Scott raised his eyebrows. “I can sense something’s weighing mightily on your soul. There’s only me, you, and the Lord to hear. It will go no further than that.”
“Thank you.” Hatfield repositioned himself in the chair. “The Scriptures state God has predestined us according to His purpose. I have always believed that, but I didn’t truly understand what the saying meant until I met you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Allow me to elaborate. There are many Scriptures in the Bible that are troubling. Tidbits of literalness and sprinklings of metaphors that have allowed multiple interpretations—sometimes even from a single passage. The Church over the centuries has split into denominations because of the confusion. Only the Spirit knows the true meaning, the true intention of God’s word.
“The Spirit spoke to me directly after our first visit. You told me how you were part of the team that developed the Z-gas and went on to create RZ and RY. I thought it was an interesting testimony at the time, but that information turned out to be the key that unlocked the mystery.”
“I’m not following you, Reverend.”
“Later that night during my private communion with the Lord, I read a passage from First Corinthians. ‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.’ That led me to think of a passage from Revelation. ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death.’ The Spirit entered me and dropped the scales from my eyes. Death was introduced when the Devil deceived Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit. God countered by sending His son to bring the promise of eternal life. The Devil has sent the virus to mock the promise of God by raising the dead in corruption. Scott, you must turn the spear of the Devil into the sword of God.”
“How do you figure?”
“The alien virus contains the genetic code for immortality. Before God can establish a New Kingdom on Earth, the last enemy, death, has to be defeated. In the Devil’s feeble attempt to destroy mankind, he has provided the seed for everlasting life. God has sent you to work with me to usher in the New Millennium. You will engineer a strain of the virus that will affect the regenerating properties of the body without the curse of the transformation.” Hatfield reached out and touched the back of Scott’s hand as it rested on his knee.
The Spirit swelled inside Scott. The pieces of his life came together and formed the grand picture. His education in Bio-engineering, his service in the military, his wife’s multiple sclerosis, and the timing of his relocation to his hometown. All of his life was perfectly orchestrated to put him in precise time and space with the Reverend’s vision. This can’t be by chance. It must be predestined!
*
A noise in the background pulled the Reverend from his rest in the spirit, back into the physical world of his home office. He wasn’t aware how long the phone rang before he answered.
“Hello.”
“Brother Hatfield?”
“Yes.”
“If you have the time, I would like to get an update on the situation.”
“I was resting, listening to the Lord. But I know He wouldn’t mind a brief interruption to progress His mission. First, tell me, Scott, how are things on your end?”
“About as well as expected without having a live subject for testing. There isn’t much blood to work with. What we have on hand, because of the age, makes me question the reliability of the results.”
“I see.” The Reverend paused. “It’s truly a shame our first subject escaped. The Devil is working hard against our plans.”
“Well, he wasn’t ideal for the research anyway. It would have been preferable if he had lived at the clinic. I understand we couldn’t have done that without someone, like his brother, asking too many questions. I was making progress with his blood, though.” Scott hesitated, and cleared his throat. “Brother Hatfield, I still have strong regrets about what happened to Byron. It’s my fault, and I can’t seem to shake the guilt.”
“I understand. But who are we to question the Lord’s will? Byron signed up for the mission believing in the vision as strongly as we do, at least what he understood of it. I’m more concerned about which memories will resurface, and who he could unintentionally expose them to. He might very well become a thorn in our side.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Byron’s memories were erased when he died during gene therapy. The alien virus strain we tested on him revived him as an ignorant, savage, monster. The Z treatment makes him submissive but doesn’t bring any of those memories back.
“It was a direct attack by Satan himself, no doubt. Our gene therapy had kept the virus dormant in his body for over two weeks. He was showing initial signs the altered genes we introduced into his system had started to fuse with the targeted DNA in the alien virus. Everything appeared to be going as planned. I’m convinced I’m on the right path. We desperately need a new volunteer to further the research.”
“Scott, I have full faith and trust in you. You know that. My offer still stands. I’m willing to put my life in your hands and my faith in the Lord. When you are convinced you have the right formula, I will be the first to test it. If the Spirit is true, then we will succeed.”
Scott nervously chuckled. “I trust in the Lord a whole lot more than I trust in myself. I need more data, so I can determine what went wrong with Byron, and how to avoid it next time. I don’t want to do anything prematurely. When I administer the treatment to you, I must be nearly one hundred percent positive it will work. When I give my wife the treatment, I must know it will cure her.”
“I believe your hesitation is the Spirit guiding us in this matter. As always, I have to worry about my human spirit getting in the way.”
“Your humility continues to strengthen my faith that God is pleased and wants our work to continue. Have you approached anyone else who might be willing to volunteer?”
“I’ve opened a door or two with only a handful of my most trusted members of the flock. So far, no one has taken the first step forward.”
“How about Byron? Can you pull some strings and get him a work assignment at the Church?” Scott asked.
“I’m working some of the channels for Byron. He still has a way to go before they’ll allow him to work in the private sector. He’ll be on the road crew until he’s proved he’s developed enough social skills to associate with the Living unsupervised.
“If we get him assigned to the Church, he still would have to live at the State compound. He’d get regular medical check-ups. If your needle marks are discovered by a medical technician, there will be an investigation. We’d have to be very careful,” Hatfield said.
“What about Byron’s victim? Are you having any luck with her?”
“As for that Goudard woman, I’m approaching her from different angles. Nothing has produced any fruit yet, but I am hopeful.” The tone in Hatfield’s voice changed as he remembered her antics at the rally earlier that day. He was shocked to see her attend, and even more so at her uncouth outburst. She was a self-made activist. He was confident today wouldn’t be an isolated event. More trouble was sure to come. The Devil had no need for rest.
Chapter 12
The NAAND office was located in a strip mall not far from the courthouse. Previously, it had housed a branch of Payless Shoes. The discolored block letters of the store’s name still shadowed the façade. The building was situated near the center of the city and was equipped with full utilities.
Even though local, state, and to some extent international commerce carried on, limited resources forced the majority of people to abandon rural life. It was far more practical to supply the electrical, water, and sanitation needs for a million people in a concentrated area than if they were sprawled over the countryside.
A paper sign taped to the front window announced, ‘Nation Association for the Advancement of Non-Dead.’ The large letters had been hand painted in blue and red. Another smaller sign underneath stated, ‘Volunteers Welcome.’
Inside the mos
tly vacant office, Rebecca Spencer sat on a metal foldout chair behind a three by ten plastic table. She and a classmate from college commanded two of the four available phones, to solicit contributions, and to answer questions for those curious about the movement. In the back, additional tables and chairs waited in reserve for the monthly meeting. A few empty shelves lined the walls, covered in a layer of white dust.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Rebecca, and I would like to take a few minutes of your time to speak to you about a national letter that the N-double-A-N-D is sending to Congress. We aren’t asking for contributions, only for your signature and support.” An electronic crackle carried over the phone. “Hello? Ma’am?” The call terminated, leaving dead silence.
“Okay, I don’t know if she hung up, or if we were disconnected,” Rebecca said to Katy as she waited for someone to answer her call.
Katy rolled her eyes, stuck her tongue through a large wad of gum in her mouth, and blew a small bubble. Giving up on the call, she put down the phone, and bit the bubble. Pop. “I’m really not in the mood for this today. I got calculus and biology assignments. I got my period, and I’m horny as hell.”
Rebecca squinted her eyes and faked a smile. How quaint. That was way too much information. She liked Katy as she did most of the other volunteers. But as in society, there were various classes of people in the movement. Unfortunately, in her Chapter, the membership had more interest in the social aspects of the meetings than the cause. Couples hooking up after a meeting were more common than not. Some partied afterward into the wee hours of the morning. Having been raised in a conservative home, she had never been associated with such a promiscuous group of people.
The door opened, letting the roar of the highway in, as well as the young man who had attended the rally at the courthouse with her. His faded jeans and baggy shirt didn’t call any special attention in his support for the movement. Full-Zombie attire was better suited for demonstrations. Both wanted to keep any controversy surrounding the movement apart from their academic standings in college. Plus, Rebecca still had to retain as much anonymity as possible to protect her father before the election. This was a promise she had made to her mother. A promise she would keep until that time, but not after.
“Hi,” Ben O’Brian said, tightly holding a DVD case as he slipped his backpack from his shoulders, and tossed it to the floor.
“Hey yourself,” Rebecca said.
Katy gave Ben a big smile, showing her bleached white teeth while chewing gum, but said nothing.
“Is that what I think it is?” Rebecca said.
“Yep, Jerry came through for us. It’s all here, the raw footage from the rally filmed by Channel Two.”
“Have you seen it? Did you get her name?”
“No, Jer was scared we’d get caught. He left it on a desk, and I picked it up when no one was watching. I couldn’t take the chance of getting caught, so I went in the bathroom, and shoved it in my pants. I didn’t get searched by the guard on my way out, but he did go through my backpack. Good thing he didn’t frisk me.”
“Your pants? Eww. I hope you wiped it off,” Rebecca said, scrunching her nose.
Ben frowned. “I’m wearing underwear. I certainly hope you’re kidding.” He stared at the floor. “You know the only time you act like you want me around is when we’re doing activist stuff. When we met last year you wouldn’t even give me the time of day until I agreed to come to a N-double-A-N-D meeting.”
“What are you talking about? We spend tons of time together—studying and hanging out. We’ve become very close friends.”
“Yes we have. And I love being your friend. But I would like to squeeze some old fashion lust out of you from time to time.”
“Ben, not here, not now. We’ve gone over this before. My life’s too complicated for me to get involved in a relationship. College, and,” she caught herself before the words came out, and darted her gaze toward Katy, “and you know—other stuff. Just give it some time. We’ll see.” Rebecca rose from her chair. The metal legs scraped across the tile floor as they slid backward.
Ben tightened his lips, small dimples pitted his chin. “Put the DVD in the computer and let’s watch it.”
Rebecca snatched the case from Ben’s hand as he opened his arms to give her a hug. She headed straight for the computer.
He shook his head, and after hesitating a few seconds, followed.
She moved the mouse to unlock the screen and inserted the DVD into the player. The picture came to life with reporter Bill Percel, all decked out in his blue suit and perfect hair, adjusting his tie, and readying to speak into his microphone.
“This could take a while.” She hit the fast forward icon on the screen, advancing the images. “Remember, it happened right after Spencer started to speak.” The images sped by: the guitar player who warmed up the crowd as they gathered, Reverend Hatfield’s introduction, and then Joel Spencer. Rebecca pushed play and waited until the camera shifted from Spencer on the stage to a woman down in front. “There she is. Turn up the volume.”
Ben turned on the tiny portable speakers. The two listened as the woman hurled her accusation at Rebecca’s father and his indignant rebuttal.
Percel then asked, “And your name is?”
To which the woman replied, “Lisa Goudard. My name is Lisa Goudard.”
“Lisa Goudard. She’s so beautiful,” Rebecca said, eyes intently focused on the only woman she had known to stand up to her father. She pushed the pause icon, freezing the picture.
“Rebecca, what are you doing?” Ben said.
Lisa Goudard is a woman brave enough to call my father down if front of hundreds of supporters. I wish I could do that. Mom didn’t tell me about the photos. Her story about getting a little banged up playing volleyball at the gym could have been a cover up. What else is she keeping from me? What else has he done to her?
“Rebecca?”
“What?”
“Okay, you have her name. What are you going to do now? One Sub Y shows her ass at a rally. Big deal. She was hauled off in shame. What good is she to us?” Jealously tainted Ben’s tone. “None of the news agencies reported on her outburst. The people at the rally are the only ones who know it happened. All of them are Spencer supporters. She didn’t change anybody’s mind there. It’s as if the event never happened. Bringing her into our Chapter won’t be any different than anyone else walking in off the street.”
Rebecca grabbed a nearby chair and sat as she closed the media player window and connected to the internet. Her fingers danced on the keyboard, typing in Lisa Goudard’s name on a search engine, and clicked on a link from Dallas News. She read the tragic story. The attack, the death of Robert Sanders, and the injury Lisa received from the Non-Dead. The story ended by reporting Lisa Goudard was expected to have a full recovery.
Rebecca closed the tab and scrolled down the search engine choices until she found Lisa’s address and telephone number. Without moving her eyes from the screen, she reached up to Ben, with an open hand. “Pen, paper.”
Ben’s expression tightened in anger as he opened his mouth to speak. After a moment of hesitation, he went back to the desk, and retrieved the two items.
Katy batted her eyes and showed her teeth and gum chewing abilities but still said nothing.
He handed Rebecca the pen and pad. She took it with a glance and offered no words of gratitude. The printer next to the computer came to life and rolled out a single page.
Ben’s cell phone buzzed. He opened it to the incoming text message. It read, What’s she up to?
He messaged back, ‘At the office. She has the name of that woman from the rally.’
Waste of time. Don’t worry about it. Working toward shutting that woman up.
‘OK.’
You’re doing the right thing by helping me keep tabs on Rebecca. I only wish I’d had known about this sooner. I’m going to send you a check to compensate for your time. Play your cards right and I’ll have a place for
you in Washington when you graduate. Keep me informed.
‘OK, bye.’
Ben closed his phone and clipped it to his belt.
“Who was the text from?” Rebecca asked.
“Uh, a guy from calculus. It was nothing important. Hey, how would you like to grab some dinner later?”
“Not tonight. I’ve got some other things I need to take care of.”
“What could be more important than spending time with me?”
“Do you always wear your feelings on your shoulders? It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. I’ve got some personal things to do. We’ll have lunch together at school tomorrow, my treat. Okay?”
“Okay,” Ben said abruptly.
Rebecca expected a greater protest and was relieved when he gave in so quickly.
Chapter 13
The electronic glow of the television and the setting sun peeking around the edges of the drawn curtains lit the room. Lisa hid under a thin blanket, curled up on her maroon microfiber couch, staring at the television, oblivious to what was on the screen.
Her eruption at the rally had been nothing short of disastrous. When she relived the memories of the walk through the crowd, she plunged into a bottomless pit of despair. Her soul felt torn apart by the talons of fear and the shame of utter humiliation. What in the hell was I thinking?
Lisa’s identity had stayed out of the news, which proved to be a blessing in disguise, though her anonymity did nothing to advance her cause.
She could see firsthand how the media worked in unison to steer the political attitudes of the masses. Only one of the two local nightly news programs carried the story of the rally. The only reference to the NAAND protesters was a five-second clip at the end of the segment. A still-shot of five protesters with the writing on their signs blurred followed with the closing words, A few members of the opposition protested. Both reports ended with the exact same clip. The media were getting their marching orders from a single source.
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