“My poor girl. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry! God, I wish I had known something. I wish you had gone with me.” Isaac tried to imagine that it could all be turned back. He intensely focused on the horror with an irrational hope that time would reverse and that none of this was real. “How is this happening? How? What the hell is this?” he whimpered under his breath. Time would carry forward, careless of his cries and begging.
“Sir, we need you to sit away for awhile. We need to mark her up for the emergency room.”
“Do you…” Isaac cleared his choked voice, “Do you know what hospital? Would I be able to stay with her?”
“You’ll likely be escorted to the lobby, while they stabilize her.” The EMT began signing a document detailing her conditions and wounds, marking the injuries over a chart of a woman’s body. He marked the leg on the chart red, along with marks to her face, her hand, and the left side of her abdomen.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Isaac was desperate for answers. This was an entirely new experience for him. He was usually the one answering the questions of shocked and worried people. It was a sensation, an experience, he could have happily lived the rest of his days without. “Will they be able to fix her?”
“It’s hard to say at this point. I can’t make any promises.” The EMT shook his head while continuing to scribble on the chart, surely feeling the news just as difficult to deliver as it was to receive. “She is luckier than many of the others back there. Lot of people didn’t make it out of the building. Most people didn’t, I should say.”
“Damn you, Unity!”
"Huh?" the EMT asked, looking in Isaac's direction with confusion at his outburst. Isaac paid him no attention.
“Watch your tongue, Isaac.”
“Where the hell have you been? Huh?”
The EMT watched Isaac speak to himself, drooling and dripping snot as he flailed his arms about.
“Sir, are you talking to someone? Do you mind calming down?” The request was unusual, considering that the bus was packed with screaming and moaning people. One would think the EMT wouldn’t have even noticed him. However, something about the grieving husband deeply disturbed him.
“Get lost.”
The EMT left Isaac to himself and went to the next patient over from Susan.
“Where the hell have you been, Unity? Do you hear me?”
“I’ve been busy, considering hundreds of clinics have been bombed. Forgive me for not being here to console you for every waking moment.”
“So, they were bombed? Zealots?”
“Of course. I’ve been trying to eliminate them, you know, but it’s hard to find good help.”
Anger sizzled within Isaac and he clenched his fists so tightly that his own nails carved little half-moons into his palms. The thought of the radicals being the ones to blame for this horror, quickened Isaac's heart rate. Never had he ever felt the urge to slaughter them more than at that moment. He knew in that instant that he would make it his mission to kill every single one of them. Isaac vowed to spend his every waking moment hunting them to extinction.
“Bastards. They’ll die. They’ll all die for this!” he promised, looking over his wife’s burnt and savaged flesh. “I’ll kill them all!”
“Sir, are you okay?” the EMT asked, approaching Isaac.
"How am I expected to be okay, right now?" Isaac stepped in the man's direction, spraying spit as he shouted at him. "Why haven't we arrived at the hospital? My wife is probably dying because y’all’ve done absolutely nothing to help her! What’s taking so long?”
“We’re almost there,” the EMT quipped calmly. Before casting his attention elsewhere, he ordered, “You need to keep the pressure on her leg.”
Isaac turned quickly away from the man and did as told, worried that Susan’s tether to life was slipping away. She had passed out during the time he spent shouting at Unity and the EMT.
“Susan! My darling! Don’t go. No, don’t go! Can’t leave me baby. We’re having a girl. We’re having a beautiful girl. I need you to help me. I need you to be there to see her grow up.” Isaac began to shake her violently when she didn’t respond, careless of her wounds as he believed her life depended on staying awake. There was a prick in his skin, that he didn’t quite notice under the circumstances. “Susan…darlin’…wauhp. Huh?" Isaac's speech slurred and his vision became glossy, his surroundings blurred. Colors and shapes became only reflections of light that dimmed rapidly and the last clear image he saw was that of a syringe in his arm. Sleep came to him, deep undisturbed sleep on the floor of the ambulance.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Officials claim there are no new developments concerning the recent attacks,” the news anchorwoman reported, “however, the Zealots have taken full responsibility for the bombings, citing Unity’s policy of forced abortions carried out at the STORK clinics as the reason.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Michael muttered to himself, sitting in the living room, watching the news. “Lord, please, please help my cousin. Forgive him, Lord.” He made the Sign of the Cross over himself.
Upon the screens across every corner of the earth, the same images of the aftermath of the attacks played relentlessly in what was formerly known as the United States and Canada. There wasn’t a soul alive that had not seen the devastation, the outward explosions of the buildings caught on street-cams and the billowing smoke rising in the aftermath as fire and rescue crews worked to quench the fires.
“Turn that trash off, Mikey!” Maria demanded angrily from the kitchen. She was busily packing a box of necessities and the most sacred family treasures. He watched the news any chance he got, but his sister had had enough of its constant negative drivel.
“We need to know what’s going on!”
"Well, you can listen to it yourself on your Auris. None of us care to hear it anymore. And are you ready? Seems like everyone is working to get packed up, except you. Tonight’s the night.”
“Father Burns said ‘bare necessities,’ so I don’t know what you’re doing packing fine china, and I finished packing yesterday.”
Amelia shuffled down the stairs into the living room and turned the television off. “Come upstairs with me, honey, okay?”
“Alright, alright. Fine.” He followed her into their bedroom and closed the door, before lying down on their bare mattress.
…
The entire house was starting to look as if it were no longer a home to anyone. The family had worked tirelessly since the news first surfaced and wasted very little time. The place looked barren with all the empty shelves and empty half-opened drawers. They placed toiletries and other sundry items in bins for easy moving. The most valuable things -- things that were too large to make the move -- were stored away in the basement.
Days before, right after the bombs detonated, the family and their priest speedily laid out detailed plans for their exodus. Father Burns visited them, hoping to learn that Stone was innocent of any involvement in the attacks. He prayed the others were successful in their attempts to invite him to flee south with them.
That day, the priest stood ringing the doorbell multiple times, but receiving no answer. Everyone inside had been riveted to the screen before them and the horrible news coming from it. Shocked and tearful, they almost failed to notice anyone was at the door at all. Finally, the sound of someone beating upon the front window startled Michael and he rose to let the priest inside.
“Father,” he began, “I…,” then he embraced the priest, shedding tears onto the older man’s shoulder. “The boy has done it this time. Idiot really done it.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Nothing. God, I hope he’s alive. But I just can’t…” Michael found it difficult to formulate his thoughts into words. The priest broke free from him eventually and checked on the rest of the family, starting with the women, who were inconsolable in the throes of sudden grief.
Cole sat silently, staring blankly at the screen as
it revealed all the horrors -- from the destroyed burning buildings to the dozens upon dozens of bagged bodies lying to the side of them. He sent a message to his brother, “Are you okay?”, but received no response. The real possibility of Stone’s death was inescapable as he waited for an answer.
Maria wept loudly, lamenting for the sake of her little cousin. The actions were irreversible, they were part of a hole Stone had dug for himself, surely. Nothing could change what had already been done. Further, there would be no mercy in the law for such an atrocity. Almost directly after the attacks, Unity made a public announcement reiterating the severe punishment that those responsible for such crimes will suffer. He reminded everyone that anyone brought in whom authorities deemed to have the least bit involvement with the atrocities, or who they determined were associated with the Zealots or Retrogrades, will pay dearly for their crimes against humanity.
Time moved quickly for all who sat in the small living room. Firefighters extinguished the majority of the fires ravaging the clinics and, soon afterward, body counts for the attacks in Birmingham began to come in. First it was twenty, then thirty, then as night approached the dead reached eighty in total. Of course, that number didn’t account for the lives of the unborn whose mothers were receiving ‘treatment’ at the time. In the Mountain Brook clinic, three children -- accompanying their mothers -- lost their lives. The children -- aged one year, four years, and twins aged eleven-years-old perished needlessly. The news flipped through the profiles of each victim, revealing their names, dreams, and those who survived them. Silent faces appeared on screens everywhere. Photos from an earlier time, showing soundless, smiling faces with no notion that they would soon be met with a violent demise.
…
The night of the attack, once the shock began to dissipate enough to allow the family in Irondale the emotional space to debate their future, the priest made an announcement to them, “I’m going to expedite the process for y’all’s relocation. There’s no reason we should delay any longer.”
“What about Stone?” Maria asked as she began to sob. “We can’t leave him!”
“He’s dug his grave,” Michael responded shaking his head angrily. “There’s not a chance in hell; even if he’s alive that I’ll allow him to travel with us.”
“How can you say that? They’ve obviously got no idea who they’re looking for.”
“It’s not wise, Maria. I love the boy, but he’s done nothing other than cause himself and us grief. We’re not risking our lives to save a person who’s probably murdered dozens through his free will and own doing. It’s ridiculous to stick our necks out anymore for him.” Michael gulped from the glass of whiskey he had poured earlier and slurred his speech, “God bless him, hope he’s forgiven, but ain’t a chance in Hell he’s coming with us.”
“Screw you, Michael.”
The priest thoughtfully paced around the room, before pouring himself some of the whiskey. Taking a swig, he was ready to deliver his portion of bad news, “I know, I know. No one wants to leave Stone. I love the boy myself, but Mikey’s correct. He would endanger everyone -- endanger the well-being of those you’ll be staying with.”
Maria was shocked, “What? What are y’all talking about? It’s a safe house, is it not? You said it’s where all the priests hide out? I don’t understand the difference. Seems like the perfect place for Stone.”
“It’s a safe house for the religiously persecuted, dear.” The priest knelt before her and held her hands in his. “My brothers and sisters are there and they aren’t necessarily high priority targets, but Stone would be.”
“I just don't understand,” Amelia broke in to join Stone's defense. "How would anyone even know who he is, traveling with us? It's not as if his face is all over the news.”
“He's got the mark,” Cole interjected quietly from the corner chair beside the fireplace. Everyone looked at him blankly, as if he hadn't spoken loud enough. "He has the mark on his arm, the mark the Zealots receive."
“Huh?” Amelia’s expression looked truly confused.
“They all get branded with the Jerusalem cross. Surely the officers know to look for it.”
“Well, that's if they look to begin with.”
“They will look,” Michael agreed turning her direction. “If we are stopped on our way south, they will check our arms. I’d be very surprised if they didn’t. They even did a story on the news the other day about it. Everyone knows.”
“No, that doesn’t make any sense.” Amelia thought aloud, “If they check us, we’ll all be screwed then. They’ll see that Maria’s pregnant and then what? They’ll take her to a clinic and detain everyone else?”
“You think they do pregnancy tests on everyone leaving the city?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Surely they won’t look at everybody’s arm?”
“Amelia! At least eighty people have just been murdered in this city alone!” Michael pulled his greasy hair out of his ponytail and scratched at his scalp. “Of course they’ll be watching out for anyone trying to escape the city. They’ll probably stop us just to inquire where we’re headed and why.”
“Well, God willing, they won’t ever see us, even if we’re stopped,” the priest offered when he realized the argument was mostly a symptom of their ignorance surrounding the means by which they’d be relocated.
“What do you mean, Father?” Michael’s eyebrows elevated and came down along with his confusion. The priest hadn’t shared his plans for them. They simply assumed that they would take a cab to their destination. Which, as Michael thought of it, was a silly and ill-thought out assumption.
“We’re all going to travel in a semi-truck. You know, what some people call an ‘eighteen-wheeler’? We’ll be in the back of it, behind a façade of cardboard boxes. That way, if anyone stops us to look inside, they’ll only see countless stacks of boxes, most of which will be packed with legitimate goods. Real boxes will surround us and cover the compartment entirely until we arrive. Once there, someone will safely release us.”
“Everyone will be in there?”
“Yes, including myself and your doctor. It’s not going to be very comfortable.”
“So, Stone could travel safely with us?” Maria didn’t want to give up on the chance.
“I can’t, Maria,” the priest answered, sorrow clearly covering his kind face. “I couldn’t ask it of my friends. They’ve never kept such refugees in their homes. Stone’s presence alone would jeopardize the dozens of people that live in that town and ruin the lives of the farmers. They’d lose their homes and likely be incarcerated.”
“So, we’re just going to let him rot here?” Maria raised her voice at the priest, “He’ll be found and shot if he stays in the city. Or…or they’ll detain him, question him, and then hunt us down anyway because of our association with him.”
Cole stood from the dark corner of the room where he sat listening to the others, tears dampened the lashes standing against his bottom eyelids. He worked at training himself not to cry so easily, always keeping his emotions subdued; but the thought of his brother and the terrible sins Stone had committed as a Zealot troubled him deeply. It brought such grief to their family -- to the very people who cared for them over so many years, who fed them and housed them -- his part in these bombings. Stone threw their love and concern into the wind like so much trash.
It infuriated Cole. He had always numbed himself to the tragedies and catastrophes of life by leaning on the belief that people did these things as a result of their free will. But this time, an angry sorrow was the emotion that filled his interior, no room for numbness. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and popped its top off to claim the remaining three ounces for himself, drinking straight from the bottle and returning to his place in the corner.
Upon taking his first swig, he thought of the lives his brother had ruined, and tears poured out from his soaked lashes for each lost soul. He began to think of their family name, how it would be forever tainted and how the n
ews would read if authorities ever found his brother.
Stone Hanson: Bastard Son of an Addict, Turned Terrorist.
The headline would serve as a positive testimony to the strict laws around reproduction and the dangers of organized religion. The thing Stone had become wasn’t his brother. Cole felt truly ashamed of him for the first time. By the third swig in, the raw emotions he kept locked away broke forth unrestrained. He sobbed uncontrollably, the images from the news haunting his mind and heart so deeply that he didn’t notice the hand rubbing his back.
“Look at him.” Amelia began to cry as well while comforting him, “You can’t think it’s human to leave Stone behind.”
“No.” Cole stopped her, sniffling and attempting to regain control over his weeping soon after noticing everyone’s eyes trained on him. He seemed to hyperventilate as he wrestled to stop his quaking shoulders and find composure.
“It’s okay, let it out.”
“No, I’m fine,” Cole assured Amelia, wiping the tears from his cheeks and eyes. He used the end of his sleeve to capture the snot and moisture pouring from his nose. His voice sounded like the voice of someone with a very bad cold, “Father’s right. Stone’s brought this on himself and to endanger the lives of those who want to help us is absolutely unreasonable. We gave him a chance to come home. He’s done this to himself. My brother’s a cold-blooded murderer. Just the way it is. No other way to cut it."
He downed the rest of the whiskey in the bottle, its fiery warmth spreading throughout him like liquid comfort. The burn perked him up; although, it did nothing to diminish his slight drunkenness. The momentary numbness was like a medicinal salve to him, as the walls to his heart were reduced to rubble and his heart broken by his own brother. “Do we have any else to drink?” he asked, slurring slightly and placing the empty bottle onto the end table to his left.
Sowing Season Page 26
