Through the Fury to the Dawn (Action of Purpose Book 1)

by Stu Jones

  STU JONES

  THROUGH THE FURY TO THE DAWN

  Through the Fury to the Dawn

  Copyright © 2011 by Stu Jones

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:1-4637-2402-0

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4637-2402-3

  LCCN: 2011912403

  CreateSpace, North Charleston, SC

  This is a work of fiction in every sense of the word. Characters, locations, organizations, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  To my son Macsen:

  May you honor the Lord your God with every breath,

  and may you always stand against the plans of the wicked.

  I love you.

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  ST. MICHAEL’S HOSPITAL KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

  THE UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE RECREATION CENTER KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

  GREEN COUNTY, TENNESSEE

  THE UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

  DAY 1

  DAY 2: ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  DAY 5: ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  DAY 13

  DAY 17: ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  DAY 24: GREEN COUNTY, TENNESSEE

  DAY 26: ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  DAY 30: ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  DAY 33: GREEN COUNTY, TENNESSEE

  DAY 34: KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

  DAY 35: NEAR COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 35: SOMEWHERE IN NORTHWEST SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 36: OUTSIDE ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  DAY 36: OUTSIDE OF COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 36: BART AND DEBBIE’S HENDERSNVILLE, NORTH CEROLINA

  DAY 36: DOWNTOWN—ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  DAY 37: DOWNTOWN—ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  DAY 37: SOUTHEAST OF SPARTANBURG, SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 38: SOUTHEAST OF SPARTANBURG, SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 38: EMERGENCY FEDERAL FUEL RESERVE SOUTH OF ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  DAY 38: EMERGENCY FEDERAL FUEL RESERVE SOUTH OF ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  DAY 39: NORTHWEST–SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 39: OUTSIDE OF COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 39: EMRC STATION, SOUTH CAROLINA

  DAY 40

  DAY 40

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  TAKING A STAND AGAINST HUMAN TRAFFICKING

  Preface

  I’d like to start by saying that I fully understand this novel is a bastard child of sorts. Many who will accept the rough nature of the book will be turned off by the Christian themes; conversely, those inspired by the Christian themes will be turned away by the rough and uncompromising depictions of real life—especially life after the death of society.

  There are some great Christian writers out there, but as I read their books over the years I found that only the smallest few dared to depict the realities of sin in their stories. To my dismay, much of the more difficult subject matter was always candy-coated and processed into something that just never felt real. Not that I desired to wallow in evil, but I felt it necessary to experience it to truly understand the desperate nature of the situation. With each encounter with the candy-coated version of sin, evil, and conflict, I found that the subsequent triumph of the protagonist was often so terribly muted that the entire gravity of the situation was lost.

  Regardless of what any of us personally believe, the world is still drowned in sin and the evil of human nature. We can see it all around us. Reality does not cease to be reality just because of what we believe; violence and oppression do not cease to be horrific and brutal just because of an individual’s beliefs or inability to accept it as real. It is for this reason that I have included these elements in my story.

  Because of this, it is possible that those who disagree with me won’t last long on this journey. But I promise you this: you will not be taken to dark places without being shown the light at the end of the tunnel, for the light is so much more beautiful after you have experienced true darkness. After all, this is a story of faith, conviction, and redemption.

  This is my challenge to you, Christian or not: take heart and begin this journey. There are some things that are worth the desperate path one must tread to get there.

  ST. MICHAEL’S HOSPITAL KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

  Kane Lorusso lay in a dreamless, chemical induced sleep, his eyes bouncing as if reading the backs of his eyelids. As he slept, a petite brunette slid like a wraith into the room, trying to avoid the congregation of electronics and tubes. She took a seat to the left of the bed and reached out, running her fingers down the outside of his arm to his hand. Kane’s eyes flashed open, disoriented, before coming to rest on the woman’s face.

  “Suz,” Kane murmured.

  “Hey, sweetie. How ya feelin’?” Susan said in a Southern accent, thick as honey.

  “Like a train wreck.” He motioned to the TV in the upper corner of his room. “There was another bombing. The Sword claimed responsibility for it. They have to be stopped.”

  Susan shook her head, “Can’t stop being a cop for five minutes, can you?”

  “No, I can’t.” He gave a weak smile. “And I can’t tolerate injustice, either. No matter how sick I am.”

  Susan patted his hand. “Has the doctor told you what’s wrong yet?”

  “No, baby,” Kane lay back. “You know how it’s been with the healthcare system. They’re drowning in patients. I think the doctor who saw me even left the hospital for some reason.”

  “What?” Susan exclaimed, a look of anger passing across her face. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Honey, please.”

  “Kane,” she said, lowering her voice. “My husband, the man I love and depend on, is in the hospital for some terrible unknown illness, and you want me to be okay with them doing nothing?”

  “I’m sure they’re working on it.” He patted her hand. “The nurse has been nice and accommodating, so please…I’m not supposed to get excited.”

  Kane watched as those big green eyes that he had gazed into so many times began to tear up. After six years of marriage, he still loved this woman more than the air in his lungs.

  “I just love you so much!” Susan choked back a sob. “Your babies and I need you, we need you so much. I’m just so worried, and they won’t even tell us what’s going on.”

  “I know, but it’ll be okay. Look, if it were that bad, they would have prioritized me higher, right?” He squeezed her hand. “Speaking of my babies, where are they?”

  “I left them at your parents’ house.”

  “Good. Dad and Mom made it home okay?”

  “Yeah, your mom was dealing with everything pretty well, considering—”

  A handsome doctor, skinny and dark-haired, stepped into the room, interrupting the conversation. “Hello,” he said, extending his hand to Susan. “I’m Chip Rosen, head of surgery.”

  “Surgery?” Susan replied.

  “What is it, Doc?” Kane said taking the offered hand. “So how bad is it?”

  “Well.” Rosen paused. “Let me first apologize for the delay. We have been flooded in the ER today, and I’ve had to fill in. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  Susan’s face softened.

  “So, about your condition: it’s not good, but it’s not all bad either,” Rosen managed with a tired smile.

  Kane shifted, uncomfortable in the shallow cot.

  “Mr. Lorusso,” Rosen continued, “you are suffering from a pretty rare occurrence for a man your age. Your heart is failing. The why is what we don’t know yet. The scans we ran show some sort of deterioration in the wall of the heart muscle itse
lf. The muscle is dying. Somehow the walls of the aortic valve appear to be eroding, but I’m afraid that I can’t give you a better explanation until we do some more tests.”

  Kane’s expression remained blank, but his body felt as if it weighed a million tons.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Susan asked, her voice trembling.

  “Yes, and that is the good news,” Rosen said with a genuine smile. “Right now we should be able to medicate the condition, but if the heart muscle continues to deteriorate, you will need a transplant.”

  “Dr. Rosen,” Kane cleared his throat. “What does this mean for me?”

  Rosen’s expression became more serious. “Kane, you don’t seem to be the kind of guy who likes surprises, so I’m going to give it to you straight. The walls of your heart have become thin and weak. Until you get a donor heart, any activity that puts strain on your heart could cause a massive hemorrhage that would result in heart failure. The real problem is, with the current lack of funding for organ donation and a long waiting list, finding you a matching donor could be difficult.”

  Susan began to cry.

  Dr. Rosen, seeing Kane’s expression, added quickly, “Look, a friend of mine is a wizard with the heart. His name is Charles Fisk, and he’s in Miami. He’s in private practice, so…it’ll be expensive, and you might need to keep it hush-hush, but he’s worth every penny. Most people have to wait months to even get an appointment with him, but if you’d like, I’ll arrange for you to meet with him as soon as possible, okay?”

  Kane nodded. Susan squeezed his hand.

  “Until then, I’m going to put you on some medications for the pain, and we’re going to do a few more tests. Please understand that this is not my specialty, so I’ll speak with Dr. Fisk as soon as possible to get a real professional’s opinion.” Rosen flashed another genuine smile. “You’re going to be alright. I’ll have the nurse come in and get you all set.”

  “Okay,” Kane said. “Thank you.”

  After a slight bow, Dr. Rosen was gone.

  The silence in the room had an eternal depth as the clock ticked away what was left of Kane’s life. Susan was staring at him with a penetrating gaze, tears running down her face.

  He couldn’t look at her. He had failed her, his children, and anyone who had ever needed him or counted on him. What remained of kane Lorusso? Just the shallow husk of a dead man. He balled his fists, his shock and dismay turning to anger. God had done this to him; this was God’s jab at him for having not been to church since high school.

  “Kane?” Susan reached out for his arm, but Kane pulled away, putting his hands to his face and exhaling through clinched teeth.

  “Kane, let me pray for you—for us.”

  “Susan, is that necessary right now? I’m dying, okay? Can you just let me have some peace so I can deal with this?” Kane said.

  Susan withdrew quietly and sat back, her eyes pinched closed in what he knew to be the start of a silent prayer.

  That’s it. Pray to the God who disabled me.

  He sank back and stared at the ceiling. Why even try? They wouldn’t find a donor for him. That was a hopeless endeavor. People were having a hard time getting basic care. How was he going to find a healthy heart?

  He would never play ball with his son, never see his daughter get married, and never again go with his wife on a romantic adventure. Thrown out by his employer, counted as disabled, and incapable of anything, he’d be bound to a life of bed rest, inactivity, and pity.

  His life was over, and as he pondered it, the sour feeling of an early death crept over him from the inside out.

  THE UNIVERSITY OF TENNESSEE RECREATION CENTER KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE

  It was different. They had altered it again. Molly Stevens slapped her hands together a few times, creating a small chalky white cloud around her. As she squatted to test the fit and feel of the climbing harness, her chin-length blonde hair scattered across her forehead and nose. It wasn’t the harness she normally used and trusted, but it would do. She turned and smiled at Chad, the wall manager.

  “What’s up, Chad?”

  “Hey, Molly. You all set?”

  “I think so. Can you check me?”

  After a quick visual sweep, followed by a bit of tugging and a check of her carabineer and figure eight, he turned to her and gave her the thumbs up.

  “You’re good. You going to do the possum today?”

  Molly squinted. “Possum?”

  “Yeah.” Chad stepped to the right and pointed to another face of the climbing wall that showed a ninety-degree overhanging ledge near the top. “It’s brutal.”

  Molly gazed upward at the possum ledge. “Did you make it?”

  Chad shook his head slowly and smiled. “Not yet. Like I said, it’s brutal.”

  After a moment, Molly shrugged. “Sure, I’ll give it a shot,” she said as she moved to the possum climb.

  Chad stepped in behind her and clipped into her rope as her safety. “Let’s do it then,” he said, smiling.

  But Molly wasn’t smiling. A look of determination began to set in over her features as she approached the wall.

  “Belay on. Climb when ready,” came Chad’s voice from behind her.

  “Climbing.”

  “Climb on.”

  Molly stepped forward, with her right foot mating the sticky surface of her climbing shoes with the first foothold. With deliberate care, she stepped up and pulled herself onto the wall. Moving, eyes roaming, each fingerhold and toehold precisely planned. This was the reason she loved climbing.

  Molly was a runner by trade, cross-country long distance to be exact, and it showed in her slim, hard muscular figure. Though she spent most of her exercise time running and training with the cross-country team, climbing was her escape, her opportunity to exit for just a little while. Something about the raw physicality of it, the absolute physical focus, allowed her to rest and relax her mind. Sometimes she just needed time to not think.

  She moved to the left, scanning as she bumped her right foot to where her left had been on the purchase below her and hugged herself close to the wall made of multiplex board. The idea, she reminded herself, was to keep her hips under her and not hang away from the wall to reduce fatigue as she progressed.

  “How we doing?” came Chad’s voice just below her.

  “Doing good,” Molly said, breathing out.

  “Right on. Twenty-five feet down, Fifty to go.”

  As Molly moved, slothlike in her steady precision, the walls of her mind began to clear, the cares and worries that had accumulated over the course of the last nineteen years evaporating: her credit card bill of school expenses that she couldn’t pay; a recent argument with her boyfriend, Eric; that huge biology test tomorrow; and her overprotective grandmother, who called continuously.

  This was exactly the type of activity that frightened her grandmother. It was the height and the potential for disaster as she hung there, supported only by a single rope. Her grandmother had treated her like a baby ever since she had known her. This practice had only intensified when she had assumed guardianship over the adventurous girl at a young age. Molly loved her grandmother, but the woman was incessant. Always warning, always behind her, saying that she shouldn’t be doing whatever it was she was doing. Much to her grandmother’s dismay, Molly had never been one to conduct tea parties or play dress-up. She was cut from the same fabric as her father—adventurous, driven, focused, willing to take the risks necessary to succeed.

  Molly’s arms shuddered with just the slightest tremor of weariness as she blew a puff of air from her mouth to get the hair out of her face and began to calculate her next move. She shook her head as if to clear it.

  “Not the time to think of grandmother,” she mumbled under her breath. “Focus.”

  “Good job, Molly, keep it up. You’re not too far now. You’ve got some good ones just up and to your right,” Chad said as he took the slack out of her rope.

  She was in the zone now, mov
ing, melting into the wall. The holds were becoming more and more difficult, but she had already ascended to just under the ninety-degree overhang.

  “Okay, you’re going have to dyno to get it. It’s a tough grab, but if you look back, you’ll see the bucket,” Chad called from below her.

  “Yeah, I’m dialed in,” she said, breathing hard, tilting her head back to look at the underside of the ledge. It was smooth except for the solid bulbous hold, or “bucket,” just at the bottom of the slope, where the wall jutted back in. It was a good hold, but she was not going to reach it unless she jumped out and back into open space to get it. That was the only way.

  Molly dipped her fingers into her chalk bag and rubbed them together as she leaned back into the harness, allowing her body to drift away from the wall. She switched hands and chalked the other. Bending her knees and turning her head back to look at the hold, she paused momentarily before launching herself backward and snagging the hold with a grunt.

  “Alright, Molly! Nice grab!”

  Breathing heavily, she dead hung by her right arm, suspended sixty feet off the ground. She paused for a moment, allowing the ligaments of her arm to absorb the stress and weight.

  Never give up. Fall before you give up.

  Molly took a deep breath, and with a burst of energy, she pulled up with her arm and kicked her left leg up to another hold on the edge. Straining, her muscles screaming, Molly groaned as she pulled herself up over the forty-five degree slope above the “possum.” Securing a few more holds, she regained her composure, drawing herself back into the wall.

  “Awesome!” came the cheer from below her.

  Her muscles cramping and shaking from exhaustion, she took the last few holds and slapped the barrier at the top of the wall.

  She turned and looked down, flashing a broad, beaming smile that seemed to swallow the rest of her features. She had done it.

  Chad pulled her rope tight, allowing her to rest. “Molly, I gotta say, you’re the coolest girl I know,” he said, smiling back.

  “Thanks for the beta, Chad. You’re a good morale coach,” she said, leaning her weight into the harness. She closed her eyes for a moment and said a quick prayer, thanking God for a body that was healthy and liked to work.