All this ingenuity yielded results for less than a day, however. For all of it required power and most power generation requires water in one way or another, and so quickly shut down. Other sources, such as wind and solar, were burdened beyond their ability to deliver.
Christopher and Milner promised relief within the week. Live-net cameras captured pictures of Milner deep in meditation atop the United Nations building in Babylon, and it was said that he was neither eating nor drinking in order to prepare himself for a miracle of similar magnitude to the one he had performed with the world’s oceans. Even so, few were taking any chances. Those who had water guarded it by whatever means available, while those without it used whatever force was necessary to get it. Wealthy neighborhoods, where swimming pools were common, became war zones as those less fortunate tried to relieve the residents of their liquid assets.
There were, of course, many areas of the world where things like swimming pools and refrigerators and Crockpots and flush toilets were unknown: the lesser developed areas of Asia, South America, Africa, and India. There, people and animals withered from dehydration after only a few days. Those who had taken the communion lasted longer than those who had not, but ultimately the lack of water took its toll and tens of millions died. The UN was helpless to respond.
Thursday, June 24, 4 N.A.
George Rollins dug through rakes, shovels, saws, hedge trimmers, and various other tools and gadgets in his cluttered shed, looking for something he could use to pry open a door. But George Rollins had never been much for keeping his tools in order, nor did he have the patience to keep looking, so when he found a combination hatchet and hammer, he altered his plan of entry and decided the hatchet was just what he needed. Climbing over his old lawnmower, which hadn’t worked in three years, but which he planned to work on someday, he called to his son, George Jr. “Take these two buckets,” he said, handing his son two plastic pails with dried paint in the bottom of each.
“Are you going to chop the door down?” George Jr. asked, looking at the hatchet in his father’s hand.
“Not if I can help it,” his father answered. “Let’s see if we can find a window that’s not locked. If not, then we’ll either break one or try to force a door open.”
“What if somebody’s home?” the younger asked. It was a silly question; everybody in the neighborhood knew that no one lived there. Still, the idea of breaking into someone’s house was a bit unnerving to a ten-year-old.
“We’ve lived here three years and no one has ever been in that house. We’ll just go in and, if the water is okay in the toilet tanks, then we’ll bail it into the buckets and bring it back home. It’s probably been in there for years, but we can boil it on the gas stove before we can drink it.”
“What if the police come?”
“George, as busy as the police are, they’re not going to bother us,” the father answered reassuringly. “All we’re doing is trying to get a little water. No one can blame us for that. Besides, if we don’t take it somebody else will. We just thought of it first.” Arriving at the house, George Sr. added, “Let’s start in the back. We don’t want anybody knowing what we’re up to or they’ll want some of the water for themselves.”
They tried the sliding glass door first, but without success. Next they tried the windows, but they were all locked. Though the curtains were all pulled, George Rollins knew the floor plan of the house well; it was the exact reverse of his own. There was only one more place to try in the back and that was the door that led into what in the Rollins home was the media room.
“Look, Dad,” George Jr. said, as he pointed to a set of three gravestones.
“Yeah,” his father replied. “They probably died in the Disaster.”
George Jr. responded with a puzzled look, having never heard of the event.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” the elder said. “It happened before you were born.”
George Jr. got to the door before his father and tried it. To his surprise it slid open about half an inch, but then stopped. “Let me try,” George Sr. said, as he stepped in front of his son and tried to jiggle it loose. It wouldn’t budge. “Ah, here’s the problem,” he said, pointing through the glass. “There’s a cut-off broomstick laid in the track, but it’s in there crooked. I think if I can just shove it hard enough, it’ll . . . ugh!” he said as the door slid open.
“Yay!” the son cheered at his father’s success.
Suddenly the curtains that hung across the doorway were thrown open, revealing an old man in his seventies, holding a shotgun. “What do you want?” he demanded, pointing the gun in George Rollins’ face. Bandages hung loose about him. George Jr. had not yet reached twelve years old, the age of majority, and therefore didn’t have the mark and the resultant lesions, but he was certainly accustomed to seeing grownups and teenagers with bandages over their sores. Somehow though, almost as much as the gun, the bandages seemed to add terror to the old man’s appearance.
Instinctively throwing his hands skyward in a sign of surrender, George Sr. tried to answer. “I’m sorry! We . . . we didn’t think anybody lived here!”
“Well, somebody does!” the man growled. “Now, get off my property!”
“Yes, sir!” George Sr. said and then ran to catch up with his son who was already headed for the gate.
Decker Hawthorne closed the door quickly and locked it, placing the cut off broomstick properly into the track. Pulling the curtains closed again, he slumped into a chair, still holding the barrel of the old shotgun in one hand. In the other hand was the shotgun shell that he had not had time to load. It was a close call. He had barely gotten his phony bandages on before they opened the door. If they had gotten in and seen him without any bandages or sores, they surely would have called the police and turned him in as a fundamentalist, if for no other reason than to get his water. From then on he determined that, inconvenient as they might be, he would wear the bandages day and night.
It baffled him why the police hadn’t yet come. And why Christopher or Milner had still not called or even sent an email. None of it made sense.
A half mile away, Montgomery County Police Officer Amanda Smith waited for her partner, Sgt. Joseph Runningdeer, to get back in the car. “You want some?” he asked, offering her a can of water collected from the air conditioner condensation line under the car.
Smith didn’t answer, but took the can eagerly, drinking it down as Sgt. Runningdeer picked tiny pieces of gravel from a sore on his arm.
“Who’s next?” he asked as he readjusted the bandage.
Officer Smith looked at the assignment sheet. “Take a look,” she said, turning the monitor where he could see it.
Runningdeer shook his head and scrolled past the name Decker Hawthorne without excuse or authorization. Looking to the next name, he said, “Okay, Carter, on Needwood Road.”
“We evicted them last week,” Officer Smith said, questioning the accuracy of the assignment.
“According to the neighbors, they’re back in the house.”
“They’re making this too easy for us,” she said as she started the car and headed toward the former Carter residence in an established upper middle class neighborhood. Driving slowly past the address, looking for any sign of activity, Smith rolled the car to a stop to allow Sgt. Runningdeer to get out. “Give me about sixty seconds,” he said, and then got out and ran around behind the house next door.
Amanda Smith waited a moment, then put the car in reverse, backed it in front of the Carters’ house, and turned on the flashing bar lights. This made it obvious to anyone inside that the police were there, but in many cases fear proved even more effective than the element of surprise. Though the local fundamentalists weren’t known for violence when being arrested, Smith took her service revolver from the holster in accordance with standard operating procedures for these arrests. Going to the front door, she checked the police security lock to see if it had been tampered with. It hadn’t, and so she punched in the
six-digit code and slowly opened the door. When she did she heard a voice.
“They’re in here,” Sgt. Runningdeer called to her.
Officer Smith found the Carter family, Sid and Joan Carter and their two sons, sitting around the table in the dining room. Alerted to their imminent arrest by the flashing police lights, they sat with their hands joined and heads bowed. Sgt. Runningdeer stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Mr. and Mrs. Carter,” he said, “you and your family are under arrest for trespassing on government property and for crimes against Humankind.”
Acting on the most recent directive from the United Nations, the Carters were taken into custody and booked. After receiving counseling, any member of the family who still refused to cease their anti Humankind activities and to take the communion and the mark would be held for transfer to a correctional facility.
It was swift and inexorable punishment, but in light of the incredible suffering and untold deaths that had resulted from the corruption of the fresh water supply, it seemed to most people to be an all-too-modest escalation in the penalty. This conclusion was further reinforced by the frequently broadcast scenes of fundamentalists in prison praying to Yahweh to punish the people of the Earth with even greater and more violent afflictions. In a related action, the United Nations ruled that anyone caught selling goods to a fundamentalist would also be jailed, though the term of the sentencing was left up to the local authorities, depending on the circumstances.
Friday, June 25, 4 N.A.
Making the most of a brief period of available electricity to his neighborhood, Decker poured himself a cup of coffee and went back into the bedroom to watch the live-net. Many would have killed for the liquid in that cup, but Decker had carefully rationed his water and still had about a third of what he’d started with on Sunday. He chose not to think about the fact that by saving his water “just in case,” he was demonstrating a lack of faith in Christopher and Milner who said they’d soon resolve the crisis.
“Welcome back,” said Suzanne Wright, the program’s host, when Decker turned on the live-net. “Joining us in studio today is my very special guest, Reverend Timothy Dowd.” Her voice revealed sincere respect for the man. “Reverend Dowd is here to talk about the charge that the recent cataclysms — the sores, followed by the oceans and now the fresh water turning to blood — are the result of collusion between the fundamentalists and Yahweh.”
“I don’t think you can really call it just a charge anymore,” Reverend Dowd began. “Based on the confessions and the scenes of fundamentalists praying in prison for Yahweh to punish the Earth, I’d say there’s no question that there’s clear evidence.”
“We’ve all seen the videos and heard the confessions,” Suzanne Wright said. She could make that assumption with some confidence: The videos had been viewed, analyzed, reviewed, considered, discussed, and shown again and again worldwide. “But,” she continued, “here’s my real question: Does Yahweh really need the prayers and support of the KDP and the fundamentalists to do what he’s doing? Can’t he just do it on his own? He is God, after all.”
“Well, one would certainly think so,” Reverend Dowd answered. “If Yahweh is really an all-powerful god, one would think he’d be capable of doing whatever he wanted. But the sixth chapter of Mark in the New Testament reveals that he’s not quite as all-powerful as he’d like us to believe. In that account we read that Jesus was in a certain town and because so few people were willing to believe in him, he was unable to do anything more spectacular than a few minor healings.[130]
“The point is that we humans have tremendous power to determine what happens on this planet. Christopher is absolutely correct when he says that Yahweh’s hold on the Earth is in the grip of his confederates. Without the KDP and the fundamentalists — I call them the ‘Cult of Yahweh’ — without their prayers and support, without their focused mental and spiritual energies, Yahweh really could do very little. In fact — and this is key — what has happened over the last few weeks is not the result of Yahweh’s superior powers. Rather it’s because the KDP and fundamentalists are more focused on their vision of keeping Humankind subservient to Yahweh than those of us who follow Christopher are to the vision of freeing the planet of Yahweh’s rule.”
“That’s amazing. I never realized that.”
“In the same way, Suzanne, we must understand that as powerful as Christopher is, he cannot defeat Yahweh and the KDP and fundamentalists on his own. Christopher needs us, all of us, to support him with every ounce of positive mental and spiritual energy. We need to put off any dissension and disagreements among ourselves and focus instead on supporting Christopher and Robert Milner.”
“You’ve been a minister for over fifty years,” Suzanne Wright said. “You’re probably the best known preacher since Billy Graham. You’ve served for years on the World Council of Churches. And yet, from what you say, it sounds as if you . . . well, almost as if you’ve lost all faith in Yahweh.”
“With all that’s happened, I’d be less than honest if I told you that I haven’t struggled with that issue. But I still hold out hope. I pray to God every day that he’ll repent and turn from his wrath, that he’ll realize that we’ve grown beyond the need for an autocratic god, and that he’ll allow the people of this planet to advance to the next stage in their evolution so that we can join him one day as equals.”
Suzanne Wright smiled thoughtfully and nodded, inspired by Reverend Dowd’s hopeful vision. “It should be obvious to our viewers that even though you’re a Christian—” She paused for clarification. “You do refer to yourself as a Christian?” she asked.
“Yes, of course, though I certainly don’t beat anyone over the head with it or tell them my way is the only way.”
“Okay, then . . . even though you’re a Christian, you are not a fundamentalist.”
“God forbid,” Dowd said with a laugh. Then pointing to the large bandage on his cheek, he added, “I didn’t get this shaving.”
“And I know from visiting with you earlier in your dressing room that the lesion on your cheek isn’t the only one you have.”
“No,” Dowd said. “I’ve taken the communion and the mark and I’ve got the sores to prove it.” As he spoke, one of the cameras got a close up of the mark on the back of his right hand to further validate his statement.
“You seem proud of that fact,” Suzanne Wright said.
“I am, Suzanne. Christopher said we should wear our sores as a badge of honor, and I do.”
“If I recall,” she said, “his exact words were to wear our wounds as ‘badges of honor and defiance.’ How do you feel about that term ‘defiance’?”
“I prefer to think of it as being steadfast,” Dowd answered.
Wright nodded both her understanding and approval. “What do you say to those who say that the communion is a violation of the command not to drink blood[131] and that the mark is the ‘mark of the beast’ referred to in the Bible?”
Timothy Dowd shook his head in complete disagreement. “That’s such a tired old excuse that I hesitate to even address it. The fundamentalists and the KDP began making these arguments as soon as the communion was announced. Nevertheless, to the first charge I would say you have to really stretch your definitions to equate taking a couple of capsules with drinking blood. The command not to drink blood is such an obscure law in the Bible that it’s hard to believe Christopher’s opponents would rely on such a feeble excuse. It’s a sign of just how desperate they are.”
“But the ‘mark of the beast’ is far less obscure, isn’t it?” Suzanne Wright countered.
“You’re right,” Dowd acknowledged. “Reference to the mark of the beast has been one of the most frequently mentioned passages in Scripture. And for that very reason, it’s one of the least understood. I’m sure you remember several years ago when the bank credit system began to replace the cash systems. The outcry then from various lunatic fringe groups was that the imbedded bio-chip was in itself the mark of the beast. But ins
tead of a curse, it’s proven to be tremendously convenient and the biggest single deterrent to organized crime. I doubt if anyone today wants to go back to carrying around pockets full of coins and paper money, not to mention credit cards, driver’s licenses, medical records, and assorted other personal ID. The bio-chip has also been essential to enforcement of the prohibition on commerce for those who have refused to take the communion.
“But as for what was really meant, Suzanne, most mainstream denominations have always taught that the events described in the book of Revelation occurred in the first century with the fall of Jerusalem[132] and that the ‘beast’ and the number 666 referred to Nero Caesar.[133] It’s a mere convenience that by using the mark, we’re able to prevent the Cult of Yahweh from taking the communion.”
“You’ve just begun a major crusade to bring your message around the world,” Suzanne Wright said, interrupting the natural flow of the conversation to fit in all the pre scripted questions. “Tell us a little about that.”
“Actually, Suzanne, this is a continuation of the work I’ve been doing for the last several years. During that time, I’ve been working through the World Council of Churches with the leaders of all the major Protestant denominations as well as the Pope and leaders from many other world religions.”
“I take it that doesn’t include any fundamentalists,” Suzanne Wright interjected in jest.
“No,” Dowd grimaced. “The people I’m working with are all intelligent, open minded people, many of whom recognize the tremendous power for good that the communion offers for Humankind and were among the first in line to take the communion in order to calm any misgivings among the members of their denominations.
“So,” Dowd continued, “as I was saying, I’ve been at this for some time. It’s just that now with the sores and the waters turning to blood, people are beginning to listen. I’ve never believed in forcing my beliefs on anyone: a person’s religious beliefs are a private matter. For me, what the Bible has to say about what happened two thousand years ago is far less important than what we do to help our fellow human beings and other living creatures to have a better life today.”
The Christ Clone Trilogy - Book Three: ACTS OF GOD (Revised & Expanded) Page 20