The Government: Dark Days

by Joseph Storm

  “Relocated? Another church?” Gunner asked.

  “I have my doubts about that,” Father Francis stressed.

  “He had no choice...I’m sure of it,” Becky Fox said. “He wouldn’t be alive otherwise.”

  “There is always a choice,” Father Tyme answered.

  “What choice did they give him?” she asked.

  “They offered to let him die,” he responded.

  “That’s not an option,” Becky answered.

  “It is for me.”

  “No! I won’t let you. You have shown us such kindness...we owe you.”

  “My dear, Becky, for what you have repaid me in company...it is I, who owe you. So, I will ask you all to leave now. Escape...while I provide the distraction.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Gunner said.

  “I won’t leave you to them!” she proclaimed.

  “Remember, my words...they can take a building...but they can never take a soul,” he said.

  “Listen pal, not that I care or anything, but she makes a point. If they end up getting you...they’ll torture you for our information first. Then, they’ll kill you,” Gunner interrupted.

  “They might as well cut my tongue...as it is all they will get. As for my death...there are many casualties in the war for hearts and minds. None will die in vein...for they will be rewarded in heaven for their ultimate sacrifice. This government must see that there are some still willing to die for a cause...whether perishing in defense of a church...or protesting in the streets. Our flesh may burn, but our spirits shall be renewed.”

  Father Tyme’s words entered Joe’s ears. In fact, it was the first thing he truly heard since witnessing the crowd die. He had shut himself off to the world, numbing himself from facing the role he was confronted with. Joe suddenly realized that if he were to quit, then everyone who died in the cause would die in vain. He turned his head towards the door, seeing a set of flames flickering from the streets.

  Joe got up, peering out the stained glass windows of the front doors. He shook his head in pure shock. “It appears bodies aren’t the only thing to burn.”

  The others joined him at the door. They watched piles of books get tossed into large heaps of flames, resembling a barn fire setting. The books, which were old and irreplaceable, failed to compare to the works being burned miles away, in the heart of DC. They were from the Library of Congress, such as original writings from Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and George Washington, Sigmund Freud, and Susan B. Anthony, including first editions, ranging from Charles Dickens to Walt Whitman.

  The act would soon repeat itself in every town in across the nation. Every threatening book was wiped from history, two singled out specifically: George Orwell’s 1984, and Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. They didn’t exactly “meet” the administration’s definition of an acceptable message.

  “It appears books are now as dangerous as religion,” Striker said.

  “I can think of one book that will be declared the most dangerous of them all,” Father Tyme said, holding up a bible.

  “Why not just ask them if it’s on the list?” Gunner asked, as he pointed to a group of Authoritarian Guard heading towards the church. “Cuz here they come.”

  “Let’s move,” Striker said, making his way towards a back door of the church. As Becky fled, she turned to see Father Tyme standing firmly at the doorway. She stopped, heading back towards him, causing Striker and Gunner to stop too.

  “You’re coming with us!” she demanded, attempting to pull him away.

  He gently placed a hand on her arm, “I am staying, Becky.”

  “Well then...I am staying with you,” she said stubbornly.

  Both Joe and Gunner shouted out simultaneously, “No, you’re not!”

  She turned towards them, speaking softly. “Wait for us out back...I’ll make sure he leaves in one piece.”

  “One piece is worthless in their jails!” Joe said. “They’ll bring you into custody...find out who you are. In those clothes...they’ll know you’re not affiliated with the church!”

  A quick thinking Becky shifted her attention to the alter. “You’re right,” she said, heading towards it. She pulled out a nun’s outfit, slipping the robe over her clothes, and wrapping the black and white head-covering around her head.

  “That just killed all my fantasies,” Gunner proclaimed at the mere sight. “Or maybe enhanced them?”

  “They are approaching the doors, go on!” Father Tyme called out. “May God be with you all!” he said, with conviction, yet sadness in his voice.

  “If I’m not out in ten minutes...leave,” Becky told Joe.

  “I won’t leave you,” Striker assured her.

  “I’m sort of counting on that,” she said, smiling back at him.

  Striker and Gunner headed to the back exit, as Becky went and joined Father Francis Tyme at the front doors.

  “You make a good nun,” he said to her with a friendly smile.

  “My luck with men...trust me...I’ve considered it.”

  The squad kicked open the church doors. Each of them carried burning torches, equipped with a source of kerosene at their bases.

  The main Authoritarian Guard member wasn’t armed with a torch. He approached Father Francis and Becky Fox. “You are to exit the building and come with us for placement. All places of worship are deemed illegal...under the new order.”

  “If the buildings are considered illegal...then you may consider me nothing short of a criminal,” Father Francis said.

  “Why is that?” the main guard asked.

  “Because...buildings can’t preach, but I can. As long as breath spills from my lungs...I will.”

  “That can be fixed. You’re under arrest,” he said, knocking the old man to the ground, kicking him repeatedly. Becky Fox leapt on the guard, covering Francis Tyme. A torch-bearing guard leaned in, trying to pull her off of him.

  In the ensuing struggle, the flailing boot of the main guard member kicked the torch from his colleague’s hand. It caused the flaming object to hit the wooden floor, exploding on impact, and spreading a trail of flames creeping down the isle.

  A small burst of flames caught Becky and Francis, though it was quickly stomped out by the guard’s boots.

  “No!” Father Tyme yelled, ignoring his own pain, watching the flames start their journey.

  “Get them out of here and finish the job,” the main guard said. both Becky and Father Tyme were cuffed, and dragged to the doors. “Wait. He believes in a hell...give him a preview of what it will look like.”

  The other guard members laughed, as Father Tyme and Becky Fox were made to face the scene. Each guard tossed the remaining torches into rows of pews, walls, and stained glass of the church. Fire engulfed the entire structure, spreading to the altar and forming an inferno of wooden angels. The flames danced in celebration, as if fanned by the devil himself. The stone cross didn’t burn, as a ring of fire outlined the shape of the cross.

  In mere moments, fire crawled up the beams. Burning pieces of ceiling floated down. A whole beam followed, bringing with it a shattering of melting, stained glass, dripping from the windows.

  “The show is over. Let’s go before we get buried with it,” he said, pulling the dispirited Father Tyme out the doorway. Becky was by his side.

  ******

  Joe and Gunner watched the dark flames shoot from the top of the church’s roof. “That’s it...I’m going in.”

  “It’s a death sentence,” Gunner said.

  “It wouldn’t be my first,” Striker said. “and I’ll be damned if I let it be my last.”

  “I’m not sure I wanna rely on your resurrection skills, kid,” Gunner said, as the two of them entered the burning back door.

  A sea of smoke engulfed them, as Gunner shouted, “I can’t see shit in here!”

  Striker fought his way through the flames and smoke. He arrived in time to see Becky pulled from the front doors, led away from the church.


  “They’ve got them!”

  “Sorry to tell you this, kid...but I think your nine lives have been spent ,” he said, looking upward. A loud, earsplitting noise filled the room. The rest of the ceiling had suddenly started to collapse in, crumbing the walls with it.

  “Find something to shield yourself with!” Joe Striker yelled.

  “This whole damn place is made of wood!” Gunner responded.

  Striker quickly looked around, seeing the ring of fire which had formed around the stone cross. “Not everything!” he yelled, bolting towards the altar, Gunner following closely behind him.

  The walls and ceiling spilled like drops of acid rain. They fell in succession, as flaming pieces of wood teased the fleeing men’s heels. They leapt up upon the burning communion table, jumping off the opposite side. Each man landed on their knees, sliding through the flames, reaching the stone bench at the foot of the cross.

  Joe Striker yanked the bench back, revealing the gaping hole to the crypt. He jumped in, as Gunner said, “Being burned alive sounds better.” He took one last look at the collapsing ceiling, and changed his mind.

  The two men landed in a pool of cold water, chest high. The filth-laden liquid splashed on their faces, making them spit the cruddy mouthwash from their lips. The sliver of firelight went to complete darkness, as the church roof collapsed. Soot spill down into the hole, covering them in a dusting of ashes. The exit hole was plugged-up tight.

  “We’re blind...zero visibility,” Striker said. The soft, but terrifying high-pitched squeals of rats started to fill the air.

  “I wish we were deaf as well,” Gunner replied, suddenly clicking a steel-plated, water-proof hand lighter. It illuminated a team of rats crawling on the bones of the skeletal remains. “Who said smoking isn’t beneficial to my health?”

  “You know...I think I liked the dark better,” Striker said.

  “Didn’t Tyme say these things had rabies?”

  “I don’t plan on finding out,” Joe replied. “Father Tyme said that this connected to the sewer line...it may be our only way out.”

  They started making their way through the tunnel.

  ******

  Becky and Father Francis were loaded into one of the government vehicles. Two guard members got in the front seats, and the rest of them left in a separate truck. That can’t be a good sign, Becky thought to herself.

  The vehicles pulled away in perfect timing of the church collapsing. Ten minutes had long passed, as there was not a sign of Joe and Gunner to be found. Becky’s faith in men was further crushed, realizing that their exit had sealed her fate. Once again, she was in the hands of cruelty.

  “Where are you taking us?” Becky asked.

  “For a trial,” the main guard said.

  “There are no trials...with people like you,” Father Tyme snidely said.

  “You got it wrong,” the guard responded. “There are no need for trials...for people like you...but you will get one. Pull over,” he said, as the vehicle barely made it down the road.

  The two Authoritarian Guards exited the vehicle, yanking the prisoners out. Becky looked back towards the flames, seeing that she was still in view of the church.

  “Move!” The guard member said, as he shoved the perceived nun and priest towards a forested area. They were marched into the woodland. Along the way, they witnessed a forest of massive, bare poplar trees. One tree in particular had a strong, protruding branch with round marks in the bark. It was clearly not the first use of it that day.

  “Rope,” the main guard called out, as he strung it up around the branch, revealing an already tied noose at its end.

  “This is your idea of a trial?” Becky asked angrily.

  “No...this is,” he said, turning to the accompanying guard. “All who find this man and woman guilty of treason against the government, say I.”

  “I,” repeated the other guard.

  “You see, I am a man of my word. String him up first,” the main guard said. He pointed to Father Tyme.

  “Take me first,” Becky called out.

  “His position outranks yours,” the guard said, as Father Tyme was marched to the tree, and the rope was secured around his neck.

  ******

  The short path through the rat infested crypt led Joe and Gunner to a hole in the distant, man-sized, rusty sewer pipe. They hadn’t cleared the church’s foundation yet, when Striker approached the hole. Suddenly, a rumble filled the air. The two men looked at each other in wonderment, as it sounded like an earthquake.

  The weight from the burning debris had taken its toll. Burning embers had eaten their way through the layers of shellack, eroding their way into the floor’s structure.

  “Dive!” Striker yelled, as the two men dove down into the brownish sea. The smoldering debris landed above them, into the cold water. Sizzling streams of steam rose into the air, as all went quiet for a few moments in time.

  Suddenly, Striker’s fist burst through the cooled debris, Gunner followed. The two crashed through rubble, like ghosts rising from the ashes. A top layer of the water-cooled wreckage still managed to sting their skin, holding onto its last bit of heat. Although pained, the men were just happy to be alive.

  Gunner held the lighter into the air, reopening the protective steel latch, and relighting a fresh flame.

  “Are you, ok?” Striker asked Gunner.

  “That’s a loaded question, kid,” he said, peering all around him. “Listen. The rats. Those mangey bastards are quiet. Cooked by the fire! You hungry?”

  “Hang on! Give me the lighter,” Joe said, as Gunner handed it to him. Joe shined it towards the remains of the built-in coffins, seeing that the rats were gone. “I don’t see any rodent carcasses.”

  “If they’re not dead...then where are they?’ Gunner asked.

  Striker looked down, as a team of rats popped their heads from the water below. They started crawling up his body like a ladder to safety. He knocked them off with his hands. “I can’t fight through this...too thick!”

  “That makes two of us!” Gunner proclaimed. They both tried to bust their way through the thick debris, which the rats were starting to take refuge on.

  “If we can’t break through it...go under it!” Joe yelled. They dove back into the water, swimming below the floating wreckage. Gunner joined him as the two headed forward, blindly in the pitch darkness. Each one fought the swarms of drowning rats, which were biting at their arms, clawing at their eyes, and gnawing clumps of hair.

  Madness continued, as they hit the sewer-line’s edge. The two emerged, as Gunner relit the scene. They arrived at their target, which was also covered by agitated rats. Having already been bit numerous times, Striker climbed into the rust-covered hole, crawling towards charging packs of rodents. It appeared that he turned the wrong way onto the Kentucky Derby’s racetrack. Water, thick with remnants of human waste, corroded their bodies, and poisoned their lungs. The short crawl felt like hours, as they finally reached an upward pipe. It had a ladder rung, mercifully leading to a manhole-cover exit.

  Since the ladder was also covered with rats, Striker flung the frantic rodents off, starting his ascent. Gunner was closely behind him. Both men used their fists to pound the heavy manhole-cover off its base.

  The two of them burst through the hole, gasping for air, dry heaving into the empty streets.

  “You smell like shit,” Gunner said.

  “Funny...I thought you smelled better than usual,” Striker retorted. “I sure hope the rabies story was just a myth.” The two turned to see an even more eerie sight, which distracted them from their own worries.

  The crackling of simmering ashes replaced the entire area of church foundation. There was a gaping hole in the middle, where the floor caved in. A once beautiful building had come crashing to the ground. The only thing left standing was the stone cross on the building’s back edge. Amazingly, the strong structure barely had a scratch on it.

  “Becky!” Striker yelled out, brushing
off the rest of his problems. He focused on what was truly important to him.

  Striker looked around frantically. “Becky!” he repeated again, this time with more hope in his voice.

  “She’s gone, kid...face it. There’s not a trace in sight.”

  Striker focused on the government vehicle, which was oddly pulled off to the side of the road at the woodland’s entrance. “Where there’s smoke...there’s fire,” he said.

  “I’ve had enough fire for one day...fire and rats,” Gunner replied.

  Striker ran towards the vehicle, as a fed-up Gunner followed him. They reached the forest edge, seeing the trampled vegetation. Joe knew that it would lead the way to their friends’ fates. However, the real question was one of timing.

  Striker pulled out his gun, checking to see that he had one bullet left. Gunner was out of ammunition. “This will have to do,” he said, as they had no time to search for more. The two men tiptoed along the path, coming to the distant, disturbing sight of Father Tyme with a noose around his neck.

  They dashed behind a large poplar. Joe aimed his gun, trying to focus his hazy eyes on the main guard.

  “You got one shot...don’t miss, kid. By the way...no pressure,” Gunner said.

  “I used to live for pressure, Gunner. It’s been put on hold. You can take the marine out of the military...but not the military out of the Marine,” he said, zeroing in one last time.

  “Any last words?” the main guard shouted aloud, gripping the back end of the hanging rope. One pull would levy Father Tyme into the air, dangling his body from the large, high branch.

  “A microchip? This could be the one!” the other guard interrupted the hanging, as he roved the civilian clothes of Becky. He discovered the tiny microchip tucked beneath the robe, into her pocket. Becky tried to squirm away, though the guard strong armed her to the ground.

  “An unexpected surprise,” the main guard said, turning his attention away from Father Francis. Tyme focused on a reflection from a metal object, deep into the woods. A smile crossed his face.

  “Looks like we have stumbled upon the famed fugitives. More importantly...the legendary microchip is in our grasp,” he said. A sly smile crossed his lips, as he returned to pull the rope with all of his strength, lifting the elderly priest into the air. The remaining breath spilled from Tyme’s lungs, redness hijacked his face, and veins bulged from his neck. The rope was secured tightly and expertly to the trunk of the tree.