. His mom died three years ago; and with all the trouble I know is coming our way, I can’t think of a better place for him. Please Aaron, let him."

  Aaron saw the seriousness in John’s eyes, and his request caught Aaron off guard. This was definitely in accordance with everything Aaron was sent to do. This wasn’t a Dad getting rid of a child for summer camp but of getting his son somewhere where he knew he’d be safe.

  "Of course, of course. I’ll not have it any other way."

  Aaron ran back to the Mission in jubilation. Now, Aaron thought, the teenagers. He had been studying the bus station for quite some time. The Sunday bus traffic left seven Greyhounds preparing for their next legs. He counted them as they came and went. He gave an intuitive call to a dozen available angels. One was Caleb, his best friend. He had fought with Caleb beside him in more battles than he could imagine. When he left middle heaven to personally take care of things in Nashville, he left Caleb in charge. He had done well, holding back the dark side. Aaron always enjoyed battling with Caleb; even though he was smaller, he was much faster, with a flashy, acrobatic fighting style. Caleb would charge the enemy doing flips and somersaults in the air over them with moves that made Aaron dizzy. There he was behind the foe before they ever knew it. It was beautiful to watch.

  Aaron especially liked to use Caleb when he needed to impress, sway, and influence women. Caleb’s attractiveness was so brilliant that Aaron always told him, "Tone it down, Caleb. Can’t you do something to be a little uglier every once in a while? If you can, I’ll try to do something to be a little smaller."

  They’d laugh heartily while knowing they could morph into about any shape, but it wasn't very acceptable to God the Father. God had set down a principle that required each angel to be satisfied with what they were given from creation.

  Caleb appeared at the front of the Mission with a dozen more angels dressed in Greyhound mechanic and driver uniforms. Mechanics had their tool boxes, and drivers carried their lunch pails, back supports, and seat cushions.

  "Caleb, always good with details," thought Aaron as he ran towards them and hugged Caleb in a brotherly squeeze.

  Several of the church women stopped and gasped audibly upon seeing Caleb. Their husbands chuckled and sparred with their wives, "Is there something about God’s handiwork that you girls like, huh? I think Aaron’s blonde friend is a little too young for you gals, probably not more than four or five thousand years old. What do you think?"

  Their wives hissed at them lovingly, and some mouthed the words, "I’ll get you," in respite. They continued with their busy work but looked back at Caleb when they thought no one was watching.

  Aaron sounded a boson’s whistle, and its high-pitched tone signaled the time was at hand. It was noon, and the cars and buses were merging in perfect coordination to arrive without congestion. The caravan of the first wave was circling the block around the bus station while preparing to start loading. They saw Aaron standing at the side door with his thumb up.

  The black wagon pulled up front and moved forward with the others lining up behind it. The 150 cars and vans made a long snake-like chain wrapping themselves back towards 5th Avenue onto Broad Street. It was definitely conspicuous. The children dived

  into the backseats, and the adults quickly covered them. Another set of angels closed the door securely, slapping the fender loudly as a signal to take off. They followed the black wagon’s slow movement back to the downtown I-24 exit ramp.

  It didn’t take long before some employees at the bus station noticed all the activity. They couldn’t figure out what was going on. Wasn’t the Mission under a medical quarantine? Minutes later, one of them called police dispatch inquiring about it. That was all that was needed to start the questions and calls 30 minutes later to Alex. It was the Chief of Police asking Alex if they needed to check it out? Dar-Raven overheard and dashed out heading for the Mission.

  Dar-Raven could kick himself, "That’s exactly where I saw those cars circling earlier. How could I be so stupid as to have ignored it? I should have been willing to put up with a little nausea on a chance it was Aaron’s kids."

  Alex told the chief, "Let’s wait till Commander Dar returns? I’ll get back to you shortly."

  Alex already figured out it was the right bunch. He was still into delaying anything Dar-Raven wanted. He figured the delays might help the children and give them a fighting chance. He wasn’t about to let those kids loose to this feathered menace, at least not easily. He wanted as little blood on his hands as possible.

  Dar-Raven positioned himself on the bus-station roof just as the third group was loading into the buses and leaving. He could tell there were plenty more left. His keen hearing from this vantage point enabled him to barely hear the sounds, not of infants or little kids, but the cracking voices of teenagers. He kicked himself again. If he had only moved a little closer earlier, he’d have heard them and got them all. He stood a good chance of at least getting the teenagers. He could find out where the rest were heading and catch up with them later.

  Dar-Raven rushed back to the Union Station suite. "I got them now! Call whomever you have to! Get them over to the Mission! They’ve sent out at least two or three groups of kids by now, mostly younger kids. The ones I really want are the teenagers. I’ll catch up with the rest later."

  Alex called the chief back, "Chief, this is Alex." Alex laughed as he saw Dar-Raven pacing back and forth across the room. He was a nervous wreck. "Chief, I’m here with Commander Dar. Yes, he is with me right now. It’s really important to him to block off the Mission. Do you understand, Chief?"

  Dar-Raven was so absorbed in kicking himself and biting at the bit, he never caught the subtleties of what Alex was saying. Over the phone, speaking very quietly the chief asked, "Are you saying it’s not important to you, Governor?"

  "Yes, Chief, that’s exactly what I’m saying. So we need to move as fast as we can, don’t you agree? How many tactical vans do you have available? Can we get some over to the Mission to block off all the surrounding streets, immediately? Why 30 minutes? Sunday, what does that have to do with it? All it takes is five or six patrol cars or vans." Alex and the chief were enjoying the charades, and Alex continued to pretend to be angry about the delay.

  The chief was a strong believer, and the Lord kept telling him to "slow walk," and he was. The chief finally said, "I’ll get them pulled off the interstate wreck out by Bordeaux. A semi-trailer jack-knifed and crashed into a propane tanker, no leak, but everyone is there."

  Dar-Raven was furious and started yelling at Alex, "You tell that fat chief to get the Mission blocked off! I want everything he’s got, or he’s history!" History meant something more insidious to Dar-Raven than the chief losing his job.

  "I can’t stand incompetence!" yelled Dar-Raven. He remembered Casey’s shocked and heated look before he fell to the ground. Now, that was history.

      

  The Bus Station

  At the bus station, the buses were preparing to leave on their assigned routes. As three of them started their engines, terrible fumes flooded the main compartments and filled them with smoke. Their drivers rolled out of them while choking and coughing with their faces streaming with tears. Two other buses didn’t start. When they jump-started them, the carburetors bac
k flashed with nearby wires sparking from electrical shorts.

  A driver shouted, "I’m not crazy enough to drive this ticking time bomb. You’d better tell those idiots at central to get some buses over here! I’m not driving this menace!" He moved back into the terminal for protection, followed shortly by a couple of mechanics.

  Odd accidents happened to the two remaining buses. When the bus heaters were adjusted for 70 degrees, they heated immediately to a hundred. When they were adjusted down, they continued up over a hundred. When they tried to turn them off, they wouldn’t turn off, but pushed the temperatures even higher. They had to pull the battery cables loose to get them to stop. With November being hotter than normal, averaging 60 degrees at noon, they couldn’t take a chance of exposing anyone to a sweatbox like that.

  Soon after, the station manager called central. His answer was curt, sarcastic, and accusatory, "What do you expect us to do on a Sunday? It’s probably your drivers wanting some extra time off. Maybe you ought to have a talk with them about their work ethics.”

  “Go figure, what’s the possibility of all the buses going down at once like that? Hey, who knows, it could be sabotage, but it might be your own drivers doing it. In spite of that, I’ll try to get a couple of buses rerouted for you. It’s the best I can do. I might be able to send over some extra mechanics. Maybe I can find some who specialize in trouble shooting more sophisticated problems."

  The station manager was pounding his desk with his fists in frustration. He informed his office people to expect some replacement buses soon and special mechanics from central. They were to give them free reign, anything, to get the buses going.

  "Tell the customers to expect exceptionally long delays. If they are having emergency circumstances, they may need to find some other kind of transportation. Don’t offer them monetary rewards for the delays. Why do you think they travel by bus to begin with? It’s ‘cause the costs are down to the bone. We haven’t any room; I mean no room for any additional expenses."

  The manager left to find a place away from the angry customers, the problems, and to get a strong drink. Minutes later, Caleb and Aaron came walking in the front door. They approached the main ticket area in front of the administrative offices.

  "My name is Aaron Justice from central." He was thinking about God Central. "Our boss said for us to come down and get the buses out of here. Our experienced mechanics are trained for special problems like this. You were expecting someone, weren’t you?"

  Aaron was speaking to the young secretary, and she stood with her hands flat on the desk, leaning forward with her mouth dropped open in a permanent gasp. She couldn’t keep her eyes off Caleb. From behind her came an older lady with a high, fuzzy bun of hair.

  "What the heck is going on? OH, MY GOSH!" she shrieked when she saw Aaron and Caleb. She hadn’t a sensuous thought in years. Long ago forgot that stuff, but she was thinking some now. Nervously and haltingly, she began to speak.

  "Where are you guys from? I mean, are you local guys?" The corners of her mouth drooled slightly. Embarrassed, she wiped them on her sleeve.

  The young secretary sat down in her chair, not saying a word. The phones were ringing. After 20 rings or so, she picked up the receiver and hung up on the caller, never taking her eyes off Caleb.

  The bun lady was slowly regaining her composure, "Do you think it’s dangerous to be in the building?"

  Aaron spoke confidently to her, "Sue," he read her name tag, "I can assure you it’s dangerous to stay here. We need these buses out of here as soon as possible." Aaron was thinking about the kids and Dar-Raven coming. It was dangerous all right, dangerous for the kids.

  "If we can get these buses moving, we need to park them across the street in front of the Mission and check them out before getting them over to a better location. Is it okay? Well, on second thought, as an extra precaution, can you get the customers moved down the street near the Cokesbury Book Store?"

  "Oh, yes, yes, whatever you need!"

  The rest of Aaron’s crew walked in with air masks and toolboxes. It was enough to send tremors through the customers; and before anyone was asked to move down the street, people were running out the front doors in a panic. Sue made an announcement for people to evacuate the building. That finished up the most reluctant travelers and no one was left, including Sue. Sue was pulling the secretary along towards the doors, but her eyes never left Caleb until he was completely out of sight.

  Aaron turned to Caleb, "I told you to tone it down a little."

  Caleb laughed, "Sure big brother, not a chance."

  Aaron slapped him on the back and went to the task of getting the buses out of the terminal. In less than five minutes, the buses were barreling out of the terminal with some of Caleb’s flashing red-warning lights and car-alarm sounds resounding from each bus. "More Caleb details," thought Aaron.

  The first bus pulled up to the Mission, just as the sound of police squad cars were heard in the distance. The kids ran, stumbling over themselves, throwing their sleeping bags and backpacks haphazardly under the seats and into the overhead compartments. They held their Apple I-Pods firmly in their hands, a well-received gift from Irish.

  Nash stayed on the 10th floor with Hunter, an injured teenager. The boy had been so badly injured in a street fight that Nash and Enya decided to keep him at the Mission to pray for him rather than take him to a hospital. Even that didn’t seem to help. It was as if their prayers were blocked, and it was terribly disappointing.

  Nash was trying to get HunterHunter down to the buses. He faintly heard the sirens but knew he must be the last to leave, and he was right. All the buses, except one, were gone. The rest crossed Eighth Avenue and pulled around the main post office beside Union Station facing the Life Way Book Store. They were parked three blocks from the Mission. Fortunately, there was no way the police could know the kids were in the Greyhounds, and the police passed in front of them minutes later.

  The last bus finished loading, and everyone was aboard, except for Nash and Hunter. As the angel driver closed the door, he saw the police pull across 8th Avenue and blocking his escape. He put the bus in reverse, turning the wheel hard. It looked as if he was backing up to the Greyhound dock for special baggage unloading. He sat and watched while the kids were on their knees praying. They kept the

  sound down, but they never stopped in their vigil. They knew Nash and Hunter were still in there. Some were distraught because they didn't stay back to help them, but it was too late now.

  They all prayed, "Please Lord, help them get out safely. Please Lord," they begged.

  The angel driver was moved to tears. He knew the available legions were totally occupied, and there was no one to spare, so he waited.

  Nash thought he could get Hunter to the bus in time by using the elevator. He was mistaken because Dar-Raven turned off the electricity as an evil foresight. He was trying to disrupt the escape route and cause confusion in order just to make it easier to catch them. Nash had to use the stairs, but Hunter wasn't just seriously hurt—he was dying. Nash tried picking him up but ended up half picking him up, half dragging him down the stairs to the ground floor. As he reached the third floor, 20 officers rushed through the front doors and fanned out in a solid search pattern.

  Nash sensed that Hunter was sinking fast. "Jesus loves you, Hunter. Hold on big guy," Nash whispered as Hunter moved in and out of consciousness.

  As Nash reached the last set of steps, he said to Hunter, "Hunter, God has you in his hands. Trust in Him, Hunter. Claim life, Hunter. Don’t give up. Believe that God can heal you." Nash’s last desperate words were, "Hunter, you have to surrender to God’s will."

  Hunter raised his head from unconsciousness, and Nash saw his lips moving. He mouthed the words, "I surrender to God. I accept God’s will for me, right now."

  His hand reached out and touched Nash’s face, then he buried his face into Nash’s chest as tears ran down both their faces. Hunter died with a whisper
ing, final sigh, and a beautiful smile. Nash immediately realized that when Hunter surrendered to God’s will; it was to go to be with the Lord.

  Nash pushed through the outside door of the stairwell onto the bus station side of the Mission. Three policemen shoved guns in his face, threw him to the ground, and cuffed him. They pulled Hunter away from him and began immediate CPR, then stopped. He wasn’t coming back. Nash was read his rights and charged with Hunter’s murder. They needed the murder to book him. May not stick, but it was enough to hold him over.

  Nash was lying on the ground while a young policeman placed his foot forcibly on the back of his neck and made it difficult for him to breathe. Suddenly, the policeman's foot eased its pressure at the appearance of Commander Dar. Just as suddenly, there was a dread in Nash’s heart he had never felt before, and his hair stood on end. He knew before he heard Dar-Raven’s voice that he was as close to hell as he’d ever get, and he started praying in the Holy Spirit.

  Dar-Raven jumped back, "What do you think you’re doing? Your prayers aren't going to help you, not today."

  He was wrong. The praying was interfering and interrupting Dar-Raven’s concentration. He couldn’t stand to hear God-wrought prayer. It was as if God was right in front of him, and he felt God’s conviction and damnation reaching out to him. He felt like "hurling" when in the presence of the "Shekina" glory of God. He still didn’t understand how God could invest so much of Himself into the hearts of man. This holy mystery, union with man, was more than he could comprehend. For God to take His own glory and make it part of the believer’s heart was too strong, too bold, too contrary to everything Dar-Raven was made of.

  Dar-Raven kicked Nash powerfully in the stomach and sides to make him stop praying, and it worked. With his wind gone, Nash could barely breathe never mind pray. It was just the break Dar-Raven needed.

  "Where are the children going? I know they were here 30 minutes ago. Where are they going?" Dar-Raven had Nash by the back his neck and squeezed so hard that Nash was seeing colored spots before his eyes.

  Finally, Nash got his breath and started laughing while saying, "I don’t know who you are, but I know what you are. If you kill me, God can raise me from the dead. If you injure me, God can heal me. Even if you think I’m wrong, I don’t think you like the idea of sending another believer straight to heaven. Why don’t you take your black-star eyes back to hell where you belong." Nash wondered how he knew Dar-Raven’s eyes were black stars, but he did.

  As Dar-Raven looked around, he saw that the street was too crowded and busy to suit him. Dar-Raven wanted Nash dead, but not in front of so many witnesses. He debated with himself whether Nash was worth the risk and decided that he’d get the information about the kids somewhere else. More policemen came out of the Mission shrugging, "No children." Dar-Raven already knew it.

  The bus across the street stayed put while the others were already onto the interstate and beyond Hickory Hollow Mall stopped at Nashville Modern R.V. Sales. From this vantage point, they could see when the last bus came by and could radio them to join them. Many had friends and family on the last bus, and they continued in prayer and intercession. The power of God sheltered the last bus as it sat at the bus station loading dock. The angel driver saw everything that happened, including Dar-Raven, and knew that if it wasn't for the police and too many witnesses, Nash would be dead right now.

  He walked quietly back to his young cargo and said, "Continue to pray in the Spirit, intercess for Nash right now. Do not stop. We must build walls around him, bulwarks of prayer, fortresses of help. He has much to endure."

  With whispers, they continued on their knees, and the power of God reached out to Nash and upheld him. Even Dar-Raven felt it. It was repulsive too him, and he couldn’t wait to get away from him.

  He turned to a couple of the policemen saying, "Do you know what to do with a child abuser and murderer in Tennessee?"

  They understood exactly what he meant. If they didn’t, they were sure the jail was full of those who did. They’d make sure everyone knew. They figured Nash wouldn’t make it through the night.

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