by Mark Goodwin
For the next half hour, Ava had to listen without being allowed to respond while Raquel dragged her name through the mud and painted a heavily-slanted version of the events where she and Raquel had both been involved.
Raquel told of how Ava had robbed Chip, a valid munitions officer in the SJL, of the material necessary to murder hundreds of peaceful people looking only to turn in their guns and seek a world without bloodshed.
She explained how Ava had kidnapped Chip in the middle of the night, then tortured him for information before executing him with the very explosives she’d stolen from this fine upstanding member of society. Raquel spoke of her time of sorrow and mourning. She told how she’d fought to find purpose and contemplated ending it all in her darkest hours.
Then she explained how, like an angel from above, Shane Lawrence had called her personally to express his condolences for her loss and to extend his gratitude for her diligent role in the revolution. Raquel choked up when she described the conversation where Shane Lawrence had invited her out to Hollywood, to get her mind off of things for a while. Her eyes glazed over, dripping the occasional contrived tear while she gave the account of her friendship with Shane and told how it had grown into something deeper, reviving in her the feelings of love she thought she’d never experience again.
Ava regretted eating the harsh meal of room-temperature potato and sinewy flesh. It felt heavy and sour in her stomach and became more so while she listened to this skewed rendition of the facts salted with outright lies.
Next up, Secretary of Homeland Security Alexander Douglas took the stand. He proceeded to give a drier, less emotional account of Ava’s supposed crimes. He evaluated the evidence against her citing multiple eyewitness accounts that Ava knew to be false. Douglas painted a picture for the television audience that made Ava sound like a one-woman terrorist organization who, besides assassinating Shane Lawrence, had single-handedly destroyed the Austin firearms collection points, triggered the explosions at NRG Stadium and killed the former regime president, Steve Woods.
No other witnesses were called. Ava was not afforded an opportunity to cross-examine nor to give her version of the events. Rather, Mark Polpot slammed the gavel and delivered his verdict. “The tribunal finds the defendant, Ava Wilson, guilty of treason, murder, and the assassination of a sitting president as well as one of the country’s most treasured gifts, Shane Lawrence. Her execution is scheduled for tonight at midnight Pacific Time and will be broadcast live on all the major news stations. For those of you on the east coast, the execution video will be available on the White House website as well as the SJL’s, and my website, SJLC.com. I hope it will, in some small way, provide the closure that our hurting nation so desperately needs.”
Ava looked at Vanessa. “That’s it? I don’t even get to defend myself or address the court?”
“I’m sorry. That’s it. Let’s get you back.”
Ava stood. “Where will they. .?”
Vanessa replied coldly, “The execution will be at the prison.”
“But they said it would be televised. They don’t want to do it in a studio?” Ava knew if Ulysses were somehow able to rescue her, it would have to be outside of the prison. He simply wouldn’t have the means to get her out of such a high-security facility.
“No. That won’t be staged. It will be the same execution chamber that the SJL has been using for enemy combatants since you people started this.” Vanessa compressed her lips. “I realize this is a tough thing to take, but you brought it on yourself, and now it’s time to take your punishment.”
Ava felt ill inside. She anxiously allowed the guards to escort her back to the van. Once inside, she knew the window for a rescue was closing fast.
Ava looked out the back window of the transport van looking for any clue that something might be up. If the van were to be struck by another vehicle in the rescue operation she’d need to brace for the impact. She remained vigilant, ready to participate in her own liberation, should an opportunity arise.
No such occasion came to be. The van pulled into the enclosed bay of the prison and the back door swung open. Two guards helped her out of the van and into the facility. She was taken to a room to change back into her orange uniform. Once dressed, she was handcuffed, shackled, and taken to a holding cell in the basement of the prison.
Ava’s mind raced frantically. No one is coming for me. I felt so sure Dad, or Foley, or President Blackwell would try to get me out of here. I guess I’ve been in denial all along. Maybe that was my brain trying to cope with the situation.
Reality sank in. I’m really going to die.
Ava guessed it was after six when she’d left the studio. In less than five hours, I’ll be dead.
She had no clock and no one was around to ask the time. For Ava, there was nothing left to do but to prepare herself for the inevitable. She recalled the 23rd Psalm, which she’d memorized over the weekend with Yolanda.
Ava whispered it to herself. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
The hours ticked by like months while Ava remained in her cell, waiting for the final call. She occupied her mind by reciting the verses she’d learned with Yolanda and praying. She tried to sing a time or two, but her soul was simply too downcast to pull it off.
Then, she heard footsteps coming down the hall.
Her heart pounded and her face burned hot with anxiety. She knew she should be at perfect peace, but she was not. Fear had a grip on her, and she could not get the horrifying thought of death out of her mind.
The door opened. Two guards glared down at her. “Ms. Wilson, it’s time.”
Too frightened to put up a fight about them getting her name wrong, Ava nodded and stood to her feet.
They escorted her down a long sterile hallway. The unpleasant glow of fluorescent lights reflected off the high-gloss paint on the cement-block walls. The sound of her cheap jail-house flip flops echoed off the bare concrete floors. The heels of the guards’ boots clicked in lock-step, haunting the otherwise-silent corridor.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“11:40.”
Ava walked by a door and looked through the small window. “Is that the mortuary?”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the guards replied.
“What do they do . . .” She swallowed hard. “. . . with the bodies?”
The guard’s answer was more awkward than her question. “They—are taken to the county crematorium.”
Ava nodded.
One of the guards stepped forward and opened the final door. Ava walked into the execution chamber. Inside stood the warden and a man in a medical coat. Ava looked around at the surroundings. This is it. The last place I’ll visit on this earth.
The cinder-block walls were painted with the same high-gloss, sky-blue paint that was in the hallway. The room was stark. It contained only a hospital bed with a series of leather straps and buckles. A single clock hung on the wall, ticking off the final minutes until her fate was to be sealed. Across from the bed was a window. On the other side was a viewing room where more than forty chairs surrounded a large television camera mounted on a tripod. All the chairs were filled. In the front row sat Raquel, her eyes seething with hatred and a smirk of victory across her mouth.
Suddenly, a feeling of serenity washed over Ava. Soon, she’d be home. All the terrors and pain of this world would be done. She’d endured the worst this realm had to offer: heartache and violence, abandonment and loss. There’d be no more of that where she
was going. But for Raquel, the handful of years she had left on this planet was as good as it would get for her, unless she repented, of course. And over the years that Ava had known the wild, bitter girl, she’d never seen any hope of that happening. Despite her position and the fact that Raquel was responsible for putting her there, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the misguided and deceived young woman on the other side of the glass.
Ava calmly let the guards take off her handcuffs and strap her arms to the hospital bed. They secured her legs then removed the irons of the shackles. She looked up at the clock. Ten more minutes.
Ava looked around the room, wondering if there were angels waiting for her, escorts from the heavenly realm who would walk her through the gates of Glory. I can’t wait to see Mom again. I wonder if she knows I’m coming? I wonder if Dad is already there? I wonder if I’ll recognize my birth mother? I don’t think Foley is there yet. He’s a fighter. God, please don’t let him grieve for me too long. Let him meet someone else, move on, and enjoy life—but not too soon. And watch over Charity and Buck.
She’d never felt the presence of God so strongly before. She felt as if she could almost touch Him.
The minutes ticked away, then the man in the lab coat approached the side of the bed. “I’ll administer a mild sedative first, then I’ll give you the injection.”
Ava had no say in the matter. She turned her head away from the needle and felt the light prick. Seconds later, her body felt soft and limber, her thinking slowed. She didn’t quite understand why they bothered with the sedative other than to make themselves feel better.
The warden said with a mirthless voice, “It’s twelve o’clock, midnight. Please administer the injection.”
Despite Ava’s state, she still felt the icy coldness of the second needle as it plunged into her vein to deliver the terminal dose.
Instantly, she felt the substance dragging her away from consciousness. Then, everything went dark.
CHAPTER 18
Blessed is the man whom thou chastenest, O Lord, and teachest him out of thy law; That thou mayest give him rest from the days of adversity, until the pit be digged for the wicked. For the Lord will not cast off his people, neither will he forsake his inheritance. But judgment shall return unto righteousness: and all the upright in heart shall follow it. Who will rise up for me against the evildoers? or who will stand up for me against the workers of iniquity? Unless the Lord had been my help, my soul had almost dwelt in silence.
Psalm 94:12-17
Ava opened her eyes and saw only white. A soft glow filtered through. She felt blissful and at perfect peace. She heard a light hum. “Wings of the cherubim?” she murmured softly. She turned her head and felt the gentleness of the milky air. She tried to focus but saw only white. Quickly, her thoughts grasped for an explanation. This was not at all what she’d expected. Where’s Mom? And where’s Jesus?
She turned her head back and finally began to recognize what she was seeing. “A sheet,” she whispered. She wiggled her fingers and her toes. “I’m alive!”
“That hum, it’s tires on a highway.” She started to rip off the sheet but promptly thought about the ramifications of such an action. I’m headed to the crematorium! They somehow mixed up the doses. He probably gave me two injections of the sedative. They think I’m dead.
“She’s starting to wake up,” said a voice.
Ava realized she wasn’t restrained. She still wore the same orange uniform but had no handcuffs or leg irons. Why wouldn’t they secure my hands and feet if they knew I was alive?
“Ms. Wilson?” Someone pulled the sheet down from her face.
She closed her eyes and pretended to be unconscious.
“Ms. Wilson, it’s me, Warden Mahoney.”
She recognized the voice but did not respond.
“I’m sure you’ve got some questions. They’ll all be answered in due time. What I can tell you is that you are indeed very much alive and being transported to the desert. We’re meeting a stealth Blackhawk helicopter from the Alliance States. I’m not sure what your people will tell you when you get where you’re going, but I have a message from the governor of California. Your death was broadcast across America and the public believes you to be dead. It would be best for all parties involved if you do your part to keep it that way. Otherwise, it will embarrass the governor, and he’ll see to it that you are called to account.”
Curiosity got the better of her. She opened her eyes then her mouth. “Why? Why is he letting me go?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details. But let me reiterate, don’t go public about this. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie. Where ever you go, we can get to you.”
Ava understood this was not a gesture of mercy and goodwill. Whatever was happening, they were being coerced into doing it. She was alive, and that was good enough for now.
Within minutes of Ava regaining consciousness, the van stopped and the warden opened the back door. He helped Ava up from the mortuary stretcher she’d been lying on.
Outside of the van stood four soldiers holding M-4 rifles, fully kitted out with tactical vests, helmets, and drop-leg holsters for their side arms. Behind the soldiers was a helicopter which looked to Ava more like a spaceship. The top rotor was spinning but made much less noise than she ever thought possible by a helicopter.
“Mrs. Mitchem, come with us,” said one of the soldiers succinctly.
Ava ducked her head low as she hurried to the completely blacked out aircraft visible only by the ambient light from the headlights of the van which had brought her to this stretch of otherwise-desolate wasteland. Whoever these people were, they’d addressed her by the correct name. In addition to not being dead, she felt things were moving in the right direction.
Seconds later, Ava and the soldiers were inside the chopper. The ground fell away into the darkness below. The inside of the helicopter was pitch black. Ava couldn’t see any of the soldiers’ faces. None spoke to her so she did not try to engage them in conversation. She was unsure of how much time had passed when the craft landed, but she estimated roughly one hour.
The side door opened, and she was escorted out. Ava looked around. She was at a small regional airport. “Where am I?”
“Cedar City, Utah, ma’am,” the soldier on her left answered.
“Where are we going?”
He pointed to the small commuter jet ahead. “To that plane, then to Oklahoma.”
The light was better than it had been in the desert or inside the helicopter. Ava saw the Alliance States insignia on the uniforms of her escorts.
“Can you tell me if my father was taken out of California?”
The soldier gently put his hand on her back to signal for her to hurry alongside him to the jet. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any information for you. Someone will be able to answer all of your questions when we get to Oklahoma. This isn’t the most secure section of Utah, so we need to get off the ground as soon as possible.”
She nodded and jogged to the plane.
Once inside, she was met by the pilot who had a friendly smile. He pointed to a cardboard box and a small cooler in the first row of seats. “We’ve got some chips and water for you. Sorry we didn’t get you a change of clothes. We were in a rush to get here. I’m sure they’ll have the red carpet rolled out for you when we get to Oklahoma.”
“Thank you, the water and snacks will be great. I’m fine with what I’m wearing. I’m just happy to be alive.”
The pilot nodded. “We’re happy to have you with us, Mrs. Mitchem. If everyone will get seated and buckle up, we’ll be on our way.” He waved and disappeared into the cockpit.
Ava took two bottles of water and a bag of pretzels, then buckled in next to the window. Barely giving herself a moment to appreciate her own second chance at life, she immediately began to be heavy-hearted for her loved ones. Her mind raced wondering if Ulysses had made it out alive. She desperately hoped Foley was okay. She even said a short prayer for Charity
and Buckley.
Ava relaxed during the flight and despite her anxious mind, she drifted off to sleep.
She was awakened when the wheels struck the runway. Ava looked out the window. She saw rows of military cargo planes and fighter jets on the tarmac. The surrounding buildings looked vaguely familiar. “Altus?”
The jet taxied to an ambulance, which was waiting with its light on. The clamshell door of the plane opened and Ava walked down the airstair.
“Fancy meeting you here.” A man in a doctor’s coat stood behind a wheelchair at the bottom of the stairs. “Need a lift?”
It took Ava a moment to remember his name. “Captain Murphy?”
“At your service.” He bowed his head.
“I think I can manage to walk.” She smiled.
“Very well, but I would like you to get in the back of the ambulance. I need to take you to the medical center and check you out.”
“Okay, for what?”
“Just a precaution. We want to make sure Governor Quincy isn’t trying to pull a fast one on us.” The doctor joined her in the back of the ambulance and closed the door.
“How could he do that?”
Murphy lifted his shoulders. “I don’t want to worry you, but he could have had you injected with any number of compounds that won’t take effect for days.”
“You mean like a poison or a virus? Why would he do that?”
Captain Murphy took her hand. “I doubt he would. But we need to be sure. I assume you haven’t been brought up to speed on what’s going on.”
“No, enlighten me, please.”
“Governor Quincy’s daughter was abducted from UC Berkeley by actors who demanded your release in exchange for her safe return.”
“Actors?”
“Militia.”
“Anyone I’d know?”
“One of them may be a former patient of mine.”
“Foley? Is he okay? Where is he?”
“He’s okay, but his location is undisclosed until the operation is completed. I’m sure you understand.”
