World Order

by Mark Goodwin

  Mark 9:43-48

  Tuesday morning came. The blaring music ceased, and the floodlights went dark. Despite the ringing in Josh’s ears, he drifted off to sleep instantly. But his slumber was short-lived. The iron door swung open, the heavy steel hinges creaked. He’d barely had a chance to close his eyes.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” Agent Hans tossed another paper sack of stale bread onto the floor. “You’ve got about ten minutes to eat this, then it’s time to get to work.” The door slammed shut.

  Josh quickly flushed the bread down the toilet and closed his eyes, desperate for even a few minutes of sleep.

  He’d already begun dreaming when the door opened ten minutes later.

  “Get up,” said Turner. “We’ve all got jobs to do.”

  “Stand to your feet. Arms over your head,” ordered Hans.

  Josh had no strength. He pushed himself up from the floor slowly.

  “Don’t make me get the short crate. You’re already gonna hate the one you have for today.” Hans shook the shackles in his hands.

  Josh pressed through and stood up on his toes. He held his weak arms in the air and allowed them to be restrained and clipped to the ring on the ceiling.

  Turner watched him being strung up. “You can end all of this right now. We’ll get you a nice meal, a soft mattress, a warm blanket, and a dark cell. You can sleep like a baby.”

  Josh said nothing. He only hoped that it would all be over soon.

  “Okay then.” Hans stepped down from the stool. “Don’t work too hard. We’ll be back around dinner time to see if you’ve changed your mind.”

  The door closed and Josh was alone again. He remained on the tips of his toes for the first hour or so, but his calves and feet began to cramp. Then, he let himself hang from the chains for about forty-five minutes until his shoulders and wrists burned. He alternated back and forth, even managing to fall asleep for a few moments during the day. The amount of time he was able to stay on his toes or remain dangling from the ceiling without cramping up became shorter and shorter.

  He considered what Hell must be like, and he was thankful that his suffering would be finite. Even in the affliction, he thanked Jesus for the sacrifice He’d made so he would not face an eternity of misery. Never before in his life had he imagined how terrible it could be to spend millennia after millennia in the lake of fire.

  Beads of sweat formed on his brow and neck from the strain. His heart raced as if he were running a marathon. He breathed heavily from the physical trauma caused by the stress position.

  Josh passed the time by praying. He asked that God would watch over Stephanie and Micah. He prayed that Micah’s eyes would be opened to the Truth. And he asked that death would come swiftly.

  He looked at the ring in the ceiling. It wasn’t so high that he couldn’t perhaps thread a piece of material through it. Maybe he could manage to shred his prison uniform shirt into strips and fabricate a rope with which to hang himself. He’d have to tie it high enough that when he got his neck through the rope, his feet wouldn’t touch the ground. With nothing to stand on, the task seemed impossible. Or, if it were possible, it was unlikely that he’d have the strength to pull off such a stunt. He resigned himself to death by dehydration. Already, his throat and mouth were parched. He had a headache from not drinking water for 24 hours, and he was sure it was making his muscle cramps worse.

  As the day wore on, Josh felt feverish, dizzy, and confused. The room seemed to sway from side to side, then to spin, as if he were on an amusement park ride. Time dissipated, and he felt trapped in an eternal now. When numbness in his shoulders, wrists, legs, and torso set in, it was a welcome guest. He felt the last bit of strength leaving his body. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time he came back around, he was reminded of his horrific predicament and wished that he could waft away once more.

  His eyes were half-open the next time the door opened. “Brother, you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself at all,” joked Hans.

  “Why don’t we get you down from there, and the three of us have a nice long talk. Afterward, you can get a shower, some good food, and a nice soft bed that you can stay in as long as you want. We can even put you in the medical prison ward for a few days until you get some rest. Then, you just let us know when you’re ready for general population.” Turner looked at his partner when Josh gave no response. “I feel like we’re being reasonable here, don’t you?”

  “More than fair,” replied Hans. “But I don’t think Mr. Stone is ready just yet.” Hans climbed up on the crate. “You’re going to have to get up on your tippy-toes so I can take you down.”

  Josh couldn’t feel his legs. He tried to brace himself against the wooden box but couldn’t.

  “Grab his legs for a minute, Turner.” Hans waited for assistance from the other agent, then took Josh down from the ring. They let him down slowly to the floor.

  Turner flung another paper bag on the concrete. “Enjoy your dinner. We’ll get your bedtime music going in a minute or two.”

  “And your night light, of course,” said Hans. “If you had fun today, you’ll really enjoy yourself tomorrow. No crate at all. Just hanging from the ceiling like a crystal chandelier. See you in the morning.” Hans slammed the big iron door shut.

  Josh lay on the frigid cement floor motionless for over an hour. He rolled over to be facing down that he might shield his eyes from the light but did not even try to put his fingers in his ears. He lost consciousness periodically throughout the night. During one stint of lucidity, Josh summoned the energy to flush the bread down the toilet so his scheme would not be uncovered. The blasting music became more of an annoyance on the second night. Even his hearing was beginning to succumb to a sort of mental numbness.

  The night was long, it seemed as if it would never end, but finally, it did. The door opened.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stone.” It had been less than 48 hours since he’d heard Carole-Jean Harris’ voice, yet she sounded unfamiliar and strange.

  Josh made no attempt to turn over to face her.

  “Wakey, wakey,” said Turner.

  Today’s agenda consisted of hanging from the ring without the assistance of the crate, so they had nothing to take away from him for non-compliance. Even if they did, he simply had no strength to stand up.

  Carole-Jean entered the cell and squatted next to him. “You’re making this experience very hard on yourself, Mr. Stone. I hate to see you like this. I wish you’d let me help you.” She put her hand on his arm and rolled him over to where she could look at his face. “Mr. Stone.”

  Josh gazed blankly in her general direction.

  “His eyes look sunken,” she said.

  “Two days with no sleep will do that to you,” said Hans.

  She put her fingers against his jugular. “His pulse is weak. Has he been drinking water?”

  “I guess so,” shrugged Turner.

  “You idiots are going to kill the only lead we have to catch Vega, Fisk, and all those lunatics from Patriot Pride. We finally get a break, and you two are going to kill it!” She stood up.

  “Ma’am, it’s only been two days. He can’t be that bad off,” argued Hans.

  “He’s been hanging from the ceiling and not sleeping. That’s the equivalent of running a marathon. He could very well be severely dehydrated. Turner, get medical down here, right now!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Turner hurried away.

  “Mr. Stone, have you been eating and drinking?” Harris asked.

  He had neither the ability nor inclination to respond.

  “I can’t leave you two alone with a subject for two days! Two days!” she screamed at Hans.

  The tall agent looked away like a scolded dog.

  Soon, the facility’s nurse practitioner arrived. She was a robust woman in her late forties. She placed the stethoscope on Josh’s chest. She slipped the cuff over his arm and took his blood pressure. “Hypovolemic shock. Stage two—late stage two. If he doesn’t ge
t to the emergency room in the next hour or two, his organs will probably begin to shut down. He may already be experiencing renal failure.”

  Hans looked at Carole-Jean.

  “You heard her! Get him to the hospital!” She pointed out the door.

  “You want us to take him?” Turner asked.

  “Yes. Cuff him to the bed and one of you stay with him at all times.” She glared at the two agents. “Now!”

  Hans lifted Josh off the floor and draped him over his shoulder. “Go get a wheelchair from upstairs and meet me at the elevator door by the garage.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Turner dashed away again.

  Carole-Jean caught the nurse practitioner. “Give him a shot. I don’t want him getting sick before I get the information I need.”

  The woman looked confused. “But, ma’am. I have a fourteen-year-old daughter at home. If we have enough…”

  Carole-Jean cut her off short. “Your fourteen-year-old daughter doesn’t know the location of domestic terrorist cells. Keep her quarantined at home, and she’ll be okay.”

  The woman dropped her gaze. “Yes, ma’am.” She looked at Hans. “I’ll meet you in the garage.”

  “Don’t mess this up!” Carole-Jean glared at Hans.

  “No, ma’am.” Hans walked Josh toward the elevator.

  Josh could not even enjoy watching his tormentors being berated. He feared that his plan had been foiled. Once at the hospital, he’d be nursed back to health, only to be tortured again.

  Hans put Josh on the floor of the elevator and pressed the button to sub-level 1. When the doors opened, Turner assisted Hans with putting Josh in the wheelchair. Turner pushed him down the hall to the garage. The nurse caught up with the two agents as they were placing Josh in the back seat of the car. She lifted the sleeve of his prison uniform and stuck a needle in his arm.

  Turner watched shaking his head. “What a waste.”

  “It’s not up to me,” said the nurse with a sour expression.

  Once the injection was complete, Hans closed the back door and got into the driver’s seat. On the way to the hospital, he looked at his partner. “Twelve-hour shifts until we get him back to lock up. You take nights, I’ll take days.”

  Turner chuckled, “No way. I’ll flip you for it.”

  “Nobody uses cash. What are you going to flip?”

  Turner pulled out a coin. “I carry a silver dollar my grand-dad gave me when I was a kid.”

  “Like a lucky coin or something? I never figured you as superstitious.”

  “No. It was just a way to remember him. I started carrying it in grade school and never stopped.”

  “Okay, whatever. Tails,” said Hans.

  Turner flipped the coin. He huffed.

  “It is a lucky coin!” Hans laughed. “At least for me. If you ever get tired of packing it around, you can send it my way.”

  Turner said gruffly, “You take 6:00 AM to 6:00 PM.”

  “6:00 AM? That defeats the purpose of getting days. Make it 8:00 to 8:00.”

  “No way. If you don’t like it, take nights.”

  “Fine,” Hans conceded. “Hopefully they’ll have him back on his feet in a day or two.”

  When they arrived at the emergency room, the two agents wheeled him into a hospital filled with people wearing surgical masks. Hans approached the receptionist. “I’m with DGS. We have a patient who is in shock.”

  “What kind of shock?” asked the woman.

  “I don’t know. He’s severely dehydrated.”

  She looked over the counter at Josh. “Hypovolemic.”

  “Yeah, that one.” Turner snapped his fingers.

  “He looks bad. Still, it’s going to be at least an hour. We’ve had a huge influx of new Red Virus cases coming in today. Is he displaying any symptoms of the virus?”

  “No,” said Hans. “He’s not sick. He was tested two days ago. But we need him admitted now. He has information vital to the safety of the Global Union.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” The receptionist frowned and shuffled some papers on her desk.

  “You’ll get him admitted in the next five minutes, or we’ll haul you in for obstruction of justice. This man is your new priority,” threatened Turner.

  She looked at Hans as if to ask him to control his partner. Hans did not. He presented his badge and restated Turner’s demand. “Do it right now!” He held up his cuffs. “Or I’m going to haul you straight to lock-up.”

  “I don’t have anyone available,” she said.

  “Then get up from behind the desk, come get him, and wheel him through those doors. Are you afraid someone is going to come in, see the desk unoccupied, and walk out? You’ve got plenty of business.” Hans motioned to the crowded waiting room.

  “Never mind. I’ll take care of it.” Turner pushed the chair through the double doors.

  “Sir, sir!” The receptionist tried to cut him off.

  “Get out of the way, or I’ll shoot you!” said Hans.

  She immediately stepped to the side.

  “You can’t be back here!” said an RN.

  Hans held up his badge. “This man is vital to global security. I need him treated.”

  She took Josh’s pulse. “For what?”

  “Hypovolemic shock,” said Turner.

  “Karen, get me a gurney, a large-bore peripheral IV, and a saline infusion running wide open. And check a basic metabolic profile, STAT.” The nurse began asking Josh questions. “Have you taken any medications?”

  He shook his head faintly.

  “Are you allergic to anything?”

  He indicated that he was not.

  The nurse’s assistant arrived with the IV and the stretcher. Hans and Turner helped him onto the gurney.

  “We’ll take him from here,” said the nurse.

  “One of us has to stay with him,” said Hans.

  “You have to stay with him,” said Turner. “My shift starts at 6:00. Send me a message with what room number he’s in.”

  Hans gritted his teeth as his partner abandoned him. He redirected his attention to the nurse. “The patient is a DGS priority asset.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re not permitted in the shock room.”

  Hans looked at Josh. “I suppose he’s not going anywhere.” He put one cuff on his wrist and another on the rail of the gurney.

  “What if we have to move him?” asked the nurse.

  “Text me. I have the key.” Hans slipped his business card in the nurse’s top pocket. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.”

  The nurse pushed Josh back to a room that looked as though it were intended as single occupancy but held two other patients. The assistant put a wristband on Josh while the nurse stuck the IV needle in his arm. “Did you see these abrasions?” The nursing assistant pointed out the marks on Josh’s wrist.

  The nurse pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid that’s outside of our control. We’ll help him as best we can.”

  The assistant looked into Josh’s listless eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe we should take our time about getting him back to full strength.”

  The nurse put on a stethoscope and listened to Josh’s heart. “How long has it been since you drank water?”

  “Two days,” Josh whispered.

  She examined his eyes. “How long since you slept?”

  “Two days.”

  She nodded. “We’re going to give you a couple of IVs to try to balance you out. I’m going to go ahead and give you a little something to help you relax. If you fall asleep, that’s okay. You need rest more than anything. We’ll take care of getting you rehydrated with the IV.”

  She watched Karen draw the blood for the metabolic panel. “Administer 1 milligram of Ativan.”

  After the blood was drawn, the nursing assistant prepared the medication and inserted the syringe into the IV. Josh began to feel more relaxed almost instantly.

  The assistant pulled up Josh’s sleeve. “He has a recent injection si
te on his bicep. Did you see this?”

  The nurse looked at the small wound, then asked Josh, “Did they give you a shot?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Do you know what it was?”

  “No.” He drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and his ears are open unto their cry. The face of the Lord is against them that do evil, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth. The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles. The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous: but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.

  Psalm 34:15-19

  Josh awoke in a hospital room. The room, which appeared to have been set up for double occupancy, was overcrowded with three other patients. Two were on beds while Josh and another man were still on gurneys. Seating for visitors had been removed to make space for additional occupants. All of the patients in the room had IV bags. Josh guessed he was still in the intensive care unit. A man on one of the beds watched television at a very low volume. The other two appeared to be sleeping.

  The nursing assistant from the ER came in to check on Josh. “Hey, you’re awake,” she said softly as she changed out his IV bag.

  “Yes. Thank you. How long was I out?”

  She wore a white surgical mask over her mouth and nose, like the rest of the hospital staff. “They brought you in on Wednesday morning. Today is Friday.”

  Josh looked up to see The Price is Right playing on the television. “Friday morning?”

  “Yeah.” She looked toward the door. “And the men in black are still guarding your door. Maybe we don’t have to mention that you’re awake yet.”