“Let’s be realistic, please,” Michael begged, unnerved by the sound his sister’s weeping, “for the love of Christ. I can see how this is miraculous and I’ve been taught faith all my life. We’re no stranger to it in this room. But we must approach this situation as if we aren’t the characters in some scripture passage. I mean, unless some angelic army appears outside our door, I don’t think it’s wise to behave this way.”
“Hiding a pregnancy isn’t easy,” Amelia defended her husband’s position. “Even if our mouths were sealed shut, Maria’s got to work. We’re nannies and those boojee women aren’t idiots. They know the difference between fat and a potbelly. Maria’s got chicken legs. There’s no way she’d look normal walking around town.”
The priest paced around the room, his fingers pinched beneath his chin. He removed his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt as he thought over their concerns, but then continued to pace to and fro.
“Let’s just see what happens. She’s got plenty of time before we get to that point.” He continued to pace, using gestures to lay out his thoughts, then, “I’ll make contact with some friends and make some arrangements.”
“Like what?” Maria asked as she emerged from her fearful place. “What friends?”
“Other priests -- people down south.”
“What are they going to do, offer prayers?” Michael snickered.
“Please, show me some respect. I’m just as new to this situation as you are. I’m thinking.”
“What could they do?”
“Maria, aren’t the two of you only here temporarily?” The priest’s question was confirmed by the nodding of the couple’s heads, “Okay, so you might not mind the worst-case scenario being relocation? I know they’ll have space for you.”
“Relocation? That’s all?”
"It's a rural place, there aren't many people on the farms. She'd probably only have contact with ten others. They're all friends, I promise. There are three houses owned by families that have been sanctuaries for many refugees over the years.”
“Is that where you were for so long?”
“Yes, there are a couple of priests hiding out there now. I visited them and discussed rumors.”
“Well call them now,” John interrupted, speaking rapidly. “Just call and ask real fast.”
“I wish I could, but there are rules.”
The doctors shifted in the couch anxiously, as they thought about labor and delivery. They’d have to be there even if there were other professionals. Sandra loved Maria and had provided healthcare to her since she was a baby. It didn’t feel right to leave her in a stranger’s care. Paul knew his wife’s thoughts about this and he shared them.
"Well, they're going to need us at some point.”
“They will, but remain in town until the due date grows closer. They’ll only need you to visit occasionally.”
"No," Sandra disagreed, shaking her head at the thought. Paul looked at her, prying with his eyes for an explanation. “I’ll need to be with her from beginning to end.”
“Honey, our practice -- there’s people here that need us. She’ll be fine.”
“Then you can stay, but I’m going with her.”
“Absolutely not.”
“This is the reason I started practicing obstetrics in the first place and it’s the reason we left our official work as physicians. They wanted us to destroy the very things we vowed to protect, so I’m going to travel with her and I’m going to deliver a healthy baby,” Sandra pleaded adamantly, her voice choking as she spoke. The emotions weighed heavily on her as they had for over a decade.
"Well, then I'm going too."
"You can't. As you said, there are people in need of healthcare here. You need to stay for them." Paul's face shrank as he heard her words and meditated on what the absence of her precious company would mean for him.
“Well, Father,” Michael spoke up, “haste makes waste.”
“Yes, I’ll get to work. God, bless you all and peace be with you.”
The priest took his leave, along with the doctors, separating from the family that continued to debate the dangers and concerns that made themselves so clear that day. The dangers laid before them were like traps lying in wait for unsuspecting hares. They had no way of truly knowing what was in store for them -- for everyone in the room.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Isaac kept his desk neatly organized with personal items he brought from home or things his coworkers in the force gave him. Printed pictures of his wife and him hung around his cubicle, along with jokes and fortunes from cookies that read, “A promotion is in your near future,” or, “You will soon be in a dessert.” The first one was verification of his dream, the second simply humored him, though he had no clue why someone would want to be in a desert as he suspected the misprint should have read.
It had been a busy month for him, especially after he talked to his boss, making known his interest in working toward a promotion that recently became available. His captain mentioned it to him months ago and Isaac worked tirelessly toward it even as he lost hope of ever receiving it. He took on more cases and spent more time in his uniform than he did out of it.
Their immaculate leader, Unity, conveyed many instances of rumors swirling about and it was his duty to investigate them, cracking them open like eggs. Yes, Unity, a creation capable of seeing and hearing all, but unable to enter the physical world. Isaac was the corporeal prober, sent to discern whether Unity’s paranoias were true.
The many cases covered Isaac’s desktop in the form of countless folders, some of them piled on each other and, had they not been but pixels, would have collected thick layers of dust. They changed color as they aged on that virtual plane, screaming into Isaac’s face the many sensations that stress could induce.
“Isaac,” his captain said, popping his handsome, yet deeply aged face around the corner of the cubicle wall. “What are you working on?”
The captain was dark and well-tanned with jet black hair, clearly dyed to blot out any grey, and a stylish goatee shaped skillfully along his cheeks and jawline. The older man was in incredible physical shape and, but for some telltale lines and wrinkles, he would’ve given the impression of a man in his thirties.
“Was just getting to some of these escalated tickets that’ve been cooking for a few days.” Isaac held his breath in anticipation of what the captain would say about the problem.
“Why are they escalated?”
“Others, flagged at a higher priority, have flooded in lately, so I’ve not had a chance to get to them.” The captain was the one who distributed the tasks to his officers and through no maneuvering on Isaac’s part, Isaac was the captain’s top recipient. After handing out the day’s typical workload, the captain almost always found that Isaac was best suited to work on the direst cases as well. The resulting enormous workload rendered Isaac unable to focus on any one item without inadvertently forming a collection of expired and escalated tickets.
“Isaac,” the captain’s face sank as he shook his head, discontent rising to the surface due to his officer’s failure. The sight of it secretly filled Isaac’s head with fantasies of violence toward his commander as he listened to the man drone on, “...you want the promotion, you gotta learn to delegate. Anything you can’t get to, allocate to Marty or Cruz. They’re just sitting on their asses all day, and you better start making use of them, or I’m firing them and you’ll have to cover it all when we’re understaffed.”
The captain’s face became sick with disgust, “I can’t stand them, Isaac. Just look at Farty, his putrid scent fills the office.” Isaac poked his head around the wall of his cubicle to behold the repulsive sight of Marty. His morbidly obese form sat surrounded by dried soda spills, stale bread crumbs, and various other unidentifiable snack droppings.
“I’ll send some of the simpler things to him, sir.”
“Great. Thanks, Isaac.” The captain continued to linger at Isaac’s cubicle, watching as he sent the t
ickets to the two reprobates who sullied their force.
He looked up at his boss, loitering strangely next to him, waiting for more instructions. Finally, he asked, “Was there something else, sir?”
“What, can’t I just be your friend?”
“Sir?”
“I’m screwing with you,” the captain cajoled, laughing at himself. “I don’t know if you’ve checked the updates on those savages we picked up a while ago at that protest in Five Points.” It was the same protest Stone and his allies had interrupted, many of whom were arrested that night.
“No sir, I wasn’t aware of any developments.”
“One of them disclosed the location of their boss’s worksite. There’s supposedly a squad of them that operate out of it.”
“Really?” Isaac’s heart began to pound, propelling excitement through his veins. It had been so long since he had the pleasure of working on such a case. He grew increasingly weary of busting drug dealers and searching for missing people. And nothing sang promotion so loudly as a hunt for the savage Zealots.
“Yeah, but don’t just sit there and stare at the files. Unity already knows what he knows, so get your ass in the field today. I want to see those shiny boots muddy, hopefully even bloody. As far as Unity is concerned, these savages are rabid animals. Put them down if you must, but try to bring the P.O.I. back alive and breathing long enough for an interview.”
“Yes sir.” Isaac didn’t waste any time rising to his feet and grabbing his things. Relief washed over him as he prepared to leave his captain and desk behind. On his way out, he passed by the reprobates, overhearing their whining about the tickets they just received and the fact that they were flagged as high priority.
“Marty, wake up!” Cruz yelped. “They need the A-team, baby!” Nothing was further from the truth, Isaac knew, and the idea of escaping far away from them and their stench made him happy.
…
The weather had grown colder so Isaac wore his fine uniform coat, which displayed the well-known force insignia -- an eye piercing through a triangular field of indigo and green. The sight of the symbol inspired reverence in all people he encountered. All people except, of course, his wife who cultivated an immunity to his authority, or anything positive about him, for that matter. Citizens, on the other hand, offered him free beverages and extra fries, hoping they weren’t targeted for scrutiny or anything else Unity deemed hateful. Isaac often wondered what they had to hide from him -- the purpose for their fear -- and if they might ever make their way to his desktop.
Cung, the new person of interest, certainly made her way to his desktop -- the mechanic -- or whatever it is she did, when she wasn’t crusading. He hopped into the undercover vehicle, which looked, from the outside, as if it would fall apart the minute a driver attempted to crank the engine. The internals, though, were completely solid. The force made a few drivable cars available for officers to use in case of emergencies requiring fast pursuit; or, as an unspoken perk, to simply return home faster at the end of the day.
If he activated the sirens, all driverless cars on the highway would seamlessly move out of his way, giving him the most efficiency possible to get to his destination. But when working undercover, he couldn’t use and abuse such perks. With no sirens to trumpet his approach, his car garnered no influence as he rolled down the road toward the apartment building where Cung supposedly lived.
“What do we have here, Cung,” he muttered under his breath as he acquainted himself with the new information. History involving stolen software? Not your typical pipe-bomb…, he gathered, silently reading the list of developments, while sitting in the now parked car. Her file truly perplexed him. He made occasional, furtive glances across the street at the workshop her captured cohort revealed in exchange for release back into the wild.
No living relatives. Well so much for exploiting that route. He held the car’s broken headset to his eyes, flipping to the next page with a hand gesture. This required he turn his hands to resemble holding a page between his fingers. Well, at least this thing still recognizes hand gestures, he thought resentfully.
Isaac reached into his coat to retrieve his firearm, holding it low and out of sight from any curious eyes. The weapon was a black .45 caliber engraved with the department’s insignia. It felt warm in Isaac’s cold hands because he had it tucked snugly against his body all morning. He ensured it had a round chambered before returning to his shoulder holster, which kept the gun against his left side, easily accessible with his right hand.
His heart picked up in rhythm. Time to get moving. He checked the file once again, Cung’s photo ID looked as he expected. As he removed the keys from the ignition, the sudden choking silence assaulted him. His ears seemed to be ringing as he sat there briefly before opening the door. The ringing stopped immediately upon exposure to the peaceful melodies of birds and the hum of electricity in the city.
…
Isaac made his way to the shop’s closed door and knocked, receiving no answer. He turned his head against the door to listen and heard sound coming from within -- a hammering. He knocked again, harder, and continued to knock until the door pulled away from his reach as it swung open.
“Hello?” answered a young man covered in grease. Then, he immediately recognized Isaac as a law enforcement officer. “We got company!” he yelled out to whoever else was there, as he tried to slam the door shut.
Deeply experienced with the tactics of criminals, he had already tucked his nightstick into the doorway to prevent the door from closing shut. He pried the door open with the baton and the full force of his weight, ramming his shoulder into the it, which forced it back onto its closer.
The heavy force surprised the young man, knocking him to the ground. He quickly jumped to his feet and moved towards the intruder. Isaac loved the invitation to violence and swung his baton with no hesitation. The following crack of shattering bones brought him great satisfaction as he slammed it against the young man’s jaw, sending him back to the floor.
“You’re in the wrong place, buddy,” a faceless voice mocked reproachfully from somewhere within the garage. It echoed along the sheet metal building.
“I’m looking for someone,” Isaac answered from across the garage.
“No, you lookin’ for trouble. No one of interest to be found here,” the man bellowed, his voice gradually approaching Isaac. He heard footsteps on the opposite end from the voice, flanking him from behind a gutted vehicle.
“I’m only looking for Cung,” Isaac called, his eyes searching the workshop for movement. He noticed the first-floor rafters, making up the floor for the second story were dark, devoid of any light.
“Well, think you’re ten thousand miles off course. I don’t know no Cungs ‘round here.”
“Don’t take another step closer!” Isaac shouted as he sensed the man’s voice drawing nearer. Isaac reached for his firearm and held it solidly in his right hand, the baton still in his left. Suddenly a sound emanated from above -- the rapid movement of feet shuffled across the creaky floors. Dust fell from the ceiling rafters betraying whomever was hiding above. “Who’s up there?”
“Just the ghosts that live here,” came a response from the man covering the other end, finally breaking his silence.
Footsteps following the voice quickened as they approached Isaac from the left. He turned, raised his firearm, and discharged three ear-piercing hollow-point rounds into the direction of the footfalls. The deadly bullets screamed through the man’s chest and out the other side. A red mist sprayed out in a fan pattern, painting the rusty vehicle the dead man hid behind earlier. A machete fell from his hands as his body began to jerk uncontrollably in nervous response to the trauma. It didn’t last long, just several seconds, and all movement stopped. The other man, much larger and who had spoken first, swiftly rushed at Isaac. He screamed profanities as he wrestled Isaac to the ground, punching and tearing at him with his hands. His fingernails ripped into Isaac’s face, causing blood to run into his
eyes as continuous blows landed on him. Struggling to break free after losing his gun, Isaac twisted his body underneath the attacker and pulled the man down by his shirt collar, using his legs to flip him over.
Now the tables turned. Isaac was mounted on the man and reached for his baton that had landed just beneath the gutted car beside them. Raising it high above his head, he brought it down onto his attacker who tried to shield himself with his arms, only to have them broken and rendered useless. Isaac continued to wail on him violently, without easing up, even after the man’s body went limp. In his red-hot rage, he erased the man’s face from existence, cracking into his skull. The man’s blood and grey matter now covered Isaac’s already bloodied face. The man’s last thoughts were terminated and scattered in fragments of biological debris across Isaac and the floor.
The sensation sobered Isaac and his brutal violence dissipated. It was only then that he remembered that he detected one other person in the building earlier. He looked up from the mess with his beaten and bloodied face to scan the garage, but did not see or hear evidence of another person. He did, however, notice the back door was wide open. Jumping to his feet, he retrieved his pistol and sped out the open door to chase after whomever escaped through it.
“Need some body bags,” he spoke into his Auris, which instantly relayed the message to headquarters.
“Are you injured?” inquired a woman’s voice.
“Don’t worry about it,” he exited the doorway and looked along both directions of the alleyway, but saw nothing. He re-entered the garage workshop to inspect the remains of his attackers.
“Also alert the captain that Cung was not found here. Two men dead. One alive and cuffed,” he reported after finding that the man with the broken jaw remained alive. I better check the pulse of the two dead men, since it’s protocol, he thought sarcastically, that way I can honestly say I did it. The upstairs lured him, beckoning him with its unexplored mysteries.
Sowing Season Page 11