I pull a second red arrow from my quiver and strike down another heavily armed vehicle trying to flee. Because the blast is so great from all the weapons the vehicle is carrying, about two dozen officers near the vehicle are killed instantly. With all the officers running in a panic in all different directions, the townspeople begin to fight back. Two armored trucks pull up from the north side and release about a hundred more soldiers to diffuse the small revolt, but their vision becomes quickly hindered by a ball of black smoke from a secondary explosion.
Gabe stands up, turns his palms up, and two coated barrels extend outward from his sleeves. He squeezes both index fingers on two triggers below the barrels, as small metal square nets about five inches in length and wide come flying out like bullets toward the officers who are impaired by the black smoke. Hundreds of these copper metal nets stick to their skin, frying their bodies with electric shocks, and leaving them disabled while their muscles spastically convulse until they succumb to brain death.
Since the high ground will always have the advantage, I save my ammo and pick off twenty more officers with my bow from the rooftop. The officers left are either shot by Henry and Finnegan, or they have surrendered to the people who have fought back in a first of many revolutions to come. What has started now cannot be changed.
Gabe and I climb back down the ladder and join Henry and Finnegan, who have discarded their uniforms so they are not mistaken for officers by the people. As the smoke from the explosions dissipates from the ground and into the sky, the people gather up all the remaining officers and put them in the center of town square with their hands shackled.
While they are being tied down, I take a moment to walk around the encircled officers, looking them in their eyes, and wondering how many here will ask for forgiveness. All I think about are all those women and children who suffered a senseless death back in our town. I look out toward the crowd gathering around and see that Finnegan is gesturing for me to go. I slowly walk away with Henry, Finnegan, and Gabe, but I stop just as the crowd turns into complete silence and one voice speaks out.
“Who are you to come here and save us?” asks a woman in the back.
I turn to address the crowd. “I’m no different than you, and I didn’t come here to save you from this evil. I came here to give you hope that the choices you make may save your life.”
“So what are we supposed to do, just give in and die?” someone shouts.
“We’re all going to die, my friend, in some way or another. Death is just the beginning of a new life. There is but one choice you will have to face before the Day of Judgment, and it will undoubtedly decide your fate. You people will not be immune to the darkest of days that will come, nor will you be in such favor the hour of your death. Many of you will be deceived by your own flesh. If you surrender to this,” I say, pointing toward the officers, “then you will have dug your own eternal grave.”
Right then, a small boy about seven, limps toward me. His face is covered in dirt, and he looks as if he hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks. As he gets closer, I see he’s wearing a metal prosthetic leg. He hands me a fistful of arrows he fetched from the dead officers. “Thank you,” he says.
I kneel down and place my hand on his shoulder, holding back the tears as much as I can. “God has a special place in His heart for you. You will be protected by His hand from now on,” I say as I hug him.
“Are you an angel?” he asks. “Because you glow like one,” he says.
“Is that what you see?” I ask. He shakes his head up and down and grins. I stand up and wipe the tears from my eyes as he slowly walks back to his mother.
Before I leave and head back up to the car, I turn and address one last message to these poor people. “You will tell the world of our existence and know that God’s wrath will not go undone here. There will be no limitations nor boundary until it is finished.”
I walk away, not knowing how many of these people will actually survive. Before we drive off, I kneel down at a large stone in the cemetery. While the others reload weapons and prepare themselves for the next wave of attacks, I slowly suppress any hatred within me and put my head to the ground and pray.
CHAPTER 17
We drive east and stop in a remote area to rest for the remainder of the night before moving on. By mid-morning, we arrive at the next city, approaching cautiously from a distance, but when Finnegan takes a quick scan of the downtown area through his scope, he notices something quite different than what we’ve already seen. It appears to be normal. Of course, that’s all relative when you’re defining normal in this country. Regardless, there doesn’t seem to be any threatening signs from federal officers in the vicinity.
We drive in for a closer look and examine the city’s potential grounds for attack. I put on a black cloak with a hood that I got from Father Joseph back at the den to conceal my weapons. What may seem normal from a distance can be an alarming illusion as we approach closer. I certainly don’t want to pose as a threat to these people with the sight of my weapons, but I go in assuming everyone is an enemy regardless—I trust no one now.
The streets are filled with people going about their business as if nothing has happened. People are shopping and eating with absolutely no federal officers in sight. By their contented behavior and elegant appearance, it’s evident that this is a wealthier district; in fact, I see no signs of poverty. The population here looks to be around 250,000, which is considered to be very large these days.
Since the new administration has taken control, the population of America has dwindled by thirty percent in the last ten years due mostly to harsh laws restricting unwanted and non-contributing citizens access to food credits, which slowly caused many Americans to die from starvation. But with the recent news from Finnegan about the birth-controllaced water, I’m shocked that the percentage isn’t lower. Prior to this administration, the population was nearly cut in half from an extremely deadly flu epidemic that began in 2035 and wasn’t contained until two years later, when a new vaccine was developed. But the long wait for a cure proved to be detrimental, as the deadly disease swiftly swept around the globe, killing nearly four and a half billion. No other age in history has witnessed such atrocities.
Because this town appears to be nonthreatening, we take advantage of the city’s amenities and find a place to rest in one of the downtown hotels. I never thought I would be this excited to take a shower in the middle of the afternoon. The warm water running over my skin and cascading down my back like a tepid waterfall never felt so good, and I have it all to myself.
Before the day breaks, we scout out the city, trying to determine why it’s so different from the others that have been destroyed and are nearly desolate. While we walk downtown, Gabe and I immediately notice the city library, which is much larger than the one in our town back home. Whether it’s false hope or not, we decide to explore the inside, expecting to find it empty, and hoping to discover Internet services, but to our surprise it’s filled with readers on every floor.
We wander around until we locate the computer lab on the third floor. The computer screens are lit up, but instead of the solid blue screen we have back home, these have a welcoming city homepage. Gabe browses outside of the homepage, but the search tool is disabled; in fact, there is no other browser to use. The Internet appears to be gated to this community only, creating an intranet network that is obviously monitored with high security.
Gabe tries to hack into a backdoor allowing him to override the internal network, but it’s sealed shut without a trace of possible networking avenues outside of this city. As we browse through sites that are allowed, it is clear that the government has restricted any outside access and has contrived an intranet community that makes the new administration appealing. The sites are dictated by what they want you to believe is true. The absolute fallacy of this virtual world they have created is a manifestation of lies and only serves to brainwash the people to believe the world outside of this city has the same comfor
t as it does inside.
A woman in her fifties, hopelessly trying to look twenty, sits next to me at another computer. I can’t help to stare, but I notice a tiny barcode tattooed on her right wrist. As we get up, I notice barcodes tattooed on everyone’s wrists. I wouldn’t have noticed it before, but now that I’m curiously looking for them, they are everywhere and easy to spot, like dangling earrings. The people are dressed very well and look sparkling clean. Every woman who walks by is wearing makeup, and every man is cleanly shaven. Now that I have become more perceptive of my surroundings, the peculiarity of this strange city provokes a convivial curiosity that drives me to continue exploring it. We decide to wander further in the city, hoping to figure out the meaning behind its cultural abnormalities, at least compared to what we have already experienced.
We meet back outside with Henry and Finnegan, explaining to them the oddity of the barcodes. “Let’s split up so we can gather clues more efficiently. I want to explore more of this strange town. We’ll meet back at the hotel at ten,” I say to everyone.
While Henry and Finnegan drift off in one direction, Gabe and I stay together in another. After an hour of walking down street after street, we find ourselves moving further away from the city and into a residential area. Before we start to go back toward another part of the city, I look over beyond the trees that separate the back of the houses and notice a metal fence.
“Do you see that, behind the trees?” I ask.
Gabe squints his eyes and says, “It looks like a security fence, why?”
“Exactly. Why is a security fence needed in a city like this, especially behind a residential area?” I say.
We take a closer look to examine the stature of the fence. The fence runs in both directions as far as we can see, and stands nearly twenty feet high into the trees. Gabe moves closer to the barrier with his arm stretched. “Wait, stop!” I shout. I pull back his arm before his hands touches the fence. “How do you know this fence isn’t electrified?” I ask.
“Because the hairs on my arm are not standing up, and I would be able to hear the flow of electricity humming through the metal veins of the fence,” Gabe says, as he grabs a hold of the fence without a shock. I wonder why they would spend all this time putting up a security fence around the city, but leave the main road unguarded.
We head back into the city to explore more on the east side of town, where the streets are less even and the buildings are not as pristine. Still, the same cheerful people walk by with barcodes on their wrists, oblivious to the dingy and uninviting dwellings. A palette of illuminating colors splash across the walls on the side of buildings in the alleys, where lesser traffic of people roam.
A bright eyesore of a building pops out down the street as we walk around the corner. It’s an old movie theater, with a brilliantly lit marquee flashing the words: All Day and All Night. What appears to be a theater front is most likely a pornographic movie house behind the doors, but upon closer examination, it truly is a theater that shows old black-and-white films and television shows from the past. We watch intently as people walk in and out of the theater while having their wrists scanned when entering.
As we walk a little further down the street, people begin to stop and stare, avoiding passing in front of me. I can feel their frightened eyes glued to me as I slowly walk down the sidewalk. Before I know it, Gabe nudges me in the side of my ribs and whispers, “Hey, your knives are showing. So are your guns.”
Apparently, my cloak has come open and exposed my weapons, startling everyone around me. I quickly pull my robe closed and continue walking as if no one has noticed, but unfortunately it’s too late, because people are whispering about my attire. The whispers get louder, spreading like a cancer down the street, and before we can get through the next block, I feel like an outsider even though my cloak is tightly concealing my weapons.
Gabe steers me to the right, down a back street behind a dumpster, where we crouch down and hide. Less than a minute later, two federal officers walk past the back street toward the movie theater. Whatever clairvoyant thoughts are swimming around that swollen head of his, I’m thankful for yet another one of his intuitive moments of saving us from an unnecessary altercation.
Down toward the end of the back street are what appear to be a couple of prostitutes, but I can’t be for sure, and I would like to reserve judgment before assuming. We walk in that direction just so we can avoid any federal entanglements before the day is over, and turn down another street where the smells of barbeque and Italian food fill the air.
To our left are manicure and massage parlors, and to the right are a pawnshop and an old tavern that reeks of bad alcohol. The pungent odor of skunky beer breath coming from an inhibited old man staggering out of the bar is enough to make me gag. When the pub door opens, I get a tiny glimpse of a federal officer sitting at the bar, so we abandon the bar idea and enter the pawnshop instead.
While we look around the store, watching the front window for more officers, we notice an inordinate amount of men being checked before going through a back door of the establishment. Something just doesn’t add up, and it’s making me a little suspicious seeing credit change hands in private.
I go into the bathroom and climb up into the ceiling tile and onto the rafter bars to investigate what’s going on behind those doors. I walk about ten yards and peer into one of the air vents and witness the most horrific sights of bondage. Men are forcing women and children into rooms that are less appealing than a dog cage, and forcing them onto filthy onlookers bidding for their bodies in a commercially sexual exploitation of reproductive slavery.
This place is no more than a front for facilitating human trafficking. My body shakes with violent intentions, as I’m still in total shock of what I’ve just seen. My stomach tightens and I grit my teeth, with my jaws protruding as I simmer with righteous indignation. It’s absolutely abhorrent and demeaning what these men have allowed to go on. The demoralizing atrocities behind these doors is a wretched abomination, and I will not stand for it. While an anger and rage that I can’t contain boils inside of me, I quickly descend from the ceiling and back out of the bathroom to explain to Gabe the sickening situation. This city is redolent of filth that suggests a rise of a new Sodom and Gomorrah, and I will crush it before any more children are coerced into any kind of sexual slavery.
I look at Gabe with fury as we walk back outside to consider taking action against this insufferable sight. I pull back the hood of my cloak, untying it, and hand it to him. “You better tame your guilty emotions because mercy isn’t an option today,” I say as I draw a sword from my back. If I previously had any guilt-ridden thoughts about killing another human being, they have now completely ceased to exist.
Gabe follows me in as I swing open the door and lunge forward at the man behind the counter with my sword, pointing it toward his neck. “Time to lock up the shop, you grizzly bastard, you’re closed for the day,” I say.
His eyes intermittently look down at the counter as Gabe searches for the keys to the store. “Where are the keys?” I ask.
“There right here,” he says as he slowly reaches underneath the counter.
Instead of reaching for the keys, he attempts to grab an old Colt Python pistol, but before he pulls the trigger, I backhand my sword and swiftly swing down, cutting off his hand with the gun still attached. The man violently screams and falls to the floor, holding his severed wrist.
“Since when do keys look like guns?” says Gabe.
“If you wish to keep your other limbs, tell me where the keys are!” I demand.
He points over to the back of the counter beside some leaflets hanging on the wall, where the keys are located. Gabe grabs them, locks the door, and pulls down the shades.
“Now, I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself if you so desire,” I say. He nods his head. “Do you believe in God?” I ask.
He struggles to contain the pain from his severed hand. “I don’t know,” he whimpers.
“For the sake of argument, let’s say you do believe in God. Do you believe you deserve to live?” I ask.
“Yes!” he yells, trembling and backing up against the shelf.
“Do you think He would forgive you of the evil pandering you have partaken in?” I ask, pacing back and forth behind the counter.
“Probably not,” he says.
“So, you believe you deserve to live regardless of your sadistic and twisted existence, yet you feel guilty about your behavior because you believe forgiveness isn’t an option. You see, if you simply believed in God’s existence, you might not be in this predicament, because He forgives all who genuinely asks, and because you believe you deserve to be in this world, you will never find the opportunity to accept His grace to replace your guilt. And here you sit, bleeding to death, avoiding a chance to be forgiven and accept Him into your heart because of the pride that binds you,” I say.
I pry the gun from his severed hand and unload all the bullets except one. I spin the cylinder and lock it without knowing where the bullet rests in the chamber, and I place the gun in his good hand, then point it to his head.
“Now, if you’re right and God doesn’t exist, then neither one of us will ever know it, but if you’re wrong, you will know for an eternity. Do you really want to risk that? If you truly believe in your heart that He is your Heavenly Father, then I suggest you ask for forgiveness now before you pull that trigger, otherwise you can hang on to that pride that bellows inside until you are met by the pits of Hell.”
Complete silence dominates his conundrum as he thinks about his situation for a minute, then suddenly he turns the gun on me and pulls the trigger, but the only thing exiting the barrel is a clicking noise, resulting in the sound of an empty chamber. Panicking, he pulls the trigger five more times, resulting in the same ominous sound. “What?” he asks, stuttering.
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