Mission Trip_Genesis and Exodus

by John Theo Jr.

  He turned the corner toward the stairs and nearly tripped over the body of the dead patient lying on the floor draped with a dirty blanket. The two orderlies sat on the floor next to the body taking some sort of coffee break. When they saw Kyle, they stood to attention. He glanced one final time at the body and rushed down the stairs and exited onto the street. The foul, humid air made him blink, and he walked into a middle-aged man on makeshift crutches, knocking him over.

  The man stared up at Kyle, the pain in his eyes replaced by fear. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, as if Kyle held the power of life and death.

  Kyle helped the man back up. “I’m sorry. Here, I’m a doctor. Let me look at your leg.”

  He kneeled onto the sidewalk and lifted up the tattered pant leg. He lowered a dirty sock, and the rancid smell hit him before the sight. It was another foot infected with gangrene. Kyle raised the sock and helped the man up.

  “Is it bad, doc?” the man asked. “Is it bad?” he repeated.

  Kyle wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his clean military shirt.

  The guard inside the building stepped out. He held up an antique AR-15 rifle and pointed it toward the crowd. They all stepped back a pace or two. “Who’s next?” he shouted.

  The man hobbled past Kyle. “I am.”

  “Wait,” Kyle shouted, but the man continued inside the building, pushing aside a younger man about to take his place.

  Kyle rushed after him, but the muscular guard held out a beefy hand, which Kyle ran into. It knocked the wind out of him, and he fell to his knees. Maria now stood in front of the entrance smiling down at him.

  “As I said doctor, if you want to live, then you need to recalibrate.”

  She extended a hand, but he did not take it. He rose and crossed the street to the broken-down building that Maria said was an abortion clinic. The line of young women was out the door and went around the corner. There must have been two hundred people in line. Some with large bellies revealing they were near the end of their third trimester. Hand-painted signs lined the side of the building. Some read, “Food for abortions”. Another read, “Automatic citizenship if you let us sterilize you.” And a final sign read, “Do your part to help the state.”

  Kyle pushed his way through the line and ripped the final sign off of the building. “What is wrong with you people?” No one responded. He could hear Maria take up step behind him as he walked down the line. “Wake up. You’re killing your children for food?”

  Maria chuckled behind him. “This is humane, Doctor Faison.”

  He swung around, broke the sign over his knee, and threw it down on either side of Maria. There were gasps from the crowd. “Humane? Seriously?”

  Maria pursed her lips. “We’ve caught some citizens eating their young. I suggest you table your outrage and naivety, and start paying attention to where you can affect change.”

  Kyle screamed and fell to his knees. “You people are insane!”

  “If you’re done with your temper tantrum, we can go back to HQ.”

  A minute later he had calmed down enough to stand back up. “You’re okay with your son going into medicine and treating people like this?”

  Maria started walking, and Kyle followed. “Maybe he’ll invent something to fix this mess,” she said.

  Kyle could not understand how a cold-hearted woman like Maria was capable of loving another human being. The way she treated sick individuals was a stark contrast to the way she talked about her healthy child. The hypocrisy was pathological. She was a devil incapable of love.

  They entered the building and reached Kyle’s room. Maria started to say something, but he shut the door in her face and went over and collapsed on the bed. There was a box of what appeared to be oats and some dried fruit on a small table. A pitcher of water sat next to it. He knew he should eat, but he gave in to exhaustion.

  A drawn out, muffled alarm from the hallway woke Kyle. It sounded like an air-raid drill from an old movie he had seen long ago. He tried the door and found it locked. There was no window in his room, so he could not tell what was happening outside. For the first time, he noticed the reinforced metal beams running along the ceiling. The walls were new concrete as well. There was a thump and an explosion somewhere outside. Dust from the concrete slab floor above floated down. Bombs were going off in the city. He put his ear to the exterior concrete wall and could hear muffled explosions. He had seen so much violence since landing on the shores of this country that this new crisis barely raised his pulse.

  “Your will be done, Lord,” he said, sitting down at the table for a drink of water.

  More rumbles shook the room as if a counterattack to his prayer. Something loud exploded several floors above. For the first time in his life, Kyle started to feel claustrophobic. What he wouldn’t give to be miles away, in a quiet forest outside the city. A place Christ would have gone for prayer and rest.

  The door to his room unlatched and opened. Maria stood wearing a battle helmet and bulletproof vest. She pulled another helmet out of a rucksack and tossed it at Kyle. He caught it with one hand.

  “Come with me,” she said. “We’re under attack from New America.”

  Kyle followed her down several flights of stairs. Soldiers and what appeared to be first responders in overalls similar to Maria's rushed past them. Each time they made way for Maria and Kyle to pass by. The poor lighting in the building flickered, then went out. They passed the main level where the front doors had been shut and reinforced with metal shutters. Maria continued to descend to a lower level.

  “Where are we going?” Kyle asked.

  “Safe bunker. You got a big job waiting for you.”

  They descended one more flight before exiting into a stone hallway that looked like it belonged in a medieval castle. Chemical sticks dropped into glass mason jars lined the walls in makeshift sconces. They approached a massive steel door. Maria pulled a revolver from the rucksack and used it to tap on the door three times. A small eye-level piece slid aside, then closed. The door swung out with a groan.

  Huxley faced them in a full battle outfit of body armor. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. He waved them in. Kyle stepped into what appeared to be a natural cavern with stalactites reaching down like claws from a twelve-foot ceiling. Computers and large screens lined the rough walls, and a massive center table housed a couple of dozen techs working at computer stations. It was the most technology Kyle had seen since entering the city.

  Someone pushed him from behind. Huxley’s voice followed with the word, “Move.”

  In the far corner, a bright light shone down on a table with a patient on it. Kyle and Maria moved toward the space where several medical staff appeared to be prepping a half-naked man; the long legs hanging over the average-sized table revealed that it was Charles.

  Chapter Sixteen

  New York Subway System 2040

  Josiah floated in and out of consciousness for what seemed like days. He stayed curled in a fetal position as tight as possible. A pair of hands touched him and he tried to scream, but had no voice left. He tried to curl into a tighter ball. More hands joined in, and darkness rushed upon him. He awoke as a warm, wet towel wiped his face. Caked blood was scraped away to allow his eyes to open. A room with a light came into view, along with a blurry figure.

  He swallowed and croaked out the words, “Kill me. Please.”

  “You're not going to die today,” came a voice.

  Josiah could not tell if the person was a man or woman, friend or foe. He fell back into the darkness. From time to time more hands touched him. Warm hands. He didn't care anymore. He was rolled over, painful shots were injected, stitches administered. He could smell isopropyl alcohol being applied all over his body with towels. The smell reminded him of the cleanliness of an apartment he once had. It was spotless. He was not.

  “Mr. Saunders,” came a voice, “you need to sit up.”

  Josiah waved off the hand, refusing to open his eyes. The voice spoke again. It was a di
stant, familiar voice.

  A spark of curiosity forced an eye to open. He saw a tall blurry figure he assumed was a man. Someone who recognized his picture from media? They’d want money for rescuing him. The other eye opened and the figure came into focus. It was a young, handsome man. Someone he had known in a past life. The face was different now. It had a beard covering a square chin.

  “I know you,” Josiah croaked.

  The man grinned. “You fired me.” Josiah didn't respond. “I was your office manager at Spotlight News, Clarke Simmons,” the man said.

  “My humiliation is complete.” Josiah coughed. Clarke lifted Josiah’s head and brought a warm cup of tea to his mouth. The effort alone was like running five miles. Josiah collapsed back onto whatever he rested upon. A warm blanket was brought up to his chest, and he fell asleep.

  Dreams of explosions, body parts, and fire tortured Josiah's sleep. It was the choking and smoke that made him gasp loud enough to wake up. He was lying in a cot in a small dark room. He was naked under the sheet, covered with scars, burn marks, and bruising. Next to the cot on a small table were clean grey sweatpants and a zip-up, hooded sweatshirt. He found slippers on the floor. Attached to his arm was a saline drip. He pulled the line out and sat upright. Every part of his body ached. It took him an eternity to get dressed. He could only shuffle to the door due to the pain in his lower body. When he opened it, the light was so bright, it felt like his eyes were melting. He slammed the door shut, waited a minute, then opened it back up a crack.

  After a long, slow period of incremental light exposure, he was able to keep the door open. Facing him was a large, well-lit room with dozens of cots jammed in. A few people dressed in hospital scrubs walked around. He looked back at the room he came from. A sign on the door read Operating Room One. It resembled a small office more than an operating room. A young pretty blonde-haired woman came up to him. Josiah stepped back into the safety of the room.

  “Don't be afraid, Mr. Saunders. My name’s Faith and I'm here to help.”

  “Why?”

  “I'm sorry?” she said.

  “Why are you helping me?” he whispered.

  “It's not about just helping you. There are hundreds of thousands of people suffering in the city, billions around the world. God called me to help.”

  Josiah coughed. “Where was God when I needed him yesterday?”

  “Where were you when He called out to you for your entire life? And by the way, you've been unconscious for two days, not one. Now, may I come in and check your vital signs, please?”

  Josiah shuffled back to the cot and lowered himself into a seated position.

  “You have some minor burns, bruising, but no broken bones.” Faith pointed to the saline drip he had pulled out. “That saline is worth a lot of money. We have limited resources, and some of the nurses tried to talk Clarke and me from using it on you.”

  “I'll buy you a new one,” he said.

  Faith cleaned and reattached the saline to the clip in his forearm. “Mr. Saunders, I’m not sure you can go back to your former life. The world thinks you're dead. Your company had a hostile takeover from the Bradley Corporation. You were unrecognizable when Clarke found you while doing his rounds in the subway. Had he not known who you were, he would have taken you for another homeless rape victim.”

  The physical pain from his wounds blended with the hurt and anger he felt at being betrayed. Josiah was shocked when he started to cry.

  “You're alive,” she reminded him.

  The words meant nothing. There was a knock on the door. A moment later Clarke stuck his head in. “I saw that our patient is up. Any chance we can use this room?”

  Faith stared at Josiah. He lay down on the cot and pulled the blanket up to his mouth.

  She spoke to Clarke. “Give me a minute, sweetie.”

  Clarke shut the door and Josiah said, “Sweetie? You're dating that guy?”

  “Worse. I married him.”

  “I didn't see a ring on your finger.”

  “Mr. Saunders, even if Clarke could afford a ring I'd be inviting trouble by wearing it on the street. Now, are you going to work with me or do I have to carry you?”

  She took his vitals, and Josiah reluctantly rose up. He shuffled with the saline bag on a small dolly into the main area. The bright, cool cement room smelled of cheap food and body odor. Faith clipped the saline bag to his sweatshirt and led him to a far corner where soup was being given to a small line of people. He shuffled over to a small café table where Faith placed a pillow down for him to sit on. She left and a minute later returned with a cup of soup.

  “Eat it slowly.”

  After the first sip of the rice broth, his stomach announced just how hungry his body was and he started to eat faster.

  “Can I leave you alone for a bit?”

  Josiah waved her off.

  An elderly woman dressed in tattered clothes came over to sit across from him. She motioned to Clarke and his wife. “Those two are the hands and feet of Christ.” Josiah didn't respond. “You look familiar?”

  “I look like a lot of people,” he grumbled.

  “You look like you've been through hell.”

  “You can't imagine.”

  “Unfortunately, you don't need an imagination these days.”

  Josiah lifted the soup cup to his lips and dumped the remaining contents into his mouth.

  The woman slid her cup over to him. “Here.”

  He took it without a word and drank it down like a cup of water.

  “You're not from around here, are you?”

  Josiah ignored the question and rose to make his way back over to the food line. Clarke was just exiting the operating room Josiah had been in. He was wearing a paper coverall with blood spots on it. A young black man jumped up from a far table and rushed over to meet him. Clarke's wife saw him and ran from across the room. All three entered back into the operating room. An hour later Clarke came out alone. He approached Josiah, who was at a sink trying to wash his hands for the fifth time.

  “You scrub your hands any more than that you'll tear the skin off.” Josiah did not respond. “I've pieced together what happened to you from the pirated news and the way I found you. Hostile takeover from a competitor.”

  “Hostile is an understatement.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  Josiah shrugged and continued washing his hands. After a long pause, he spoke in a calm voice. “I’m going to kill everyone involved.”

  “And that will make you feel better how?”

  Josiah shut the faucet off using a paper towel to touch the knob. “It’s what’s keeping me alive.”

  “Revenge?”

  “Yes.”

  Clarke shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re alive, but I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Tell me, Office Manager Simmons, then why am I alive?”

  “It’s former office manager, and I don’t know yet, but my gut tells me it’s for something greater than simply revenge.” He lifted his watch. “Do you have anywhere to go? A house somewhere?”

  “Not yet,” Josiah said.

  “A bunch of us are leaving for the night. You're welcome to stay here.”

  He glanced around at the overcrowded space. “Here?”

  “You’ll be safe. We travel in groups through the subway system and—”

  “We're still in the subway system?”

  “Yeah,” Clarke said, pointing to a steel door at the end of the room. “We leave one or two people on staff here at night and bolt the door from the inside. We only have a short window of time to leave before it gets too dangerous to travel.”

  “I won’t stay here.”

  “Can I take you somewhere? Back to a friend’s home?”

  Josiah shook his head. He had no friends. He had no family. “I can't stay here,” he repeated.

  “Wait a second.” Clarke walked over to his wife, and they talked for a minute. She did not seem happy when he left her
to return to Josiah’s side. “You can come with us.”

  “Your wife's expression tells me a different story.”

  “She's still upset about the way you fired me.”

  “I don't blame her.”

  “She’ll be fine. C'mon, you’re coming home with us.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Outskirts of New Sacramento 2077

  Landon used the zoom function on the goggles to get a closer look at New Sacramento. In the distance, he could make out the shells of buildings that were once booming hubs in the metropolis. Now they were broken and empty-looking, like scars on the landscape. The vegetation had grown up around the structures to make the charred concrete and metal seem like part of the natural surroundings. Some buildings had a small plume of smoke on the upper floors signifying life, but most appeared abandoned.

  Makeshift huts and homes built out of wood, metal, and repurposed materials littered what used to be a highway system. Ancient gas-powered vehicles cluttered the countryside. Warm globs of red appeared on Landon’s goggles showing that masses of people roamed areas surrounding the structures.

  An hour before sunrise, Nova pinged Landon’s data pad.

  “Go ahead.”

  “All of the drones have returned and are being recharged. None picked up Kyle’s signature. I am sorry.”

  The words seemed to be an antidote to the little hope he held on to. “How’s Jane?”

  “She is sleeping at the moment. Her heart rate and blood pressure are normal. However, I have not detected much REM sleep.”

  “Don’t wake her.”

  “How are you?” Nova asked.

  “I’m hunkering down for a few hours to get some sleep.”

  “Be safe.”

  “Thanks, darling.”

  Something flew by Landon’s head with a whoosh. In one motion he dropped to a crouch and swung the rifle up into a firing position.

  The last drone had returned and was heading back to the sled to recharge. He lowered the rifle and exhaled. Information relayed from the drone crept across his forearm data pad. A myriad of lines of information revealed things he did not care about. It was intel on air pollution, remnant radiation, and population density in certain areas. Just before he shut the screen off, a red dot appeared. He tapped it and Kyle’s signature popped up with a word next to it. Identified.