by Mark Goodwin
“You’ll see them. And you’ll get to spend eternity together with them. No more war, no more pain, no more misery or heartache. It really is going to be wonderful.”
Ava nodded. “I know. I’m just not particularly excited about the actual crossing over process.”
Yolanda’s smile was strained. “Yeah, tell me about it. Everyone wants beautiful white teeth, but nobody likes going to the dentist.”
Ava chuckled.
“What?” Yolanda asked.
“Your analogy—I was a dental hygienist before all of this.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. People would come in looking all fretful, especially if they knew they needed a cavity drilled. But, half an hour later, it was over, and they were on their way with a big shiny smile.” Ava grinned and took a deep breath. “That’s all it is. A few seconds of discomfort, then we’ll wake up in the arms of Jesus!”
Yolanda sat on Ava’s bunk beside her and took her hand. “And we’ll be wondering why we made such a big fuss over it, just like a trip to the dentist.”
“Do you mind if I ask the particulars of you getting sent here?” Ava took a serious tone.
“I was first sent to a level-two camp. I worked at a church as a receptionist, so I was at the top of the list for being rehabilitated. I tried to play along. I thought maybe if I just did my time and kept my head down, that maybe I could get released. If I had gotten out of the camp, I was going to try to get to the border of Utah. But that didn’t work out.”
“What happened?” Ava asked.
“Most of the people in my camp were Christians. We had pens and paper in level-two, so we started trying to write down all the Bible verses we could remember. Some people knew four or five verses, others had memorized entire chapters. The idea was to write down as much of the Bible as we could and start memorizing those verses. That way, if we never got out, we’d at least have a few good verses memorized.
“I wished I’d spent more time memorizing the Bible when it was legal, but then again, I wish I’d done a lot of things differently when I was free.
“Nevertheless, we got caught and were all scheduled to be put down.”
“I’m so sorry.” Ava squeezed Yolanda’s hand. “How did you get caught?”
“The SJL had informants planted in our camp. The informants were level-three and level-four people who had a chance to fast track their way to level six by proving their loyalty. One of them even knew a couple Bible verses.” Yolanda looked at Ava and smiled with a nod.
“What are you looking at?” Ava asked curiously.
“You were a hero amongst my little group in level-two. We heard about Shane Lawrence. I mean, if it was actually you who pulled it off.”
“You had a television in level-two?”
“Are you kidding? Of course! That’s their primary source of propaganda and re-education.” Yolanda rolled her eyes. “It has been for years, most of us just didn’t see it. No point in reinventing the wheel, I guess.”
“When was the last day you saw the news?”
“Yesterday morning. My group was pulled out of our camp in Oceanside right after lunch. They had my tests results back and matched me up with organ recipients before dinner. I’ve never seen the government be so efficient about anything in my life. But when it comes to collecting taxes or killing people, they can get things done.”
Ava grimaced and changed the subject. “Any news about the Alliance States since Shane Lawrence died?”
“No. We only get regime propaganda news, you know, mainstream media. If Lawrence’s death provided any advantage to the Alliance, we’d never hear about it.”
“Oh.” Ava still felt convinced that she’d done the right thing and that her sacrifice was not in vain, yet the smallest inkling that the mission made an impact would help her to feel better about the unbearable experience Ulysses was having.
Yolanda seemed to think about things for a moment. Finally, she looked up. “I will say that on Saturday morning before Lawrence was killed, the news was hyping up the imminent pledge of allegiance from the LAAM states.”
“LAAM states?”
“Louisiana, Arkansas, Alabama, and Mississippi. Their governors were supposedly going to deliver a signed document to Markovich pledging their support and allegiance. I don’t know if Lawrence’s assassination was just too big of a headline that the news channels quit reporting on the LAAM pledge or if his death affected their resolve in some way. But whatever it was, I haven’t heard a peep about it since Shane Lawrence was sent to meet his maker.”
Ava considered the news, hoping the governors would hold off.
Yolanda continued, “The news was covering it like it was a pretty big deal. The LAAM states would have prevented the current Alliance States from being geographically contiguous with the rest of the southern states if they were to join. I think Markovich was counting on the LAAMs to keep the rest from seeing the Alliance as a viable option.
“Who knows? Maybe you . . . or whoever it was that offed Lawrence just changed the course of the war.”
Ava sighed. That was what she needed to hear. Her sacrifice was high, it cost her the chance to say goodbye to her husband, it cost her relationship with her father, and it would cost her life, but if it preserved the hope of freedom, it would be worth it. “So how many of those Bible verses were you able to memorize before they took you away?”
“I knew about ten and I memorized another thirty or so. Do you want to learn some?”
“I can’t think of a better way to spend my last few hours on this planet. I’d love to.” Ava smiled.
The rest of the weekend, Ava and Yolanda sang worship songs in their cell. Yolanda recited the Bible verses she knew to Ava so she could learn them as well. The two women kept their thoughts on the glory to come and ignored the dark cloud looming above their heads.
CHAPTER 16
We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.
2 Corinthians 5:8
Ava’s blood ran cold as she heard the guard summon her cellmate on Monday morning.
“Yolanda Collins, it’s time.”
Yolanda climbed down from the top bunk, her face perplexed.
Ava’s voice was not nearly as pleasant as Yolanda’s, yet she began singing the same familiar hymn in an effort to inspire her new friend to take courage and hope.
Yolanda smiled and joined in with Ava. Their voices grew in tandem while Yolanda was taken from the cell block. Ava continued the song after her friend could no longer be heard. Her voice weakened, trailing off as her solo portion concluded.
Once again, Ava was alone. “But you’re here with me Jesus,” she whispered aloud. “Stay near me today, please. This is going to be a tough one.” Ava spent the next two hours in silent prayer.
The door opened to the block. Ava looked out to see who it was. “Vanessa. Great.” She watched as two guards escorted the woman to Ava’s cell.
“Ms. Wilson,” Vanessa said.
“I answer to Mrs. Mitchem.” Ava lay back on her bunk.
“I can see that you’ve decided to make this day difficult. I understand that this is not a pleasant experience for you, but if you cooperate, I can assure you that it will go better.”
“Oh yeah? How are you going to make my mock trial and my summary execution more enjoyable?” Ava sat up. “Do you think about the words coming out of your mouth, or are you so zombified from your liberal indoctrination that you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore?”
Vanessa sighed and looked at the guard as if she were pleading for his pity. “Ms. Wilson, if you cooperate, you’ll be allowed to live out your final hours with dignity. You’ll be allowed to dress in regular clothing and given a final courtesy meal of your choosing.”
“Oh, so the regime won’t look like the animals they are if they cart me into this dog-and-pony show shackled in an orange jumpsuit? No thanks. I’m not really hungry, and I have no desi
re to participate in your propaganda charade by getting all dressed up.”
Vanessa looked at the guard. “You guys may need to call in some backup. It looks like you’re going to have to hit her with the Taser and then do a forced extraction.”
“What? I didn’t say I wasn’t coming out of the cell!” Ava had no desire to make the day any worse. She did not want to be Tasered again.
Vanessa gave a saccharine smile. “Now that’s better. Another thing for you to remember, when executionees are prepped for termination, they are typically given a mild sedative which goes a long way in making those final moments more palatable. But a common mistake that has been known to happen with less compliant individuals is for them to receive a stimulant which, instead of relaxing them, causes heart palpitations and amplifies the general feeling of anxiety associated with impending death. I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything like that to happen.”
Ava had no illusions about how frightened she’d be in those last remaining seconds. She certainly didn’t need to be injected with an amphetamine to make it worse. She lowered her head like a beaten animal. “No, ma’am.”
“Good!” Vanessa’s voice pepped up considerably. “Now that we understand each other, I think this day will go rather smoothly.”
The heavy-set woman turned to one of the guards. “They have a suit for her in the intake area. Get her cleaned up and ready for transport.”
“Aren’t we walking her over to the courthouse?” the guard inquired.
“No. A prisoner transport van is taking her offsite. One of the professional television studios will be hosting the tribunal. This will be broadcast nationwide, so we need good sound and light. You simply can’t get that in a real courtroom.”
Ava hated being used for the regime’s agenda, but she could do little about it. The guards ushered her out of the cell that had been her home for the past eight days. She watched as Vanessa hurried toward the sally port door.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Ava called to the woman.
“What is it?” Vanessa scowled.
“If the offer is still open, could I request a steak and baked potato for my last meal?”
The heavy security door buzzed open and Vanessa walked through it. “Fine.”
Ava had told the truth when she stated that she wasn’t hungry, but on the off chance that her steak dinner included a steak knife, it might give her some options. Surely, she didn’t dare think that she’d be able to escape with a steak knife, but it might allow her the possibility of ending her life on her own terms. If she was to die anyway, perhaps she could deprive the sadistic state of the right to parade her on national television while they made a mockery of justice.
Ava walked between the guards through a series of thick stockade doors. She finally arrived in a small secure room. The door was shut and locked behind her. She found a skirt suit draped over the steel bench which was bolted to the concrete floor. Reluctantly, Ava changed into the suit. No other shoes were provided other than the cheap plastic flip flops she’d been given upon arrival. “Obviously they don’t intend on the camera getting any shots of my feet.”
Once she’d changed, Ava sat on the simple bench and waited. Time dragged on and she filled it by praying silently for courage, strength, and comfort from the Holy Spirit. Her life on earth would soon come to an end and her life on the other side of the veil would begin.
Forty minutes later, the door opened. “Ms. Wilson, it’s time.” Vanessa, flanked by two guards, stood holding her leather satchel.
“Could you at least call me Ava?” She stood up from the bench.
Vanessa looked at the brown suit which Ava had put on. “I think I can make that small accommodation.”
“Thank you.” Ava’s shoulders slumped as she began the procession to her death.
She held out her hands while the guards placed shackles on her before loading her into the back of the transport van.
“I’ll meet you at the studio.” Vanessa waved.
The guard slammed the van door shut.
Ava let herself be pulled out of her seat by the same guard who’d put her in the van. She looked up at the stark white, windowless wall of the television studio. She’d never seen one from the outside except on TV or in a movie. She never dreamed she’d see one in person, and certainly not under such bizarre circumstances.
“Take her inside. There’s a small green room on the right. Lock her in there until the tribunal begins.” Vanessa issued orders to the guards. Next, she addressed Ava. “Your steak is on the table in the green room. I’m going out on a limb here by having the guards remove your shackles. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Of course not. Thank you.” Ava walked obediently to the green room. Once inside, she held out her hands for the guards to remove her cuffs and then stood still for them to take off her ankle irons. They closed the door on their way out.
Ava stood in the studio waiting room. A small sofa was against one wall. In front of it was a simple coffee table and on it, a Styrofoam container. “I guess that’s my steak. I had to be silly to expect a fancy covered dish.” Ava walked over and sat on the couch.
She exhaled deeply, wondering if she’d find a steak knife inside, asking herself if she’d be able to take her own life if the utensil was there. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the box and pressed the tab to open the top. Ava closed her eyes, not wanting to know if the knife was in the container. She felt her mouth go dry. She took a long, heavy breath, held it, and opened one eye. Her mouth frowned at what she saw.
The to-go container held a baked potato with the foil and a single pat of butter. The butter had long since melted. Beside it was a tortured bit of meat, burnt beyond recognition, and cut up into small bite-sized cubes, but no knife. Instead, a clear plastic bag held a flimsy white plastic fork and a small folded napkin. “I suppose I should have been more specific when I said steak. I wasn’t expecting Ruth’s Chris, but I didn’t think they’d go to Denny’s either.”
Disappointed, Ava was in no mood to eat. But then, a thought struck her. “What if Dad was able to get free? What if he’s staging some kind of rescue operation right now? I’d need my strength to escape.”
With this desperate thought, Ava peeled the plastic off the disposable fork and pushed herself to consume the tepid potato and the leathery cubes of poorly seasoned meat. She washed it down with a bottle of lukewarm water left on the coffee table.
Soon, the door opened. “Ava, let’s go.” Vanessa waved for her to hurry.
“Okay.” Ava saw no point in dragging it out. Either she would be rescued or she’d be going home to Jesus. Both options entailed a highly stressful event in the near future followed by a period of bliss and happiness. “Best get on with it then.” She followed Vanessa on to the set.
CHAPTER 17
O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth; O God, to whom vengeance belongeth, shew thyself. Lift up thyself, thou judge of the earth: render a reward to the proud. Lord, how long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked triumph? How long shall they utter and speak hard things? and all the workers of iniquity boast themselves? They break in pieces thy people, O Lord, and afflict thine heritage. They slay the widow and the stranger, and murder the fatherless. Yet they say, The Lord shall not see, neither shall the God of Jacob regard it. Understand, ye brutish among the people: and ye fools, when will ye be wise? He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? he that formed the eye, shall he not see? He that chastiseth the heathen, shall not he correct? he that teacheth man knowledge, shall not he know? The Lord knoweth the thoughts of man, that they are vanity.
Psalm 94:1-11
Bright studio light shone down on a courtroom movie scene.
Ava wondered what she’d missed in the media coverage which described the proceedings to the public. Vanessa whispered as they approached the defendant’s table at the front of the courtroom, “We’re on a five-minute delay, so any last-minute speech intended to rally your rebel friends in the Alliance S
tates will be cut out. However, any such outburst will definitely earn you that special treatment at the execution that we talked about.”
Ava nodded that she understood. Despite Scripture’s call to love her enemies, Ava couldn’t help but hope that if her father were to stage a rescue, Vanessa might catch a stray bullet.
“All rise for the tribunal,” said a woman in uniform acting as a bailiff.
Ava recognized the man who came out and took the judge’s seat. It was none other than the Social Justice Law Center’s own Mark Polpot.
“This tribunal is to determine the guilt and punishment of Ava Wilson for her crimes against the United States and civilized society. I will be presiding over this hearing under the federal authority of the Social Justice Legion.” Polpot slammed the gavel. “The tribunal is now in session.
“The tribunal calls the first witness, Raquel Kohut.”
Ava shuddered with anger. Of all the people who might possibly be qualified to be her accuser, Raquel was the least. Raquel wore a sleek black pencil dress and a black hat with the slimmest band of black tulle, as if she were in mourning. She made her way to the stand.
Ava rolled her eyes. The only reason Raquel was still considered Lawrence’s girlfriend at the time of his death was that Ava had killed him before he’d had ample opportunity to replace her with the next little Hollywood starlet in waiting. But Raquel would milk this production for all it was worth. She’d use it to propel herself even higher into the SJL politburo.
“Ms. Kohut, I understand that this most recent run-in with the defendant is not the first encounter you’ve had with her,” Polpot said.
“No. Unfortunately, fate has brought our paths together far too many times. And with each crossing, she has rained down misery and sorrow, not only upon me and those I care about, but on the heads of the collective, diminishing the lives of everyone who believes in social justice, equality, and fairness.”
