Chapter Nineteen
New Sacramento 2077
Kyle approached the unconscious leader, who was oversized for the modest table. “Give me the status,” he said, washing his hands at a small sink.
Huxley said, “Assassination attempt at the same time as the bombing. I killed the guy, but I know he was working with others within our government to help New America triangulate our HQ and—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Kyle said. He pointed to a medical tech standing over Charles. “Give me the status of the patient!”
The tech looked to Maria, who must have given him a nod that he was okay to talk. He said, “Bullet wound to stomach.”
“We only have X-ray machines,” Maria said, holding a large picture up to Kyle.
Kyle put on a mask and latex gloves. He could tell by how the gloves went on that they had been cleaned and used before. “Where’s my rucksack with my medical supplies?”
“Destroyed with the attack,” Huxley said.
It took all of Kyle’s focus to recall calculations from medical class so he could check on the anesthesia dosage Charles had been given. The tools were barbaric compared to the Atoll, where everything was computerized.
He grabbed the scalpel from a tray, which may or may not have been sterilized. For the next few hours he worked to remove the bullet and seal up the wound. It had miraculously missed every major organ.
The building shook several times during surgery, one time almost causing Kyle to sever an artery. Huxley ran back and forth between the control area and makeshift surgery table. He was bipolar in his approach. On one end of the room he’d yell orders at staff, but as soon as he came over to check on the surgery, he’d have a passive demeanor. Kyle had to tell him to leave the area. The soldier huffed before scolding an underling for nothing. Maria assisted Kyle, while the other medical staff monitored oxygen and anesthesia, and prepped and cleaned instruments.
Hours later, Kyle finished suturing Charles and adjusted the anesthesia to ease him back to consciousness. He prepped a morphine drip as well as a saline laced with antibiotics. Only when he had a moment to drink a glass of water did he consider that he could have opted to let the patient expire. Even at this point he could tweak the morphine enough to put Charles into a sleep that would take him into oblivion and save countless lives. Visions of the abortion clinic filled his mind, as well as the memory of the public execution he witnessed. Charles’s death could save countless lives.
No, he remembered the oath he’d taken to heal, a Hippocratic Oath not to harm his patients. God was the judge and jury, not him. Somehow, God could still do something with the wretched man lying on the table in front of him.
Huxley came back over. Kyle could tell the soldier was doing everything possible to remain calm. He picked up the compressed bullet from a stainless steel tray and handed it to Huxley, who gripped it like the bullet was the attacker himself.
“Well?” he said.
“Unless infection sets in, he should live.”
Huxley nodded before taking a seat by his leader’s side.
Maria approached Kyle as he washed up at a sink. “You do good work.”
“Did I do good work saving that man’s life?”
“Do you think Huxley would be a better leader?” she whispered. Kyle viewed the unstable man sitting at Charles’s side, holding Charles’s arm with his left hand while he fingered a gun in a holster on his right hip.
Within hours Kyle was assigned a new apartment in a newer building. His suite had windows, a kitchen, a full bath, and a door that was no longer locked. Military MREs were stocked in the cupboards.
The next morning Maria escorted him to check on Charles, who had been moved to a command center in the same building. Kyle now wore a matching off-white jumpsuit similar to Maria’s that showed citizens he worked directly for Charles. He hated the outfit but knew it would allow him to walk around unhindered.
Charles was semi-alert when Kyle checked on him. Huxley remained in the next room, yelling at someone over a walkie-talkie.
“How am I doing, doctor?” Charles spoke in a whisper.
“I’m going to reduce your morphine, but tell me or Maria if the pain is too much and I can come back.” Kyle checked his vitals, along with the saline and antibiotics. “I’m going to clear you for liquids and broth, starting tomorrow.”
Charles moved his hand and grasped Kyle’s before releasing it. “Thank you.”
Behind Charles, Huxley yelled into his walkie-talkie about some munitions not reaching a location in time. Charles stared at Maria, who seemed to interpret the unspoken language and told Huxley to quiet down.
Charles took a couple of deep breaths before he said, “I take it you need to continue on to your work in the hospital?”
“I do, but I’ll be back.”
Charles nodded. “Doctor Faison.”
“Yes?”
“You saved my life and I am grateful, but I still can’t let you go. You’re too valuable.” Kyle’s stomach tightened. The pain he felt at missing his wife and child was physical. “However, name anything else.”
Without hesitation Kyle said, “Release the villagers and let me have the final say over who lives or dies in my clinic. No more euthanizing patients.”
“The villagers will be released today.” He glanced at Maria. “Doctor Faison is now in charge of the clinic. What he says, goes.” Charles shut his eyes.
Maria nodded. “Understood, Charles.”
Kyle pushed it. “And every time I go by that abortion clinic I want to vomit. I can’t have that monstrosity across from where—”
Charles opened one eye back up and raised a hand as if to silence Kyle. “I told you to name one thing, and you named two.” He took a deep breath. “I believe that is enough. You have patients to attend to, doctor. I look forward to seeing you later.”
Maria half-pulled Kyle out of the room and into the stairwell. When they were alone she said, “That was amazing. No one jerks Charles around like that.” Kyle led the way this time, and Maria rushed to keep up. “We could be a powerful team, Kyle.” He noted this was the first time she used his name. “You need to let go of your past and embrace a future. We could build something together.”
He stopped at the door to the outside. Images of his son, Junior, filled his mind. The chubby baby was full of rolls. What he wouldn’t do just to hold and kiss his son right now.
A soft hand touched his shoulder. Maria was tall, beautiful, and smart. In another time and place she could have been a model, a doctor, a businesswoman. Anything she wanted. The hand lowered from his shoulder to his waist.
He ran through Philippians 4:8 in his head. Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.
Kyle forced the image of his wife and her blonde hair to displace that of Maria. He brushed Maria’s hand aside and stepped outside.
Maria ran in front of him, blocking his path. She pressed a finger into his chest, pushing him back toward the door. “Any man here would have taken me by now. What’s your problem?”
People on the street rushed to move away from the tall, angry woman. Kyle stepped aside and tried to continue to walk. Maria countered the move and slapped him in the face. “Look at me when I speak to you. You don’t find me attractive?”
He rubbed his cheek, surprised at how painful the slap was. “I think you're pretty by the world’s standards.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re of this world,” he said. “What I’m looking at is a dead, lifeless corpse. A beautiful one, but dead nonetheless.” Maria’s face toggled between confusion and rage. “You need to reconcile yourself to God, Maria.”
“Give me a break. There’s no such thing as God, and this façade of morality you’re putting up is
a waste.”
“You’re wrong. There’s such a thing as right and wrong, and you will be held accountable one day.”
“I don’t believe in moral absolutes.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
Maria didn’t respond.
Kyle let the silence remain until he felt her discomfort. “What if what I believe is true?”
“It’s not.”
“You owe it to your son to be sure.”
Maria’s lips tightened as if he had just insulted her. “Enough. This conversation’s done.”
Kyle continued toward the clinic. As he approached the clinic, he started to cough. A thick layer of dust covered roofs of huts and old broken-down, rotting vehicles. The smell was different than the usual stench of garbage and humidity. He continued to cough as he approached the clinic. The line outside the building was just starting to form. Everyone coughed as well. It was then that he noticed a massive chimney issuing the grey smoke across the street. From the abortion clinic.
“Dear God in Heaven,” he whispered.
Maria walked past him and patted his shoulder. “Speaking of dead, lifeless corpses. That’s why we burn them all.” She continued past him and entered the clinic with a soft cackle.
Kyle continued to stare at the smokestack issuing the horrific, offensive burnt offering. A primal urge to flee weighed on him. But where? He was trapped. In that moment the finality that he might never see his wife and child again was overwhelming. He pushed into the clinic, found the nearest bathroom, and vomited into a sink.
“I can’t take anymore, Lord,” he said, splashing water on his face. “Please help me.”
Five minutes later he exited the bathroom to see Maria smiling like a victor. “My dear doctor, you don’t look so good.”
That night, Kyle visited Charles again. The leader was sitting up in bed, struggling to sign a document Huxley held in front of him. Other staff were on radios or writing on fixed, upright, topographical glass maps in greased pencil.
“Good to see you,” Charles said, still finding it difficult to speak. Kyle approached the bed without responding and started looking at his vitals.
“How’s your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”
“Nine,” he whispered. As Kyle adjusted the morphine drip, Charles said, “You’re not happy with your new apartment and freedom?”
“I realize my accommodations are better than most people, but how do you know I won’t escape?” Kyle said without looking up.
“I trust you.”
Kyle started to change out a bag of antibiotics that dripped into his IV. “How do you know I’m not putting poison in you right now?”
“To say that I’m exploiting your Christian sense of morality would be an understatement.”
A soldier appeared next to Kyle and spoke to Charles. “Sir, I had those prisoners returned to the village per your order.”
Charles lay his head back and stared at the ceiling. “See, doctor, I’m a man of my word.”
Kyle didn’t respond for almost a full minute. When he spoke, his voice shook like a child pleading. “Charles, I should have never come here. I was naïve to think I could change anything.”
“I’m sorry, doctor. You’re too important.” Charles’s face looked sympathetic. “You were sent here for a reason. How do you know I won’t get converted like Constantine and change the world?”
“Please don’t mock me.”
Charles reached out a hand and tried to grab Kyle’s. He pulled back, not feeling comfortable with the interaction. Charles held up his hand in a surrender gesture. “I’m sorry, doctor, but my decision stands.”
Huxley appeared at Kyle’s side. “If your patient checks out, I suggest you move along.”
Back at his room there was a pitcher of clean water, a bowl of fruit, and some new MREs left on the counter. He forced himself to eat a meal and drink before he took a shower. The dial in the shower allowed him five minutes of cold water. He found a straight razor and was forced to shave with cold water from the sink. He found clean underwear and a tank top in a drawer with a clean jumpsuit.
Before bed, he prayed on his knees for those suffering around him, but he also ended with, “Lord, please let me see my family again. I can’t take much more of this.” He crawled into bed, and sleep overtook him like a gift.
The sound of an explosion woke Kyle early the next morning. He reached over to make sure Jane was okay. It took a moment to realize he was not in the apartment he shared with his wife and child on the Atoll. The explosion was in a dream. It was the sound of the rocket that hit the Halo he and his father had been evacuated on. How Kyle survived was nothing short of a miracle, but why did God keep him alive only to leave him in a broken-down city for the rest of his life? Was this his true mission trip? To help those in New Sacramento and never see his wife and child again?
Why hadn’t his father come back for him yet? The despair of being trapped grew as the low probability of his father’s survival started to weigh on him. Kyle wept at the thought of his father dying alone in some barbaric way. He knew the last moments of his life would have been riddled with guilt at not being able to rescue his son. With Landon dead, the Atoll and his family would have assumed Kyle was dead as well. Tears turned into loud sobs. He couldn’t remember ever crying this much. There were times he’d cried as a boy after his mother’s death but not like this. This was fueled by hopelessness.
A flickering thought reminded him that his father was tough. Landon had fought through getting his leg blown off in battle decades earlier. While on the mission trip to the village, Landon single-handedly held the marauders at bay. Each time an obstacle was thrown in their path, his dad had reacted, never once feeling sorry for himself or giving up. He assessed the problem like a soldier and modified his behavior. He rarely expressed how much he loved his son, but Kyle knew his actions screamed I love you every moment he was with him.
There was a knock at the door that drew Kyle back to the present.
Maria entered without being asked and turned on the underpowered lights. “Kyle, are you up?”
“Yeah.” Kyle got up and started to put on his jumpsuit. Maria stood like a voyeur and did not look away.
“It’s Charles.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He spiked a fever of 103 an hour ago and is now unconscious.”
“Why didn’t anyone get me?”
“I just found out myself. Nursing staff were administering antibiotics and Huxley didn’t think it prudent to call you—”
“That moron isn’t qualified to make that call.” Kyle followed her out the door. “What’s your assessment?”
“It doesn’t look good.”
Chapter Twenty
New York 2040
For the next two days, Josiah stayed in the apartment while Clarke, Faith, and the kids went to the subway mission hospital for different shifts. He found a pair of binoculars and passed the time staring at his old building. A combination of human workers and drones scurried about the roof doing the work. The drones and worker’s uniforms were both UN blue which meant they belonged to Bradley. Lewis and Bradley would both die, but Josiah hadn’t decided on how just yet. Only that it would be slow and involve pain, lots of pain.
The days crawled by, and Josiah picked and chose when he would answer questions from Clarke and Faith. At dinner the kids would also ask questions, but he ignored them altogether. He never liked children. The handful of executives who lived in his building knew to keep their kids quiet and out of sight at all times.
At night, sleep had become a sickness, and Josiah learned to dread the few hours he got. Different nightmares attacked him each night. In one dream there was a past executive who worked with Josiah. He wore tattered clothes and carried a thick chain while he wailed and chased his former boss through a cemetery. Other nights, perverted, bloody animals with human voices chased after him.
In the early hours of the morning on May twentieth, a man i
n white appeared in the bedroom. Whether it was in his dream or real, Josiah couldn't tell. The man looked like Clarke, but a moment later his face changed into pure light. The figure pointed to the wall in the bedroom, now stone rather than flaked plaster. Words started to burn into the rock wall. Smoke and steam rose up, blocking what was written. The room smelled of ash. Josiah tried to yell, but the smoke made him choke. A moment later the smoke and fire vanished.
Left behind were the charred words, As for me, I will call upon God; and the Lord shall save me.
Josiah awoke, drinking in the early morning air. A moment later sirens sounded outside at the brothel. A gunshot went off, then another. Screams wafted up to Josiah’s third-story window. He ignored the now-common noises and approached the rough plaster wall that had appeared as stone only a moment ago. Through the brothel’s flashing red light he noticed, as if for the first time, a tattered poster of a tropical beach held up by a few tacks.
A warm breeze drifted in through the window. The air smelled clean for once. Josiah repeated the words he had seen in his dream, As for me, I will call upon God; and the Lord shall save me.
The wind picked up and the poster fluttered. Something compelled him to reach up. When he touched the brittle poster, it tore down the middle like a curtain. Behind the poster, written in crayon in a messy child’s penmanship, was a different line. The new phrase read, The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart. Josiah knew both phrases would be found in the Bible.
“Impossible,” he whispered.
The memory of Clarke’s voice returned to him from the conversation in the living room days earlier. The voice whispered, “Wake up to the second chance you've been given. To the miracle you’ve been given. Think about how mathematically impossible it is that you’re still breathing.”
Rick Bezalel’s voice joined in the argument. “The universe is so finely tuned. There's no way it could have popped into existence.”
Mission Trip_Genesis and Exodus Page 12