He followed the bright trail as the signature moved. He was alive. He was moving.
Landon fell to his knees. “Thank you, Lord.” He pinged Jane, who answered the call in a groggy tone. “He’s alive.” Jane screamed, then started to cry. Before she could ask a single question, Landon continued, “Kyle’s moving. I’ve triangulated his location.”
Jane exhaled. “It’s really him and not his data pad’s signal this time?”
“Yes. This signal is from the solution I had him drink, and it’s showing up like a flare. He’s alive.”
“Then go get him.”
“It’s not that easy. He’s deep in the city. There could be ten thousand troops between him and me. I’m going to re-launch the drones after they recharge to gather as much intel as possible before I rush in to extract him.”
“Thank you, God.”
“Get some rest, Jane. I promise to keep you posted.”
Landon had to get some sleep, but the excitement of knowing his son was alive was like an adrenaline kick. He was confident Kyle was some form of prisoner. Maybe he was being tortured? Nevertheless, he was alive. Landon could live with getting his son back as damaged goods as long as he could hold his boy again and to tell him how much he loved him. The rush of energy started to leave, and he decided to set up camp behind an abandoned, broken-down home. He took a small canister from the backpack and stuck it in the ground.
One button on the data pad activated the equipment with a loud pop as the canister blew out both the top and bottom. The bottom anchored into the ground, and the other released black material like an unfurled parachute. A moment later the material started to inflate, and within thirty seconds there was a small, single-person, black, dome-sized, low-profile shelter. These structures could be used in climates as hot as one hundred and twenty degrees or cold as negative forty degrees. They could also be used as life rafts.
Landon stepped inside the black structure and set his data pad up to activate if anyone came within a hundred yards. As the sun rose that morning, sleep captured Landon like a thief and he was willing to comply.
At fourteen hundred hours, the data pad chirped. Landon woke and reached for his sidearm. It took a few seconds for him to recognize the chirp as a wakeup call and not a perimeter breach. He put his boots on outside and programmed the data pad to collapse the survival structure. He dropped the canister into the backpack, and proceeded to eat a meal bar and drink water from his pack.
The overcast sky gave the impression of an incoming storm, adding to his sense of urgency. He moved with a pace that was fueled by more than energy from food and calories. Hope was something that made him want to run recklessly toward danger, and his son. All of the drones were recharged and had launched again. Landon kept the one from the sled nearby to monitor for surrounding dangers and people. The others were sent to find Kyle’s signature and monitor him.
The entire city had miles of chain-link fence around it. Barbed wire was on top. Every few miles there was a wooden tower with a glass office at the top. A searchlight was mounted facing outside the city. The gap between the fencing and the first buildings was clear for a hundred yards in a way that looked deliberate. He used the drone to confirm the area was littered with land mines. Not original, but pragmatic.
Kyle’s signature was deep within the city. Landon needed to find a subtle way into it. For the next hour he pulled up every conceivable map that had been cached on the Atoll’s mainframe regarding Sacramento. In the end there was only one way in: the sewer system.
“Why did I know this would be the way in?” He pinged the ship. “Nova, I’m heading back.”
“What’s wrong?” came Jane’s voice.
“Everything’s fine. I just need Nova to help get me into the city. I’ll explain when I get back.”
A short while later, Landon lowered the sled from the underwater lake into the cargo hold and shut the doors via the control panel on the sled. Long minutes passed as the water drained out of the cargo hold. The leftover muck from the contaminated lake was a few inches thick. He turned on the sled’s shields and brought the machine to a hover a few feet off the floor as he activated the cargo hold’s heat and lasers to burn off the remnant material.
It took twenty minutes, but the end result was a clean deck with a bit of ash scattered about. The air filtration struggled to keep the smoke to a minimum. He lowered the sled and stepped onto the still-warm deck. The smell reminded him of burnt grass.
Jane waited for him in the cockpit. She gave him a hug. “I can’t tell you how happy I am. Thank you so much.”
“Seriously, Jane? You don’t need to thank me. He’s my boy. I’d do anything for you two.”
“I know. It’s just that we gave you such a hard time about wanting to go on this mission trip, and you were prophetically right all along. People died, Kyle was captured, and—”
“Stop doing this.” He paused before saying, “I’m not convinced Kyle was wrong.”
“How can you say that after what happened?”
“I think he was reckless and ill-prepared, but not wrong.” Jane perked up. “God will use this somehow. I have no idea how, but Romans 8:28 says He will use it for good.”
“You know what, old man? You aren’t the stubborn mule I always thought you were.”
Landon squinted. “Was that a compliment or an insult, young lady?”
Jane responded with a smirk. “So what’s the plan?”
“We get out of this muck and reposition ourselves in the Sacramento River. From there, I’m going to sneak in through an old sewer line.”
A short while later, Nova rose out of the slimy bog. Landon moved the seat back from sub to the flight position. Jane confirmed shields and power were at a hundred percent. The ship flew in a cloaked, low-power whisper mode. A short while later, Landon was back at the sub controls, lowering the ship into the Sacramento River. The ship came to rest on the bottom.
Landon rushed over to the science station and started scrolling through data. “Nova, move the ship over to these coordinates I’m punching up.” The ship lifted off the bottom and glided for fifty yards before settling back down. “I need your mining capabilities to tie into a sewer line beneath us.”
“It will take some time to reach a depth of forty-two feet.”
“Just do it and don’t break a seal. Under no circumstances can it flood.” Within five minutes the drilling started with a loud grinding noise. He spoke over the racket. “It’s going to be a long night. I suggest we both get some food and rest.”
Landon prepped a full meal of fish, noodles, and dehydrated vegetables from the cramped galley kitchen. He had eaten so many bland meal bars as of late, that the main Atoll staple of seafood was a welcome change. They prayed over their food and read from Landon’s antique leather Bible after dinner.
Jane read from Deuteronomy. “Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, He it is that doth go with thee; He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”
“Keep telling me that,” Landon said. “Keep praying that.”
Chapter Eighteen
New York Subway System 2040
Clarke shouldered a backpack, as did Faith. Two other men, one young black man and one older Caucasian, followed suit. All of them were dressed in clothes a homeless person would wear. They stepped past two muscular men who stood guard outside the clinic armed only with baseball bats. In the dark underground space, Josiah could hear rats scurry with low squeaks. He moved closer to Clarke.
“All clear,” Clarke said. The two guards stepped back inside the room, and the metal door shut with a grinding sound of finality. They were left in darkness. A moment later a loud clang signified something had been bolted on the other side. Clarke and the others each took out flashlight headlamps and clicked them on.
“We need to move quickly,” the older man said. “There are reports of local gang activity.”
“My patient is limited on how fast he can
move,” Clarke said, pointing to Josiah.
They stayed close together as one of the men led the group deep into the subway system. At one point they stepped down onto the tracks. It took two of them to lower Josiah to the ground. Just the thought of jumping gave him phantom pains. They reached another cement platform with a stairwell leading up to the street level. They approached the surface but stopped just below the sidewalk. Clarke went up to recon the area. A moment later he waved everyone up.
The warm night air carried with it a stench of decomposing trash. Distant sirens drowned out periodic screams. None of the stone and brick buildings had glass in the lower-level windows. Instead, plywood sprayed with graffiti covered the holes. Doors were reinforced with makeshift metal gates. Many times a person stood guard at the entrance to an apartment building. Some held guns, while others grasped bats, pieces of wood, or pipe. Clarke’s group stopped in front of a plain brick building.
“This is us,” Clarke said, ushering them up to the entrance. An elderly black woman sat in a lawn chair just inside the door with a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun resting across her lap. On top of the shotgun was a worn King James Bible.
“Evening,” she said. “Gorgeous night out.”
One of the men stopped to talk with her. The other continued on to a first-level apartment, while Clarke and Faith helped Josiah climb the stairs to the third floor. They approached a door overlaid with sheet metal. Clarke knocked three times. There was shuffling on the other side of the door. Clarke knocked two times, paused, then knocked three times. Josiah counted the sound of three separate deadbolt locks being unbolted from inside.
The door opened, and facing them were two black children, a boy and girl, around the age of fourteen. They were clean, dressed in worn jeans and shirts. The boy had a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He took it off and handed it to Clarke, who checked it before slinging it over his shoulder. They stood in a small, clean living room with dozens of pots, cans, and containers with vegetables growing out of them.
“Everything go well today?” Clarke asked the boy.
“Yes, sir. And before you ask, no, we did not go outside.”
Faith gave them each a hug. “I've missed you guys.”
Clarke pointed to Josiah. “Joy and Agape, this is a friend of mine. Mr. Saunders.” Both children tried to shake Josiah's hand but he refused, backing away toward the door. “He'll be staying in your room, so you guys can camp out in the living room.”
The kids clapped like they were just given a prize before they ran off into a side room. “This is the best day ever,” Agape shouted.
Josiah had never felt claustrophobic in his entire life, yet the small apartment seemed to close in around him. He walked over to an open window and rested his chin on the clean windowsill, breathing in the outside air from the third-story opening. A moment later the air seemed to get heavy, his chest tightened, and he felt like he couldn't get in enough air. Josiah rolled over into a seated position and started gasping for air. Faith came over.
“I think I'm having a heart attack,” he gasped.
Faith touched his wrist and paused for a few seconds, taking his pulse. “I think you’re just having an anxiety attack. Take slow, deep breaths in through your nose and out your mouth.”
For the next twenty minutes Faith sat down next to Josiah to help guide his breathing in and out. She rubbed his back, and Clarke brought over a cup of herbal tea.
“I don’t want to die,” Josiah gasped.
“I promise, you’re not dying today,” Faith said, continuing to rub his back.
A short while later the tightening in his chest eased up enough for him to speak. “I’ve never had that happen before.”
“It’s understandable considering what you’ve been though. Why don’t you let me bring you to the kids' room to lie down?”
Josiah waved off the offer and chose to stay by the window and the flow of fresh air. He was convinced it contained more oxygen than a bedroom. The family of four sat down around a coffee table next to him to have a dinner of beans and roasted tomatoes.
They bowed their heads and Joy said grace. “Thank you for this meal and our guest. I just pray for his healing, in Jesus’s name. Amen.”
Josiah did not respond to any invite for food, and continued to look outside the window. Lights were on in select skyscrapers around the city. Periodically, small beach-ball-sized, armed police drones flew by with red lights flashing and a siren that sounded like an annoying trumpet. Josiah knew the outside world was chaotic and dirty, but he never imagined it could be this bad.
The boy, Agape, spoke to Clarke from the far side of the room. “Is he one of those medicated people from the streets, Pop?”
Joy giggled, while Clarke said, “That's rude, son.”
“Sorry.”
Josiah found the comment ironic. He'd always known that people saw him with quirks, but a genius with quirks. All brilliant minds in history had eccentricities that made them unique. They were the people who moved the world forward. To the boy, he probably seemed like some dreg of society, but it did make him pause. Had other people in his past seen him as less than their superior?
After dinner, Clarke lit two candle stubs on the table. He approached Josiah, who still kneeled down, gazing out the window. “What are you staring at?”
Josiah pointed to a darkened building in the distance. “You can't see it now, but that dark shape over there is my building.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Find a way to take my empire back and kill everyone involved.” Josiah said this loud enough for everyone to hear. He wanted the children to know who he was and how powerful he was.
“Kids, please go clean up in the kitchen.” Clarke sat down next to Josiah, facing the opposite direction. Neither spoke for a minute. “You were spared for a reason, Josiah. You can't exact revenge.”
“Watch me. Not only are they going to die, but I want it to be a slow, painful death. I want to see it with my own eyes.” Josiah kept his gaze toward his building and started to cry. He tried to stop the tears, but his body ignored him.
“Why?” Clarke asked.
“You seriously have to ask that question?” Josiah said, without turning away.
“Revenge won't fix what's broken in you. Only God can.”
“Ha. You still believe in that junk?” He pointed around the sparse apartment. “Look where it's gotten you. A crap home with tomato plants growing out of coffee tins.” Clarke said nothing. “Don't worry, when I get my empire back you’ll be rewarded for what you and your wife did. You’ll have the job of your choice. Your kids will go to the best schools, money won’t be an issue anymore and—”
“I don't need anything from you. I have food and a roof over my head. I have more than I need.”
“You're a fool then.”
“Really,” Clarke said, pointing to Josiah's clothes. “Look at you.”
“Laugh at me if you want. I guess you’ve earned it.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” Clarke said. “I’m trying to point out how fruitless your materialism is. In the end, power, money, riches will do nothing to save you.”
“Sure it will.”
“Not from Hell.”
Josiah laughed.
Clarke took a breath and grabbed Josiah's sleeve. Josiah moved to break free from the touch. Clarke lifted him up with one arm like he was rag doll and forced him to look out the window. Josiah screamed at the forceful touch of another human. He could hear Faith and the kids come rushing over.
“Stop this!” Josiah cried, all the fear of the past trauma rushing back to him. “For God's sake, stop!”
Clarke leaned over and spoke with a firm, unemotional voice into Josiah’s ear. “Revenge will do nothing. Wake up to the second chance you've been given. To the miracle you’ve been given. Use that brain of yours. Think about how mathematically impossible it is that you’re still breathing. And then start the real work of asking yourself why.”
/> Josiah kept repeating the words, “Let me go. Let me go.”
Clarke placed Josiah back on the floor. He lowered his voice to a steady whisper. “There’s a lot of real work waiting for you. I’m absolutely sure of this now.” Clarke stood up. “Your bedroom is around the corner; bathroom is next to it.”
Humiliated, Josiah crawled on all fours like a wounded animal past Faith and the kids, who remained speechless. He found the bedroom and slammed the door shut, sitting with his back against it. An annoying red light from a brothel across the street cast a miserable glow into the plain bedroom. It flashed on and off as if it were a warning beacon. Josiah wiped a tear from his eye. Then another. A moment later he was unable to stop the weeping or the rising volume of his sobs. It sounded like the noise came from someone else. From a dying person. Pain and rage he had kept hidden for years poured out. It was as if his body was detoxifying from a poison. Faith knocked on the door, but he ignored her and continued his sobbing.
Hours later, Josiah found a small mattress on the floor and a thin blanket. He pushed the mattress into the corner of the room and lay with his back against the wall, keeping a clear line of sight on the door.
When sleep came upon him later that night, it was accompanied by horrific dreams. Contorted half-human creatures chased him through the tomb-like underground subway system. They made animal noises, which intermingled with angry human screams. The high pitch of the shouting reminded him of the way his father yelled at him as a boy whenever he failed at something. He tried to run, but his legs were slow, like there was lead in his shoes. He awoke at one point and vomited onto the floor next to the bed. The red light outside the window continued to flash a hellish red into the room and over liquid bile that a moment earlier had been inside of Josiah’s body.
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