by Rob Mclean
“We done yet?” Zeke asked.
“Yes, yes,” Clarice studied the camera display. “That’ll have to do.” Then to Angela, “You’ll have to download these later, dear.”
Angela groaned inwardly, but nodded. It would have been much easier if Zeke had just used his phone.
“Is there something wrong with your phone?”
A frown flashed across Zeke’s face.
“I’ll just go fix dinner,” Clarice said.
“Well?” Angela persisted.
“No, nothing wrong with it,” Zeke said in measured tones. “If anything it works too well.”
Angela gave him a puzzled look.
“These things,” he pulled his phone out, “are a flashing beacon for the authorities to track everyone.”
It was then she noticed Zeke had a symbol drawn on the back of his hand with black marker. “What the heck is that?”
He held up his hand for her to see a black triangle with a circle in the centre. From the circle, three curves reached to the triangle’s corners, like propeller blades. “I drew this one myself, but when I get the real one, I will officially be a citizen of the New United Nations.”
“I don’t get it,” she said. “Aren’t you against the whole new U.N. thing?”
“Sure I am,” he grinned.
“But…”
“Reckon it’ll hurt a bit.” He flexed his hand to examine his artwork. “Can’t understand why so many people are wanting one. Had to book it in.”
“You’re staying here, in L.A., aren’t you?”
“Have to,” he shrugged.
“No, you have a choice.” Angela folded her arms.
“Well, the business is here…”
“There’ll be plenty of work where we’re going. They’ll be building churches and…”
“Angie,” he said patiently, “We’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not staying here…”
“As my wife, you would submit to my lead,” he said with an exaggerated grin.
She would like to think he was joking, but she knew, at one level, he really believed all that stuff. “But it would be a lie. You’re not part of this and neither am I.”
“No, I’m not. We’re believers.”
“Then, why live here? Why live a lie?”
Zeke leaned back in his chair. “You know the Muslims have a word for it.”
“For what, lying?”
“Yeah, ‘Taqiyya,’ they call it when you lie to unbelievers to protect your faith.”
“How do you know that?” Angela shook her head with frustration. “How does lying protect our faith?”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t.” He held up his hand to forestall her interruption. “But we need to so we can do what we need to do.”
“What’s that?”
“I told you already. We’re going to kill the alien AntiChrist.”
“Who’s we? I’m not killing anybody.” She jabbed her finger at him. “You’re crazy if you think I ever would.”
“No, not you,” he sniggered.
“And not you either, if I know anything about you.”
“And what does that mean?” he looked more than a little offended. “Don’t you think I would do what it takes to fight the AntiChrist?”
She gave him a cool appraising look. “So where’d you go hide when the combined services got raided last Sunday?”
“Hey, I can’t afford to get arrested, you know. I gotta keep flying under the radar.”
“So where exactly?”
A grin appeared on his face. “In the ball pit; they had a whole heap of basket-balls and soccer balls and stuff. I buried myself underneath them all and just waited.” His grin widened. “Cool eh?”
“Bravely ran away, more like.”
“Nah, you just gotta know when to fight and when to run.”
“Sure…”
“Sun Tzu, Art of War,” he paused to see if she had heard of it, but she just shook her head.
“Well,” he snorted, “I’m more of a leader than a front line fighter…”
She nodded her agreement.
“And that’s why we’ve got a group of committed believers from all different faiths. We’re all ready to fight for what we believe. And that includes me, if I had to…”
“But you don’t have to. Don’t you see?” She reached across the table to put her hands on his. “It’s not for you to fight the AntiChrist, that’s for God to do.”
“Yeah, well, in the meantime, while we all wait around patiently for the Second Coming, people are being rounded up like cattle. Churches are being shut down and the ones that aren’t pushed over are being burnt to the ground.”
“I know.”
“You know Pastor Greg got a deportation notice, along with the other Pastors that were there last Sunday?”
“Can they do that?”
“Of course, it’s all part of the new laws passed by the State of California to comply with the AntiChrist’s demands.”
“But what about everyone else who was there?” Angela had given her name and address details, defying them to do anything, but now it looked like they might.
“I’m guessing they don’t want everyone to leave,” Zeke shrugged, “just the committed leaders at this stage maybe?”
“Oh.” Angela said.
“Believers, or even people they think might be believers, are being attacked in the streets and in their homes. After this,” he held up his tattoo, “they’ll know who to target. It won’t be safe.”
“That’s why we’re moving,” Angela said. “You can come with me if you want.”
“We will all move if we have to,” Zeke said, putting his hand on hers to placate her. “If things don’t work out, we might have to…”
“You mean your plan to kill the envoy?”
“The AntiChrist, you mean?” He took his hands away and spread his arms wide. “Just take a look at what’s going on all around you. What’s left of our country is at war with half the world.”
Even though she had chosen not to watch the news - she felt that worry did little to strengthen her faith - her father was an avid viewer of every development. If she managed to drag her eyes from the horrors aired on her father’s television as she attended to him, she was informed of almost every fresh injustice by her father later. It did little to help his condition.
Wars and skirmishes had broken out along the southern Russian borders from Afghanistan, through the Ukraine to Eastern Europe. The government in Turkey, under siege by extremists, aided by huge influxes of foreign fighters, had called upon its NATO allies to help put down their civil wars. The Western nations of Europe had their own civil strife to contend with, especially France with their huge Muslim population.
Chinese troops had moved into Vietnam, supposedly to help their former enemy battle against extremists throughout South East Asia. Pakistan and India were responding with troop build-ups along the eastern Bangladesh borders.
Indonesian forces that had occupied the northern parts of Australia were retreating after Chinese reinforcements had arrived to bolster the local forces.
Meanwhile Holy Warriors, having been deployed to Texas, by a union of South American nations, had been recalled to deal with widespread riots in their own countries.
Wars and rumours of war; it was all foretold in the Bible, but it was horrible to watch. The media, owned by industrialists that sided unashamedly with the New World Order, promoted the view that all the conflicts were fuelled by religious fanatics and showed graphic footage of incredible atrocities as proof.
Despite all this, she couldn’t help but wonder if all the awfulness going on wasn’t simply people, being the animals they really were, without God guiding their actions. Even the ones that were supposed to be fighting for their religions were no better.
“But what if he’s who he says he is?” Angela persisted. “What then?”
“What do you mean? What’s gotten into you?”
“Well, I don’t think killing anybody is something Jesus would be doing.”
Zeke gave her a long cold stare. She held his gaze and watched as his expression changed. His features hardened as she could see him mentally shutting down and withdrawing.
“I suppose you’re right,” he eventually conceded. His face formed an empty smile, as if he was putting on a fresh change of clothes, “but we shouldn’t be talking about these things, at least not tonight.”
“But…”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?”
“Just like that?”
“Yep, let’s change the subject?”
“Okay…”
“Besides, the less you know…”
“I don’t want you getting involved in anything stupid. You have to think of our future.”
“I am,” Zeke said.
“Our future together.” Her hand reached across to hold his face towards her. She held his gaze. “I’m talking about our children’s future.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “Everything I do is for you and our future together.”
Clarice came in with two bowls of soup. If she knew she was interrupting, she didn’t let it show as she served the entrée.
“Now eat up before it gets cold,” she said wiping her hands on her apron before returning to the kitchen.
Zeke watched her go, then turning to Angela, he said, “You know, you are my world and I would die without you.”
Angela felt his words touch her heart. Perhaps there was hope for their future together? Maybe all that had happened with John and Zeke was part of God’s plan for her to choose to walk the Christian path? She resolved to put aside her residual resentment towards Zeke and to work towards a better future.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Angela smiled.
After they finished their soup entrees, a Beef Stroganoff followed. They ate their meals, talking about wedding plans; the invitation list, the possible venues and the logistics. All the time Zeke reminded her that all their best plans may well come to nothing, depending on what the AntiChrist was planning himself.
Later, after an apple crumble dessert and coffee, Zeke rose and went to the kitchen to thank Clarice for her services, declaring he would be most highly recommending this restaurant.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Clarice replied, “we’re not wealthy folks, but it was the least I could do.”
Angela gave her mom a hug and whispered her thanks in her ear. “Love you, mom.”
Clarice hugged her back, then wiping a tear from her eye, added, “Now get along both of you.”
Angela walked Zeke by the hand to the front door. A feeling of resigned contentment flowed through her. She was tired of the struggle and indecision. It all felt right enough; everything she ever wanted, a good Christian marriage, and a family of her own, sanctified in God’s love was coming true for her.
A niggling thought persisted. ‘If only John was a Christian…’ In a way, she was settling for second best, but, she reminded herself, if Zeke lived up to her expectations of a good Christian husband, then it was a compromise she felt she was happy to live with.
At the front porch, she let him hold her close. She didn’t protest or turn away when he kissed her. Memories of their intimate times together came rushing back as he took her in his arms. His short hot breath reminded her of all the delicious, warm afternoons spent exploring each other’s bodies. Her own body tingled and ached with its own memories.
“Hey, we could go back to my place,” he whispered as he pressed himself against her. She could feel his warm insistence pressing on her.
As much as she would have loved to, she broke away from his embrace and stepped back. Her own fingertips traced intertwined paths down his arms as she pulled away to hold his hands in hers. “Later,” she said.
“Later?” Hope kindled in his eyes.
“When we’re married,” she said, turning away.
He grabbed her arm before she could get away. Frustration and anger flared in his eyes. “There’ll be no denying me then.” She sensed the menace of his words in the moment as they hung in the still of the late summer night. He then smiled disarmingly and brought her hand to his lips and with high civility, kissed it.
He then turned and left. Despite the warmth in the air she felt a chill. There was no denying she was playing a dangerous game, but there was also the thrill of knowing she had control of him, for now.
As she watched him climb into his truck, she wondered if the rest of her married life would be spent in a power struggle. She knew that, as a Christian wife, she would have to be obedient and submissive, or at last give that impression.
She wandered back indoors, still turning these thoughts over in her mind. It boiled down to trust – did she trust him enough to place him in charge of her life?
Clarice was still in the kitchen washing dishes. Angela grabbed a tea-towel and started to dry.
“That went well enough?” Clarice asked without looking up from the sink.
“Yeah, thanks for everything, mom.”
“But?” Clarice stopped her washing to give Angela her full attention. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“I’m just worried about Zeke…”
‘He’s a little immature,” Clarice said leaning in closer so as not to be overheard, “overindulged – and not just by his parents…”
“Not by me,” Angela said, “at least not anymore.”
Clarice just nodded her approval and continued, “and he’s rather full of his own self-importance.”
Angela couldn’t argue. “Am I doing the right thing marrying him then?”
“Of course! Don’t be silly. With a bit of training, we’ll make him a fine Christian husband,” Clarice gave her a knowing smile. “It might take a bit of work…”
“But, did you hear him talking all that stuff about the envoy?”
“Killing the AntiChrist? Yes, I couldn’t help overhearing that and I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“He can’t be serious, can he?”
“Sounded pretty serious to me,” Clarice gave her a level look.
“But what can I do about it?”
Clarice went back to washing the dishes.
“You think I should report him?”
“No, you should be loyal to your future husband,” Clarice said as she scrubbed. “But we can’t let him commit sin.”
Angela nodded. “Look, knowing him, most likely he’s all talk and hasn’t done much more than just blogged a few comments and met up to vent with a few other hot-heads.”
“So he’ll most likely get off with a warning or a fine or at worst, a minimum sentence, but if he’s stopped in time, at least he won’t be a murderer.”
“So, what should I do?”
“You have to be seen to be supporting your husband, so nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“That’s right. You just tell me where he lives…”
Chapter 51
Akil counted the days as they passed into weeks, as measured by the regular dimming of the lights in his room. Although at least one of the trio of aliens had visited him daily, in their human forms, none had been willing to answer many of his questions, preferring that he regained his strength.
This body he now occupied was decidedly different from the old one. It was bigger, stronger, and in the dim reflections from the smooth walls, much more handsome. But it wasn’t his new body that they were worried about.
Now that his sedation had ended and his mind wasn’t as untethered as it had felt before, he wondered what they were doing with his old body. It was, he had been told, still being repaired by nanites somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship. When he remembered it submerged in gel and hooked up in a myriad of microfilaments, it still troubled him.
Meanwhile, he was getting used to his new body they had provided him with. Akil felt sure it was the same as the envoys and although they wouldn’t confirm it, he felt certain there
were banks of similarly cloned bodies, lined up like hire cars at a Hertz dealership or space-suits on a rack. They did remind him that it was only a temporary arrangement and that as soon as he was ready, he would be put back in his old body.
He had a million questions to ask about how all that worked, but they had remained silent.
Instead, he spent his time watching news feeds from all over the world. The walls of his room would become a screen if he tapped on them. The ceiling was low enough for him to touch from his bed and that too could become a screen as well. The navigation through the screens was fairly intuitive and without explicit instructions, Akil quickly learned his way around.
Akil had only ever seen his hosts in their human form, as he had asked, but he figured, from the low ceiling, they were a lot smaller than him in real life. How they made themselves look like his family was only one of the million questions he wanted to ask, but every time his mind went in that direction, a news screen appeared. A deliberate ploy to distract him, no doubt, and there was plenty of attention getting news stories to catch his attention, but how they were able to read his mind was worrying.
The screens gave him lots of information about his own world, but they weren’t the questions he wanted answered. Where was he? What did they want from him? Was his family alive? Did they get out of Cairo in time and if so, where were they now?
These thoughts ran through his mind as he watched the progression of the combined European and Russian armies as they pushed south towards his homeland. Unlike in the U.S., land swaps had failed in many parts of the European Community. Long historical, ethnic and traditional roots proved to be impossible to move without force. For strategic reasons, once land was conquered, the European branch of the New United Nations offered the displaced religious peoples lands in parts of the world far removed from their homelands. These ‘deals’ were not negotiable and naturally led to bloody conflicts. These religious areas throughout Europe were disparate and unconnected. Unable to co-ordinate an effective resistance, they were being subdued one by one.
In other parts of Europe, long lines of refugees, loaded down with as much as they could carry, were being processed. Al-Jazeera interviewed a Muslim family from Paris who had refused to be branded with the New U.N. logo and had been relocated to an enclave in Lyon, then to somewhere outside Venice and now were queuing up to be processed by the Turkish authorities. Their proud faces were weary and haggard as they explained the irony of how they had come to France over a decade ago for a better life and now were being forced out. Their story was being repeated all around the world, but most intensely in Europe where the religious outposts, originally numerous but disorganised, were now much smaller, and under siege.