The Christ Clone Trilogy - Book Three: ACTS OF GOD (Revised & Expanded)

by James Beauseigneur

  “You still need to go to the courthouse,” Runningdeer affirmed. It wasn’t that he wanted to be difficult; he was just doing his job.

  “Can someone else go for me?” Cleary asked, trying his best to regain his calm.

  “No, sir. The law requires that you appear in person, and it must be resolved within the next three days.”

  Cleary shook his head in disgust. There was nothing more to be done.

  “I’m sure it will only take a few minutes,” Runningdeer offered, though he knew better. Nothing took only a few minutes at the courthouse. “We’re sorry to bother you,” he concluded and turned to walk back to the squad car.

  Sgt. Runningdeer carefully climbed into the vehicle, doing his best not to tug at the gauze on his sores. “Who’s next?” he asked.

  Officer Smith checked the monitor for the next name on the list. “Decker Hawthorne on Millcrest Drive,” she said.

  Sgt. Runningdeer looked surprised. “Let me see that,” he said as he turned the screen and scanned the names to confirm what Officer Smith had read.

  “What’s wrong?” Smith asked.

  “Don’t you know who this is?”

  Amanda Smith thought for a second and then realized where she had heard the name before. “You mean that’s the Decker Hawthorne?”

  “How many Decker Hawthornes do you think there are?

  “I don’t know,” she said, embarrassed at her lapse. “I didn’t even know he lived here.”

  “He doesn’t. But he used to, and he still has a house here.” Sgt. Runningdeer scratched his head in thought, being careful to avoid a lesion just above the hair line. “This is probably just another screw up,” he said, as he reached for the call switch on the police radio. “I’m going to check it out.”

  “Dispatch, this is two Baker thirteen,” Runningdeer said.

  “Two Baker thirteen, go ahead,” a voice replied.

  “Request Captain Martin verify assignment: Hawthorne, Decker.”

  There was a pause for several seconds. “Two Baker thirteen, please repeat,” dispatch replied finally.

  “That’s right, Ed,” Sgt. Runningdeer said, recognizing the voice of the dispatch officer. “We’ve got Decker Hawthorne on our assignment sheet.”

  “Somebody must be playing a joke,” the dispatch officer said.

  “Well, joke or not, he’s on our list.”

  “I’ll get the captain for you,” dispatch replied.

  Sgt. Runningdeer and Officer Smith waited.

  “Two Baker thirteen, this is Captain Martin,” the radio squawked after a moment.

  “Sir, can this be right?”

  “We’re checking that right now,” Martin answered.

  At headquarters Captain Martin watched over the shoulder of Officer Ed Cook as he checked first to see if Decker’s name was in the database of those who had taken the communion, and then checked on his whereabouts. In a moment they had their answers.

  “Joe,” he said, calling Sgt. Runningdeer by his first name, “we’re showing that as a good assignment. Hawthorne shows negative on the communion and his last known location was June 7 at Reagan National Airport. The assumption is that he’s at his house in Derwood.”

  For a moment there was silence, then Sgt. Runningdeer replied. “Sir, request permission to ignore this assignment. That last known location is ten days old; he’s probably not even there. But even if he is, we have plenty to do without annoying Decker Hawthorne.”

  Captain Martin thought for a second. It was about the most bizarre assignment he could imagine: charging the person closest to the secretary general of the United Nations with not adhering to United Nations law. He didn’t want to be responsible for ignoring an assignment, but in the end, common sense won out.

  “Permission granted,” he said. “We don’t need the United Nations coming down on us for invading Mr. Hawthorne’s privacy. Disregard assignment Hawthorne and proceed to the next name on your sheet.”

  Thursday, June 17, 4 N.A.

  Decker looked at his watch. It was just after four o’clock — which meant it was midnight in Babylon. Another day had passed without a call or email from Christopher or Milner. He had now been gone from Babylon for fifteen days. In his last contact with Milner eleven days earlier, he had said he’d only be gone a week. Either Milner or Christopher, or at least Jackie was certain to call him soon. He had no idea how he would explain his continued absence.

  Distracted by his own situation, he mindlessly watched live coverage of a fundamentalist family being evicted for refusing to take the communion and the mark. There was no brutality on the part of the police, and, in fact, they provided protection for the family from a few hot headed neighbors whose suffering from the lesions had caused them to let their emotions overrule their reason. Decker wondered why the police hadn’t come to his door yet. There was no doubt the World Health Organization’s database showed that he hadn’t taken the communion, and though he limited his activities so that no one would realize he was in the house, he was certain the police could locate him. The only explanation he could find was that they were too overworked and would get to him later. When they did, he would be ready. He had prepared half a dozen bandages which he could slip on, including one that conveniently covered the back of his right hand where the mark should have been. If the police showed up, he would quickly don the bandages, answer the door, flash his UN identification — just in case they didn’t realize who he was — and act outraged that they had bothered him. With any luck, he thought, he could use his position to intimidate the police enough to leave him alone for a while, regardless of what WHO’s database said.

  Friday, June 18, 4 N.A.

  Tel Aviv

  Along the beach of the Mediterranean, nearly fifteen thousand people had gathered to witness a miracle. Because of the smell, most wore gas masks, millions of which had been left over from some long forgotten war with their Arab neighbors. Robert Milner, dressed in the same robes he had worn at Christopher’s resurrection, sat cross legged on the sand in a lotus position in deep meditation, waiting for the proper moment. In each hand he held three highly polished spherical quartz crystals given to him by Christopher. Behind him, a hundred reporters waited in silence. Before him, waves of blood washed over the reddened sand in black coagulated chunks.

  For the occasion, the beach had been raked clear of countless dead fish and sea birds. Except near the shorelines, most of the surface of the oceans had become a huge scab, which heaved and ebbed with the motion of the sea of blood beneath it, and which now crawled with maggots as far as the eye could see.

  As the sun began to set, Robert Milner, eyes still closed, rose to his feet. Holding his hands straight out from his sides, he began to walk toward the sea. Cameras transmitted the scene around the world as, just short of the waves, Milner stopped. Frozen in that position, he waited for the first full moment of twilight, then shouting as loudly as he could, he proclaimed his purpose and his commission.

  “In the name of the Light Bearer, and of his son, Christopher, and in the name of myself and those with me, and all of Humankind, I declare my independence and my defiance of Yahweh, the god of sickness and disease and death and oppression! We will not yield to you! We will not submit to you! We will not bow to you! We declare our freedom from you! We spit upon you and upon your name!”

  Then reaching back with both his hands, he hurled the six quartz crystals as far out into the sea as he could, where they landed on the floating congealed mass with a muffled thud. As the sea rolled, it was possible to catch the glint from the spheres as they lay scattered on the huge scab. At first it seemed as though nothing had happened. But quickly it became clear that the light that came from the crystals wasn’t a reflection of the setting sun or camera spotlights but rather was radiating from the orbs themselves. And the light was growing.

  Excitement filled the crowd as slowly the sickening mass of maggots and blood began to smoke and burn and the spheres melted through and sank out
of sight. Suddenly, beneath the orbs, the sea began to churn and glow until the area around it shone like a full moon. Then in all directions at once, and radiating out at unbelievable speed, the light erupted, changing the bloody sea back into water. In just seconds, the transformation traveled the length of the occupied beach and, as the waves washed the shore, the hardened lumps melted away.[127]

  On the beach, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause and a triumphant cheer filled the evening sky and rose defiantly to heaven, as the cleansing swell continued to spread. Traveling at a speed of nearly a thousand miles per hour, the purifying wave stayed just within the twilight of the setting sun as it rolled over the seas of the Earth like a gentle blanket. Robert Milner turned and raised his hands in triumph and after a moment, though bearing at least a dozen lesions, he pulled his robes up over his head, and turned and ran naked into the sea. Many followed, shedding their clothing where they stood. All but a handful of the most hardy quickly turned back as the salty waves washed over their lesions, causing unbearable pain.

  Within twenty-four hours the transformation traveled around the world and the seas returned to normal, though nothing could restore the sea life that had perished.

  Chapter 14

  Steadfast

  Sunday, June 20, 4 N.A.

  Derwood, Maryland

  Decker opened his eyes and looked at the clock beside his bed: 9:34 am. Another night had passed in the eastern United States, and the greater part of the day had passed in Babylon, and yet still there was no call from Christopher. Two full weeks had passed since the call to Jackie and Milner, and except for a call to Debbie Sanchez to say he’d be gone “longer than expected,” he’d had no contact with anyone from the UN. Sooner or later, he knew Christopher would contact him and he would have to give some explanation for his absence, not to mention explaining why he had not yet taken the communion. He still didn’t know what he would say. It had been one thing to lie to Milner, though he still wondered if Milner really believed him. It would be quite another to try to hide the truth from Christopher.

  What was the truth, though? Decker still hadn’t decided. He couldn’t ignore the dream in Petra. It wasn’t just that Christopher had hesitated when Decker asked about Tom. It was the look of indifference on his face — as though he truly didn’t care whether Tom got out of there or not. It was as though he told Decker where Tom was only because he knew Decker wouldn’t leave without him. The image haunted and tormented him. But while he couldn’t ignore the dream, neither could he ignore more than twenty years of knowing Christopher as intimately as anyone could have. He struggled to find an explanation.

  Perhaps, he thought, perhaps the dream in Petra was not identical to the dream in Lebanon after all! He tried to compare the two in his memory and they seemed identical, but how could he be sure? Perhaps in the second dream his imagination had added the expression of indifference to Christopher’s face, and now, as he looked back through the years, his mind had transposed the image to the events of the first dream as well.

  Then a new possibility occurred to him: Maybe it wasn’t his imagination at all!

  Maybe Rosen had used his telepathic abilities to plant the image in his head! Almost as quickly, it hit him: Maybe Rosen or some other member of the KDP had done the same sort of thing to Tom, planting the idea in Tom’s mind to kill Christopher! Is that what this was all about? Could Rosen have altered Decker’s memory and let him leave Petra only to betray Christopher?

  Maybe that was why they kidnapped him in the first place, and the indoctrination by Rosen was either to soften him up or was just a front to hide the KDP’s real purpose.

  Maybe at the proper moment some other latent image would be recalled that would compel him to believe that he had to kill Christopher! Would history repeat itself? Was he destined to again play the role of Judas the betrayer?

  But what could Rosen hope to gain? If Christopher were killed again, then surely he’d once again be resurrected. Or perhaps he wouldn’t. There was no way to know how many times Christopher could die and come back. Maybe it only worked once. Or possibly Rosen and the KDP were simply trying to get Christopher out of the way temporarily so they could launch some larger plan. After all, the murderous madness had struck while Christopher lay dead for three days. Perhaps this time they were devising a scheme to kill everyone.

  The real question, Decker realized, was who was the monster?

  If the dream was accurate and Christopher was simply going to let Tom remain a hostage in Lebanon because he was insignificant to his plans, then Christopher was indeed the monster that the KDP made him out to be, and Decker had found the one flaw in Christopher’s otherwise perfect performance.

  On the other hand, if the dream had been altered by Rosen and the KDP, then it was Decker himself who was the monster — a time bomb waiting to explode and hurl the planet back into a dark age of subservience to a tyrannical despot who would reduce humans to the level of cattle.

  He held his head in his hands and let out a low moan. He wished there was a benevolent God that he could pray to for wisdom and then trust the answer. The only thing that seemed relatively certain was that, until he could straighten this all out, the best thing to do for both himself and for Christopher was to stay where he was.

  Decker rubbed his eyes and realized that his mental distraction had either caused or else, until now, obscured a rather significant headache. Going into the bathroom to take some aspirin, he turned on the faucet to allow the water to cool while he attended to another pressing bodily need. His mind momentarily drifted back to the silent telephone, but from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of unexpected color. Looking over at the sink, he saw that the water flowing from the faucet had taken on a definite pink hue that grew quickly darker as he watched. By the time he finished relieving his bladder, the water was bright red. “Oh, no!” he said out loud, as he grasped its likely meaning. Out of habit, he reached to flush, but then jerked his hand back as if the toilet handle had become a venomous snake.

  He turned off the faucet and ran to the live-net monitor in his bedroom. It took only a moment to confirm his fears. As the picture changed to show scenes from numerous locations, the anchorman summarized the story. Throughout the world, all fresh water supplies, all rivers and springs, all lakes and ponds and reservoirs and wells fed by rivers or springs, had turned to blood.[128] The only sources of fresh water that remained were those that were detached or sealed off, such as water towers and holding tanks at water treatment plants.

  Decker ran back to the bathroom and removed the cover from the back of the toilet. As he expected, the water inside was still clear. By not flushing, he had preserved two-gallons of clear water. With the toilet downstairs, that gave him four gallons. Going next to the refrigerator and pantry, he quickly inventoried everything suitable for drinking. In the refrigerator, there was about half a gallon of milk and three one liter bottles of soda. In the freezer, the ice maker was full of ice that Decker estimated could be melted down to a little less than half a gallon. In the pantry he found only a bottle of tequila. In all, he estimated that he had about six gallons of liquid suitable for drinking. Then, realizing that the next time the icemaker took in water it would instead get blood, Decker ran to the laundry room to turn off the main.

  When he returned to the live-net, the scene had changed to the parking lot of a supermarket in Virginia. A woman’s body lay on the pavement in a pool of blood, surrounded by police tape to keep back onlookers. Assuming that the report was of a simple homicide, Decker was at first surprised that the media’s attention had so quickly shifted to this from the more important story of the fresh water turning to blood. The reporter explained the connection. The water had changed during the early morning, and most grocery stores had sold out of all bottled water, milk, and other drinks within a half hour of opening. Even canned vegetables like green beans and corn were bought up for the water in the cans. Some who arrived late at the stores panicked, and fights ha
d broken out over what little was left. At this supermarket in Virginia, two women had fought in the store over a gallon of milk. The woman who lost the battle left the store, went to her car, and retrieved a gun. Waiting for the other woman to leave the store, she followed her to her car, shot her three times in the back of the head and then fled. A few feet from the lifeless body lay the remains of the plastic milk bottle, which had broken open when it hit the ground.

  Keeping or obtaining water quickly became the full time occupation of everyone, for though fresh blood can be drunk,[129] even this became impossible as bacteria quickly filled the rivers and springs, turning them into open cesspools of disease and stench. Those who in desperation broke through the scabbed over surface to the blood flowing below either turned away in revulsion or, if they did drink, quickly vomited it up, thus losing additional body fluid and worsening their dehydration.

  Resourceful people devised ways to collect water. Where rain fell, people put out pots, pans, and bowls to catch whatever they could. Others rigged sheets of plastic or bed sheets, gathering the rain into the middle, then into a pan.

  Public service programs told where and how to find water. In addition to toilet tanks, small amounts of fresh water could be found in recently used garden hoses. The programs also told how to collect water condensed by air conditioners or from drip pans in refrigerators. By leaving the refrigerator door ajar, it was possible to condense as much as two quarts a day, except in areas of low humidity. In coastal areas public warnings were repeated every half hour not to drink seawater because the salt would actually absorb more body fluids than the water would replenish. Instead, seawater could be boiled and then condensed on a cold surface and collected. One very productive method was to place an electric skillet or Crockpot in the refrigerator and boil the seawater. The steam then condensed on the refrigerator’s wall and ran down into the drip pan. Literally gallons could be collected by this method in a few hours and many near the coasts set up business, charging incredible prices to eager buyers.