Acts of God

by James Beauseigneur

  "We're checking that right now," Martin answered.

  At headquarters Captain Martin watched over the shoulder of Officer Ed Cook as he checked first to see if Decker's name was on the list of those who had taken the communion, and then checked on his whereabouts. In a moment they had their answers.

  "Joe," he said, calling Sgt. Runningdeer by his first name. "We're showing that as a good assignment. Hawthorne shows negative on the communion and his last known location was June 7 at Reagan National Airport. The assumption is that he's at his home in Derwood."

  For a moment there was silence, then Sgt. Runningdeer replied. "Sir, request permission to ignore this assignment. That last known location is ten days old; he's probably not even there. But even if he is, we have plenty to do without annoying Decker Hawthorne."

  Captain Martin thought for a second. It was about the most bizarre assignment he could imagine: charging the person closest to the Secretary-General of the United Nations with not adhering to United Nations law. On the other hand, he did not want to be responsible for ignoring an assignment. In the end common sense won out.

  "Permission granted," he said. "We don't need the United Nations giving us hell for invading Mr. Hawthorne's privacy. Disregard assignment Hawthorne and proceed to the next name on your sheet."

  4:03 p.m., Thursday, June 18, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — Derwood, Maryland

  Decker looked at his watch. It was midnight in Babylon. Another day had passed without a call from Christopher or Milner. He had now been gone from Babylon for fifteen days. In his last contact with Milner eleven days earlier he had said he'd only be gone a week. Either Milner or Christopher, or at least Jackie was certain to call soon. He still had no idea how he would explain his continued absence and so did not look forward to the call.

  Decker watched live television coverage of a fundamentalist family being evicted for refusing to take the communion and the mark. There was no brutality on the part of the police, and in fact, they provided protection for the family from a few hot-headed neighbors whose suffering from the lesions had caused them to let their emotions overrule their reason. Decker wondered why the police had not come to his door yet. He had no doubt that the World Health Organization's database showed that he had not taken the communion, and though he had limited his activities so that no one would realize he was in the house, he was certain the police would be able to locate him. The only explanation he could find was that they were too overworked and would get to him later. When they did, he would be ready. He had prepared half a dozen bandages which he could quickly slip on, including one that conveniently covered the back of his right hand where the mark should have been. If the police showed up, he would quickly don the bandages, answer the door, flash his U.N. identification — just in case they didn't realize who he was — and act outraged that they had bothered him. With any luck, he thought, he could probably intimidate the police enough to leave him alone for a while, regardless of what WHO's database said.

  6:37 p.m., Friday, June 19, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — Tel Aviv, Israel

  Along the beach of the Mediterranean, nearly fifteen thousand people had gathered to witness a miracle. Because of the smell, most wore gas masks, millions of which had been left over from some long-forgotten war. Robert Milner, dressed in the same robes he had worn at Christopher's resurrection, sat cross-legged on the sand in a lotus position in deep meditation, waiting for the proper moment. In each hand he held three highly polished spherical quartz crystals given to him by Christopher. Behind him, a hundred reporters waited in silence. Before him, waves of blood washed over the reddened sand in black coagulated chunks. The beach had been cleared for the occasion of the carcasses of countless dead fish and sea birds. Except near the shore lines, most of the surface of the oceans and seas had become a huge scab which heaved and ebbed with the motion of the sea of blood beneath it, and now crawled with maggots as far as the eye could see.

  As the sun began to set, Robert Milner, eyes still closed, rose to his feet. Holding his hands straight out from his sides, he began to walk toward the sea. Television cameras transmitted the scene around the world. Just short of the waves, he stopped. Frozen in that position, he waited for the first full moment of twilight, then shouting as loudly as he could, he proclaimed his purpose and his commission.

  "In the name of the Light Bearer, and of his son, Christopher, and in the name of myself and those with me, and all of Humankind, I declare my independence and my defiance of Yahweh, the god of sickness and disease and oppression! We will not yield to you! We will not submit to you! We will not bow to you! We declare our freedom from you! We spit upon you and upon your name!"

  Then reaching back with both his hands, he hurled the six quartz crystals he held as far out into the sea as he could, where they landed on the floating congealed mass with a dull thud. As the sea rolled, it was possible to catch the glint from the spheres as they lay scattered on the huge scab and it seemed as though nothing had happened. But quickly it became clear that the light which came from the crystals was not a reflection of the camera spotlights but rather was radiating from the orbs themselves, and the light was growing.

  Excitement filled the crowd as slowly the spheres melted into the sickening mass of maggots and blood and sank out of sight. Then suddenly, beneath the orbs, the sea began to churn and glow with light which grew until the area around it shone like a full moon. Then in all directions at once, radiating out at unbelievable speed, the light transformed the bloody sea back into water. In just seconds, the transformation traveled the length of the occupied beach and, as the waves washed the shore, the hardened lumps melted away and blended in with the waves.

  On the beach with Milner, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause and a triumphant cheer filled the evening sky and rose defiantly to heaven, as the cleansing swell continued to spread. Traveling at a speed of nearly a thousand miles per hour, the purifying wave stayed just within the twilight of the setting sun as it rolled over the seas of the earth like a gentle blanket. Robert Milner turned and raised his hands in triumph and after a moment, though bearing at least a dozen lesions, he pulled his robes up over his head, revealing his nude body, and turned and ran naked into the sea. Many followed, shedding their clothing where they stood, though all but a handful of the most hardy quickly turned back as the salty waves washed over their lesions, causing unbearable pain.

  Within twenty-four hours the transformation traveled around the world and the seas returned to normal, though nothing could restore the sea life that had perished.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Steadfast

  9:34 a.m., Sunday, June 21, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.)

  Decker opened his eyes and looked at the clock beside his bed. Another night had passed in the eastern United States, and the greater part of the day had passed in Babylon, and yet still there was no call from Christopher. Two full weeks had passed since the call to Jackie and Milner and except for a call to Debbie Sanchez to say he'd be gone 'longer than expected,' he'd had no contact with anyone from the U.N. Sooner or later, Decker knew Christopher would call and he would have to give some explanation for his absence, not to mention explaining why he had not yet taken the communion. He still didn't know what he would say. It had been one thing to lie to Milner, though he still wondered if Milner really believed him. It would be quite another to try to hide the truth from Christopher.

  What was the truth, though? Decker still had not decided. He could not ignore the dream in Petra. It wasn't just that Christopher had hesitated when Decker asked about Tom. It was the look of indifference on his face — as though he truly didn't care whether Tom got out of there or not. It was as though he only told Decker where Tom was because he knew Decker wouldn't leave without him. The image haunted and tormented him. But though Decker could not ignore the dream, neither could he ignore over twenty years of knowing Christopher as intimately as anyone could have. He struggled to find an explanation.

  Perhaps, he thought, perhaps the drea
m in Petra was not identical to the dream in Lebanon after all! He tried to compare the two dreams in his memory and they seemed identical, but how could he be sure? Perhaps in the second dream his imagination had added the expression of indifference to Christopher's face; and now, as he looked back through the years, his mind had transposed the image to the events of the first dream as well.

  Then a new possibility occurred to him: maybe it wasn't his imagination at all! Maybe Rosen had used his telepathic abilities to plant the image in his head! And maybe he, or some other member of the KDT, had done the same thing to Tom, planting the idea in Tom's mind to kill Christopher. Maybe that's what this was all about! Maybe Rosen had altered Decker's memory and had only let him leave Petra so that he would betray Christopher! Maybe that was why they kidnapped him in the first place; and the indoctrination from Rosen was either to soften him up, or it was a front to hide the KDT's real purpose. Maybe at the proper moment some other latent image would be recalled that would compel him to believe that he had to kill Christopher! Would history repeat itself? Was he destined to again play the role of Judas the betrayer?

  But what could Rosen hope to gain? If Christopher was killed again, then surely he would once again be resurrected. Or maybe he wouldn't. There was no way to know how many times Christopher could die and come back. Maybe it only worked once. Or maybe Rosen and the KDT were simply trying to get Christopher out of the way temporarily so they could launch some larger plan like the murderous madness that had struck while Christopher lay dead for three days. Perhaps this time they were devising a scheme to kill everyone.

  The real question, Decker realized, was who was the monster? If the dream was accurate and Christopher was simply going to let Tom remain a hostage in Lebanon because he was insignificant to his plans, then Christopher was indeed the monster that the KDT made him out to be and Decker had found the one flaw in Christopher's otherwise perfect performance. On the other hand, if the dream had been altered by Rosen and the KDT, then it was Decker himself who was the monster — a time bomb waiting to explode that might end the New Age of Humankind and hurl the planet back into a dark age of subservience to a tyrannical despot who would reduce humans to the level of cattle. Decker held his head in his hands and let out a low moan. He wished there was a benevolent God that he could pray to for wisdom and then trust the answer. The only thing that seemed relatively certain was that until he could straighten this all out, the best thing to do for both himself and for Christopher was to stay where he was.

  Decker rubbed his eyes and realized that his mental distraction had obscured a rather significant headache. Going into the bathroom to take some aspirin, he turned on the faucet to allow the water to cool while he attended to another pressing bodily need. His mind momentarily drifted back to the silent telephone, but from the comer of his eye he caught a glimpse of unexpected color which drew his attention. Looking over at the sink, he saw that the water flowing from the faucet had taken on a definite pink hue that grew quickly darker as he watched. By the time he finished relieving his bladder, the water was bright red. "Oh, no!" he said out loud, as he grasped its likely meaning. Out of habit, he reached to flush, but then jerked his hand back as if the toilet handle had become a venomous snake.

  Decker turned off the faucet and ran to the television in his bedroom. It took only a moment to confirm his fears. As the picture changed to show scenes from numerous locations, the anchorman summarized the story. Throughout the world, all fresh water supplies, all rivers and springs, all lakes and ponds and reservoirs fed by rivers or springs, had turned to blood. The only sources of water that had not turned to blood were those that were detached or sealed off, such as water towers, swimming pools, and holding tanks at water treatment plants.

  Decker ran back to the bathroom and removed the cover from the back of the toilet. As he expected, the water inside was still clear. By stopping himself from flushing, he had given himself a three gallon supply of clean water. With the toilet downstairs that gave him six gallons. Going next to the refrigerator and pantry, he quickly inventoried everything suitable for drinking. In the refrigerator, there was about a half gallon of milk and three one-liter bottles of soda. In the freezer, the ice-maker was full of ice that Decker estimated could be melted down to a little more than a gallon of water. In the pantry he found only a bottle of tequila. In all, he estimated that he had about eight gallons of liquid suitable for drinking. Then, realizing that the next time the ice maker took in water it would instead get blood, Decker ran to the laundry room to turn off the water main.

  When he returned to the television, the scene had changed to the parking lot of a supermarket in Virginia. A woman's body lay on the pavement in a pool of blood, surrounded by police tape to keep back onlookers. Assuming that the report was of a simple homicide, Decker was at first surprised that the media's attention had so quickly shifted to this from the more important story of the fresh water turning to blood. The reporter explained the connection. The water had changed during the night, and most grocery stores had sold out of all milk, bottled water, and other drinks within a half hour of opening. Even canned vegetables like green beans and corn were bought up for the water in the cans. Some who arrived late at the stores panicked and fights had broken out over what little was left. At this supermarket in Virginia, two women had fought in the store over the last gallon of milk. The woman who lost the battle left the store, went to her car, and retrieved a gun. Waiting for the other woman to leave the store, she followed her to her car, shot her three times in the back of the head and then fled. A few feet from the lifeless body lay the remains of the plastic milk bottle, which had broken open when it hit the ground.

  Keeping or obtaining water quickly became the full-time occupation of everyone, for though fresh blood can be drunk (theMasa/ natives in Kenya frequently drink a mixture of milk and cows' blood) even this became impossible as bacteria quickly filled the rivers and springs, turning them into open cesspools of disease and stench. Those who, in desperation broke through the scabbed-over surface to the blood flowing below, either turned away in revulsion or, if they did drink, quickly vomited it up, thus losing additional body fluid and worsening their dehydration.

  Resourceful people devised numerous ways to collect water. Where rain fell, people put out pots, pans, and bowls to catch whatever they could. Others rigged poles to hold up the comers of sheets of plastic or bed sheets, gathering the rain into the middle of the sheet through a hole, then into a pan.

  Public service television programs told where and how to find water. In addition to toilet tanks, small amounts of fresh water could be found in recently used garden hoses. The programs also told how to collect water condensed by air conditioners or from drip pans in refrigerators. By leaving the refrigerator door ajar, it was possible to condense as much as two quarts or more a day, except in areas of low humidity. In coastal areas warnings were repeated every half hour not to drink seawater because the salt would actually absorb more body fluids than the water would replenish. Instead, seawater could be boiled and then condensed on a cold surface and collected. One very productive method was to place an electric skillet or crock pot in the refrigerator and boil the seawater. The steam then condensed on the refrigerator's wall and ran down into the drip pan. Literally gallons could be collected by this method in a single day and many near the coasts set up business, charging incredible prices to eager buyers. It was also possible to distill the water from the blood by the same means, but few had the stomach for it.

  Christopher and Milner promised relief within the week. Television 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 whe
re 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 crock pots and flush toilets were unknown — the lesser developed areas of Asia, South America, Africa, and India. In those areas 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. As much as possible, the U.N. attempted to send water to such places, but the supply was extremely limited and distribution unreliable.

  6:30 P.M., Thursday, June 25, 4 N.A. (2026 A.D.) — Derwood, Maryland

  George Rollins dug through rakes, shovels, saws, hedge trimmers, and various and sundry other tools and gadgets in his 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 back over his old lawnmower which hadn't worked in three years but which he planned to get around to working 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.