by Paul Lalonde
Bronson was different. He understood Helen’s emotions, yet he also accepted the potential validity of Macalousso’s claims.
But the real answer lay with the dead, those who offered no threat to Macalousso, and no reason to be afraid.
There was a portable shovel among his other emergency equipment in the back of the truck. He took it out and went back to the grave.
The work was difficult. The shovel, a two-piece unit, was sturdy but not designed for heavy use. He had to force the blade into the ground, but fortunately the earth was soft, and he moved quickly.
“Lord, if this is sinful, please understand,” he prayed. “I have to know. I have to see for myself. The story I have to tell is important.”
His shoes and pants were mud-covered and his shirt was covered with sweat by the time Bronson’s shovel at last hit the lid of the casket.
“Dad, I don’t know if I want you to be in there or not,” he said as he cleared away the dirt. “Yet if Helen is right, I have nothing to fear.”
But Bronson was frightened, saying words to avoid the action he now had to take. “Lord, give me strength,” he said, forcing open the coffin.
The first thing he saw was the suit. “My Sunday best,” his father had called it. The last time Bronson had seen the suit, it covered his father’s remains. Now it lay at the bottom of the empty coffin, looking as though it was waiting to be put back on the rack.
A wedding ring, Timex watch, and a thin gold chain with a small cross on it were on top of the clothes. There was also an open Bible, facedown in the coffin. Bronson picked up the book and propped his flashlight in the dirt, letting the light fall on the page. It was opened to 1 Corinthians 15, with several sentences highlighted by the yellow marker his father always carried with him. “For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised . . . Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”
And then he knew. Not in his mind, but in his heart. Bronson Pearl, for the first time in his life, understood the truth, the joy of the people the Antichrist called the Haters. Now he believed. His father was not lost. Helen’s grandmother was not lost. One had died. One had been raptured. But they were all together. And though he had been left behind, though he knew there would be a time of trial where he would have to confront evil, victory would ultimately be won by the Lord. Of that he was certain, and it was a faith he would profess to his death if it came to that.
Chapter 19
AS TIME PASSED the public’s perception of Franco Macalousso began to change. The rejoicing continued, even as families tried to come to grips with the loss of those who had disappeared. But the horror of chaos and destruction had faded. Peace was in the land, and people gradually returned to the familiar patterns of life.
In the WNN studios, Len Parker sensed a problem as he watched the latest speech from Macalousso, taped for later broadcast, to allow him to fine-tune the recorded images.
“Hold it,” commanded Parker to the editor. “Freeze it there.” Macalousso’s appeal came from the excitement people felt witnessing him in person, walking through throngs to reach the podium. But now there was less appeal. They understood the Messiah was in their midst, but the novelty had worn thin.
This latest speech was proof, with a crowd befitting a minor celebrity, but one not worthy of the true Messiah. “Fix that crowd,” Parker ordered. “You’ve got some earlier footage. Edit in more people.”
Suddenly the sound of a woman’s voice broke into his troubled thoughts. “So even God needs your electronic enhancement?” he heard Helen Hannah say.
She walked into the room, her handcuffed wrists locked behind her back. The agent was holding her arm, but she made no move to resist. “You don’t think he can convince the world of who he is without your editing people into a crowd scene?” she asked.
“I see your version of God didn’t do much to help you.” Parker smirked. “Or is a miracle going to break those handcuffs?” Turning to the agent he ordered, “Take her to my office. I’ll be right there.”
Inside Parker’s office, no effort was made to remove the handcuffs and make Helen more comfortable. They wanted her to be constantly reminded of who she was and how her life was now in their hands.
“You’ve got no idea what you’re up against, Ms. Hannah,” began Parker.
“I have a better idea than you think, and I’m not afraid of you,” she shot back.
“Well, you should be! Don’t mistake our talk of peace and unity for weakness. People want peace at any price, and we will give it to them. They want to believe that they are more than just flesh and blood, and we’ll tell them they are. But we’re not fools.”
“I think the serpent did the same thing in the Garden of Eden,” replied Helen.
“Child’s play, Miss Hannah,” responded Parker. “What we have done is beyond anything written in the Bible. Our Messiah is real.”
“You mean Franco Macalousso?” asked Helen. “And if they don’t worship him?”
“Then they die,” was his chilling answer. “You have never seen the wrathful side of Franco Macalousso. Do you really understand what he’s capable of? You worship him or you die a death more horrible than you could ever imagine.” Turning to the agent, he said, “Take her away.”
It was evening when Franco Macalousso made his next speech, deliberately timed to be seen by the largest number of people. The crowd in the stadium topped one hundred thousand standing shoulder to shoulder. Yet, unlike the first speech, the number watching the big-screen, closed-circuit broadcasts had dropped. The WNN cameras broadcast enhanced images, a thousand people were transformed into ten thousand, and a hundred people were made to look like a sea of eager faces. It was the magic of television, and it was effective.
“Today is your day!” announced Macalousso. “I will show you wonders beyond anything you have ever imagined. I will lead you into a whole new world of human possibility. In this new world you will discover the powers of divinity buried deep in your soul. But we must be together, as a single entity. Even though I have removed the tares from the wheat, there are still those among you who have chosen not to join us. They have become cancer cells in our body, and until they have been removed, we cannot take the next step into godhood. They are standing in your way.”
The crowds listened, spellbound, to a message that asked little but promised much. They had long hoped there had to be more to life than the challenges of the Bible. Now they knew: they, too, were gods. They had only to rid the world of the Haters and their rightful inheritance would be handed over. They would have powers and abilities beyond their wildest dreams.
As the speech ended, the people moved into the streets, quickly becoming a mob. “Are you a Hater?” they asked passersby. “Do you accept Macalousso as your lord and savior? Will you destroy those who stand in the way of our blessed destiny?”
Any excuse was greeted with derision, and violence invariably ensued. Some were beaten to death, and one victim had his necktie used as a garrote and his corpse lifted onto a telephone pole as an example to others.
WNN reporters in the field tried to make sense of what was taking place just outside the stadium. Excited followers were singing, praying, and praising Macalousso, but there was also an undercurrent of anger.
“These Haters think they can put themselves ahead of the whole world,” said one man to a reporter. “Look at the promise that has been made. We can gain the godhood if we rid the land of this handful of rebels.”
“I can hardly wait for the fulfillment of the promise,” echoed a woman who had stopped to listen to the interview. “The Messiah says that we’re all gods. He says that we have great powers within us all. We’ve got to do whatever it takes to get rid of the Haters who are standing in our way.”
The mob scenes were just the reaction Macalousso had desired as a cover for solidifying his power by terror, or even elimination, of the new Christians.
For the event, WNN was given ex
clusive rights, with Len Parker handpicking the reporters who would handle the coverage. “The Messiah wants this to be a coordinated effort,” he explained. “The footage shot by WNN will be made available to all other television networks. We can’t risk the reporters’ lives if the Haters become violent and try to retaliate.”
Bronson Pearl’s body ached. He had been awake for thirty hours and knew his reflexes were dull and his thoughts not as clear as they should be. What mattered was getting away from New York, from the WNN headquarters and Len Parker.
As thorough as the Macalousso organization might be, they had been in power less than a week. They didn’t grasp the complexities of the regional bureaus, where the most-respected professionals were given deference.
Driving to Boston, Bronson told the WNN bureau that he had been assigned to handle some fieldwork, and would need a camera crew and a satellite link so he could go live with a commentary.
As the global violence escalated, Bronson sat in the satellite uplink truck, watching the monitor, waiting for the moment when he could tap into every station in the worldwide network. As he waited, he watched with horror at the scenes unfolding around the world.
From Toronto several soldiers wearing bulletproof vests and carrying high-powered handguns and potent chemical sprays used a battering ram to break down a door. It was smashed easily and the camera stayed with the soldiers as they rushed from room to room, pausing just long enough to make certain no one was waiting in ambush. Finally they reached the first bedroom and the camera paused briefly on a sign reading, “Shhh. Child of God, beloved of Jesus, sleeping here.” The soldiers crashed into the room and the men grabbed a small child from his bed, one ripping a cross from the wall and holding it long enough for the cameraman to get a close-up of it being crushed under his boot.
In Miami, a camera equipped with night vision revealed a man in a second-story apartment, holding a small child and lowering him into the waiting arms of a woman standing in the shadows of the alley below. The woman caught the child, easing him to the ground. But as she looked up for her second baby, she was grabbed, forced to the ground, and handcuffed. In the apartment above, the remaining child was ripped from the arms of his father, who was struck down with the butt of a pistol. A moment later, the family was reunited in the front of the building, the man’s jaw broken and his face covered with blood. The children were crying, reaching for their parents but restrained by other soldiers, and the woman, her hands cuffed behind her back, was held by her hair, her face forced upward, as her neighbors jeered, ridiculed, and spat at her.
The soldiers ignored the woman’s pleas to take her children to the home of a friend. “They’re not Haters,” she begged. “They believe in the Messiah. Please let my children go.”
The soldiers forced the couple into one patrol car, the children in another. As the cars moved down the streets, the neighbors cheered, praising Macalousso.
There were other scenes, other arrests. In Minneapolis, a mob attacked a secret religious bookstore. In Los Angeles, Bibles were removed from churches, transported to MacArthur Park, covered with gasoline, and ignited.
Other burnings took place in Tokyo, Pretoria, Hong Kong, Rome, Sâo Paulo, Paris, and elsewhere. One reporter exclaimed on camera, “It’s truly ironic that the very Book that once divided the world is now bringing it together.”
It was late morning before the violence was finally over, the flames doused, and the arrested moved to holding camps. On an isolated hill overlooking the bay, Bronson Pearl stood alone, microphone in hand, speaking into the camera. “Don’t worry about the timing,” Bronson told the technician in the satellite uplink truck. “Just use my code when you send this and they’ll cut into the broadcast to carry me live. It’s a system we use when we’ve got a breaking story. They’ll understand in New York.” No reason to alert them to my actions, he added silently.
The camera operator adjusted the lens, took a sound level, then signaled the reporter to begin. Bronson looked into the camera. “I’m Bronson Pearl, and for those of you who have watched my broadcasts over the years, you know that I’ve always told you the truth as I knew it. I was called the most trusted man in American broadcasting a few weeks ago, and while I’m not certain I deserve that title, I have never gone on the air without first checking all the facts. I was in the valley of Armageddon when the war we so desperately feared began. I was present when President Macalousso arrived, and I witnessed firsthand the vanishing of the weapons of mass destruction. I heard him declare himself Messiah, and I’ve seen the wonders he has performed. I have also investigated him thoroughly, which is why I’m reporting to you tonight. Franco Macalousso is not the Messiah. He has not returned to save the planet from evil. Quite the opposite is true. Franco Macalousso is the embodiment of evil itself. He is the one the Bible calls the Antichrist. I have always told you the truth. That is why I’m asking you today to please listen to what I am saying. Do you think a Messiah would fear a book such as the Bible? Of course not. But he has ordered the burning of every book that tells the truth. The Bibles do not promote hatred as he would have you believe. The Bibles tell the truth about God, about the real Messiah, and about the ultimate evil of the Antichrist, President Macalousso.”
“Cut!” screamed Len Parker. “How did that Hater preempt our broadcast?”
“The patch code was used to signal a breaking story,” came the explanation from a bystander. “That takes precedence over anything else on the air.”
“How dare he pull a stunt like this,” bellowed Parker. “I’ll have him killed.”
The men and women in the room stared in shock. Some were angry with Bronson for denouncing the Messiah. Some were angry with Parker. Most were confused. And a few, who had been nodding their heads with what they were hearing, quietly went back to work, saying nothing.
Bronson was certain his broadcast would be stopped, but there was no way of knowing exactly when. He continued talking even as he heard sirens approaching in the distance. He continued as the police cars screeched to a halt and a dozen guards rushed over to him. He continued as they grabbed him, slamming the microphone to the ground, and shoved him into the backseat of a patrol car.
Chapter 20
THE “SPONTANEOUS” CELEBRATIONS had been ordered by Franco Macalousso as part of a worldwide recognition of his ascendancy as Messiah. Government offices and schools were closed. Businesses were ordered to let their employees off, and billboards, banners, and signs flashed photos of Macalousso and proclaimed, “He’s back!” and “The Messiah Is Here.”
In contrast to the celebrations, there were other less joyous events taking place. The number of Hater arrests was growing beyond anyone’s expectations, local jails and prisons filling to capacity. College dorms, stadiums, and open fields throughout the country became makeshift prisons, encircled with razor wire and using officers with attack dogs to patrol the perimeter.
The first goal was reeducation with giant television monitors wired throughout these crude prisons and WNN broadcasts shown throughout the day and night of the Messiah, taped programs, special speeches, and group counseling sessions. Those people who finally understood Macalousso’s version of the truth would be returned to society. The remainder would be killed like a cancer cut away by a surgeon. The Messiah himself believed that all but a handful among the Haters would have to die.
Vans and police cruisers were originally used, but these proved too limited. Commandeering city buses to transport the haters to these “reeducation centers” was suggested but had been vetoed by the Messiah. Too many buses would cripple public transportation and people would want to know why. Cattle trucks were used instead, the prisoners riding standing up, their bodies pressed together, to allow the maximum number per vehicle.
The New York holding facility was approximately forty miles outside of Manhattan in the stadium of a large community college. Women were separated from men, children from parents. Isolation, fear, and worry kept the crowds docile.
&
nbsp; As soon as he arrived, Bronson spotted Helen among the women being taken to the processing area, and he hurried to her side, taking her hand as she stood in line. “I should never have doubted your courage,” she told him. “I didn’t see your broadcast, but the women who were just brought in talk of nothing else. They praise the Lord for your bravery.”
“I have the awful feeling that all I did was assure my arrest,” mused Bronson.
“It doesn’t matter,” replied Helen. “The Lord knows what was in your heart.”
“Break it up, you two!” shouted one of the guards. “This isn’t the nightly news. You, Hannah, stay with the women. As for you, Pearl . . .” He reached out and poked Bronson in the stomach with an electric cattle prod, and mocked him as he groaned in pain.
“Bronson Pearl, the most trusted journalist in America. I hereby dub you King of the Haters!” He jolted him again, this time on the head, and the newsman fell to the ground in agony.
“You’re going to kill him!” shouted Helen from across the yard. She started to run but was grabbed, handcuffed, and then chained to a post in the women’s section.
“Don’t worry. We’re not going to kill him,” chided one of the guards. “That would spoil the fun we have planned.”
Len Parker had been ordered to the prison where Helen and Bronson were being kept to assure total security. The Messiah was now using WNN extensively, and he did not want any surprises from the Haters. The two most important voices on the network would face their punishment in prime time. For his followers, it would be an occasion for joy. For the hidden Christians, it would be a warning to change their ways or suffer the same fate.
In the warden’s office of the makeshift prison camp, the television was tuned constantly to WNN. As Parker arrived, the announcer was saying, “Every word out of the Messiah’s mouth is both glorious and vital, but tonight’s message promises to be the most moving of all. Not only will he continue his outpouring of love to every corner of the globe, he will also guide us to godhood.”
