Sons of Thunder

by Bowen Greenwood

Government captivity was boring. Connor was stuck in a room that held only a table, two chairs, a locked steel door, and a black upside-down dome on the ceiling. Connor figured that had to house a surveillance camera. It seemed much more efficient to him than the old-fashioned business of hiding behind a mirror.

  The officers who detained him had put him in the back seat of a car, driven him to McCarran Airport, and loaded him aboard a dark olive-colored helicopter. They blindfolded him, and they flew for what felt like an hour. Then, without removing the blindfold, they brought him to this room. Only once he was here did they let him see.

  Connor sat on one of the two chairs. All of his previous reassurances to himself that he had done nothing wrong seemed hollow now. He’d been sitting there for what he thought was at least an hour. It was hard to tell. He’d left his phone at home that morning, and he didn’t wear a watch. There was no clock in the room. He tried pounding on the door, but he got no response.

  Now, he sat on one of the hard metal folding chairs, reliving his adventure from the previous night. He had talked himself into believing that it was stupid to have thrown himself in front of the girl. If he’d just been a coward, none of this would have happened.

  He had no idea where Lincoln was. He assumed his friend and roommate was in a separate room like this one. If they were going to be interrogated about events at the convenience store the night before, it would make sense to keep them apart and see if their stories differed.

  At long last, the door opened.

  The woman who clomped into the room was short and middle-aged. Although certainly not overweight, her body was that of a woman who prioritized strength, not beauty. She had gray hair that she wore in a short style above her neck and around her head. She had a strong jaw and large nose. She sat down at the table across from Connor and said, “Good morning, Mr. Merritt. My name is Maven Flake. I’m the Agent in Charge for this program. I’d like to talk to you about your experience at the convenience store last night.”

  He had been rehearsing for this ever since the federal agents met him at his apartment complex and brought him here. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have run away. I was scared. I mean, who cares if they miss? It still scares the daylights out of you to have a gun shot at you, right? I mean, I was just totally freaked out.”

  She nodded and replied, “Please go through the whole story. I’d like to hear your perspective on the whole thing.”

  Connor blinked. He had been expecting to be called out or questioned about the lie – or implied lie. He hadn’t actually said that they missed him. He just said it would scare him if someone shot at him and missed.

  He retold the whole story, from walking into the store to get some ice cream until he ran out. The only point where he deviated from the facts was, of course, telling Agent Flake that all the bullets had missed him. He knew that was not true. She took notes for the whole time, grunting under her breath and nodding at appropriate places.

  When he was finished, she reached into the briefcase by her side and pulled out a tablet computer. Rather than the sleek bezel and glass design so common in most of them, this had thick, armored edges. It was as if it had been built for battlefield use, rather than the couch.

  She tapped an icon, a video started playing, and then she turned the tablet around until Connor was looking at it right-side up. It was obviously video from the security cameras at the convenience store the night before.

  At the point in the video where he got shot, there was no question about exactly what happened. The distance between the criminal and him was too small. His sudden jerking back and hands going to his gut was too blatant. Even though the entire screen seemed to white out at the moment of each gunshot because of the sudden bright flash, it was obvious he truly had been shot.

  Connor felt his cheeks flushing red at being caught in a lie. It made him feel defensive.

  “Can I have the story one more time please?” Flake asked. “From the beginning.”

  “Look, what do you expect me to say? The guy shoots a gun at me however many times and nothing happens! Nothing! How’s a guy supposed to process that? Of course I said he missed me. How else am I supposed to explain it? I’m not crazy and saying I’m bulletproof is pretty darn crazy.”

  Flake nodded. Surprisingly, there was a bit of sympathy apparent in her facial expression. “Mr. Merritt, no one is going to call you crazy here. No one is accusing you of any crime. We just want to find out exactly what happened. Please tell me.”

  “Sure feels like I’m being accused of a crime, though. I’ve been held here all morning, and this room’s the next thing to a prison cell.”

  “This facility is not a prison. This room is just an interrogation room. It’s pretty secure because we keep people who might be dangerous in here, but you’re not in prison by any means. Please just tell me the story again.”

  Connor bulled ahead with his questions, though. “So you think I’m dangerous? You keep me in a room for people who might be dangerous and then try to tell me I’m not accused of a crime and no one thinks I’m crazy? What’s going on here? Why does the FBI care about a tiny little failed robbery anyway? And where’s Lincoln?”

  “Mr. Merritt, please calm down. Your roommate is in a separate room answering questions exactly like you are. You two will get to see each other soon. You’re not in any danger from us, and you’re not accused of any crime. This is all standard procedure for situations like these.”

  Connor seized on the last phrase. “Situations like these? What do you mean? I can’t imagine there are other guys out there who got shot and nothing happened. Are there?”

  Instead of answering his question, Maven Flake stood up from behind the table. “Dealing with eighteen-year-olds is the hardest part of my job. It’s all emotion, no thinking. I’ll come back and try again in a little bit, Mr. Merritt. Please try to calm yourself.”

  When the federal agent was gone, Connor got up from his chair and paced the room. He began to feel guilty for being so uncooperative but the interview did raise a heck of a lot of questions. What did she mean, “Situations like these?

  After what felt like an hour with no further contact, he was standing up and practicing one particular combination of offensive punches and strikes that he’d need to know for his next degree black belt.

  That lasted a while, and then he grew bored and started pacing.

  That was the moment that two other people appeared in the room.

  “Appeared” was the only word that covered it. They certainly didn’t come through the door. Connor had been pacing back and forth. He turned toward the door, walked toward it until he almost ran into it, and turned around to walk back toward the back of the room. And in front of him were a man just past middle age and a red-haired girl about Connor’s age.

  Connor stopped in his tracks and a startled exclamation exploded out of his mouth.

  “Shhh,” the girl said, holding a finger to her lips.

  They literally appeared out of thin air. Connor stood there staring, struck dumb. His mind was still trying to process what his eyes were telling it.

  There was a clever gleam in the girl’s eyes, as if she were figuring out some practical joke at his expense. Her straight, neck-length hair caught the light from the harsh florescent bulbs overhead. She was very tense as she stood, as if ready to leap in any direction if she heard the slightest sound. She was slender, wore jeans and a black t-shirt, and had a small nose that seemed to turn up slightly at the end.

  She was beautiful. Connor couldn’t let go of the idea that it’s only in daydreams where a gorgeous woman materializes right in front of your eyes.

  The man beside her had hair evenly mixed between black and gray. The navy blue suit he wore fit his athletic frame perfectly. There was a quiet dignity about him, like an English butler who might bring out a tea tray at any minute. Where the girl was nervous and tightly coiled, the man wore a gentle smile. An air of peace and calm seemed to come off him in waves. When he spoke
, the tone of his voice was strong and gentle, deep and smooth.

  “Good morning, Mr. Merritt. Are you enjoying your time as a guest of the government?”

  “Who the heck are you? How did you get in here? What’s going on?” Connor’s reply came out of him as he backed up, hands in front of him defensively.

  “My name is Ethan Moses. I’m here to offer you freedom.”

  Connor wasn’t ready to go beyond his initial questions yet. “How are you here? There’s one door. It’s locked. What’s happening here?”

  “Your curiosity is natural. Time, however, is a commodity in limited supply. Your interrogator will return in mere moments. You do not have to be here when that happens.”

  “What, by magic?”

  “No. By the work of God.”

  Connor coughed. He blinked a few times. “Come again?”

  “Surely you have not been away from God for so long that you’ve forgotten what a miracle is?”

  “Look, that’s crazy. You’re trying to tell me you can do miracles?”

  Ethan smiled at him. “Of course not. I’m trying to tell you God can. Come with me, and I’ll tell you more.”

  Between the government hinting at things and then this twilight zone episode of people appearing in the room even though the door was locked, Connor felt like he was losing his mind.

  He said, “This is crazy! First a guy shoots at me and nothing happens. Then I’ve got people trying to tell me they can just zip me out of a room without going through the door? I want to know what’s going on.”

  Ethan Moses spoke, and the bass notes of his voice seemed to smooth over and tamp down the rising edge of panic in Connor’s voice.

  “Have you not read in the Bible where Jesus promised that those who came after him and believed in him would do greater things than he did? What if that promise came true in your lifetime, Mr. Merritt? In a way no one had ever expected?

  “We can get you out of here. Do you remember the story of Phillip, baptizing the Ethiopian and then being instantaneously transported to a different city? And do you remember the story of Jesus suddenly being in the room when all the doors were closed?”

  Mr. Moses gently laid his hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Remember the story of Paul, when his opponents thought they had stoned him to death, but he got back up? Is it so unbelievable that someone flung modern day stones at you and you walked away?

  “God is doing something new, Mr. Merritt. He’s fulfilling a promise that his people have long forgotten. He has done it for me. He has done it for Ms. Wales here.” He nodded at the red-haired girl. “And he has done it for you, Mr. Merritt.”

  Moses concluded, “God’s promises are always kept. Why should those I mentioned be any different?”

  Outside the room’s lone door, all three of them heard footsteps.

  The girl – Ms. Wales, apparently – said, “We have to go, Mr. Moses!” She gripped the old man’s hand tightly.

  “Indeed, Mr. Merritt. We have expended all the time that belongs to us. Take Ms. Wales’ hand. Let us leave.”

  It was a very pretty hand, and Connor very much wanted to take it, but this whole thing was so out of this world…

  “This is crazy!”

  The footsteps outside the door came nearer.

  “The time for that is past, Mr. Merritt,” said Moses. A tight urgency entered his voice, reducing the smooth, calm quality it had held before.

  “Mr. Merritt. You’re too young to understand what it means for you to stay here! You must act now, or the chance will be gone.”

  The older man paused for a moment to give Connor a chance to respond. Connor found it harder to accept his offer after that crack about being too young.

  Finally, Ethan Moses said, “If you won’t come, you can find us on the top floor of Sol Tower in Las Vegas.”

  The older man squeezed Ms. Wales’ hand. She held out her other one, offering it to Connor. He had never before longed to hold someone’s hand so badly.

  “Take my hand,” she said. “I hate to abandon people who need help. Let me help you. I can at least get you out of here, even if I can’t…”

  The sound of footsteps outside the door became a handle turning.

  Connor’s mouth opened and closed, looking for the right words. He wanted to follow her. He wanted to hold her hand. But he wanted his world to be normal again. As attractive as she was, taking her hand to be transported out of the room by a miracle from God, or whatever, seemed like choosing the path where people got shot and weren’t hurt or where people teleported. It didn’t seem like choosing common sense and ordinary life, and those were the things Connor wanted most of all.

  When he didn’t do as she had asked and take her hand, he saw a flash of anger and exasperation on her face. Then Ethan Moses and the girl were gone, as suddenly and as unexplainably as they had entered.

  Maven Flake came back into the room.

  Connor stared at her. He looked over his shoulder, to where the two other people had just been standing.

  “Did you…”

  But how would he ask? Should he say, “Did you see two people just disappear from here?” If she already thought he was crazy, that would seal it. And she might just accuse him of trying to escape.

  Connor couldn’t bring himself to say anything to her about his visitors. Had they even been real? Had he made the right choice, not to escape from federal custody? It seemed like the kind of thing a law abiding citizen would do. It seemed like the most normal thing to do. But that girl… that beautiful, red-haired girl…

  Flake sat down at the table and looked at Connor expectantly until he, too, sat down.

  “Let’s pick up where we left off, shall we Mr. Merritt? Would you like to tell me what happened in the convenience store last night?”

  With a sigh, Connor launched into the full story. As he talked, he tried to decide what he was going to say when he got to the part about the gun going off. How could he talk about that?

  He didn’t know what to believe. He didn’t know if the redhead and the old man with her were even real.

  God doing something new? Doing greater things than Jesus did? Why would God pick me? I haven’t been to church in five years!

  And yet, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him, You did pray right before the gunshot. You asked for help.

  When he got to that part of the story, Connor said, “I saw and heard the gun go off. I knew I had been shot, but there wasn’t any real pain and when I looked, there was no blood. There were no holes in my body.”

  With a final wordless prayer, and a gulp and a catch in his voice, Connor said, “It was a miracle.”

  Flake looked at him. “OK, well at least a miracle is closer to believable than trying to claim all those shots missed. I think there’s some kind of scientific explanation, though.”

  Connor shrugged. “That would be OK with me. I’d like to have something to hold onto, to explain what happened. I’d like to have something logical.”

  The lines around Flake’s eyes crinkled as a grin spread across her lips. “Good. Then I assume you’d have no objection to a battery of tests?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Connor realized he’d been caught. The idea of being a government test subject scared him. He didn’t like the thought of laying in some kind of medical facility with wires coming off every inch of his body while scientists drew blood and measured everything about him. However, he was telling the truth earlier. If there was some kind of logical explanation for what happened, he wanted to have it. The idea that God had made him immune to bullets was all fine and good, but it was a bit distant from everyday life. He needed something with a bit more common sense.

  Of course, Ethan Moses and the beautiful girl who traveled with him had materialized out of thin air. If that had been real, maybe God really could give him impenetrable skin?

  On the other hand, the more logical explanation was that he had hallucinated the whole thing. In which case, maybe some
government tests would help him understand what was going on.

  Flake pulled a small attaché case onto the table and took out a big sheaf of documents, nearly an inch thick. She set them in front of him, along with a felt tip pen.

  “Read that and sign it,” she said, and stood up from the chair. She walked out of the room.

  Connor made a diligent effort to read the paperwork, but there were so many pages of legalese, in such dense font, and saying so much that didn’t seem relevant at all, that eventually he gave up. He signed and dated the last page.

  When Flake came back, she gave a curt nod as she picked up the signed forms. Through the door, a doctor followed her in moments later. At least, he was dressed in scrubs and a lab coat, and Connor assumed he was a doctor. The doctor passed him one of the famously humiliating paper garments that hospitals give patients.

  “This is Doctor Kale,” Agent Flake said.

  “Put that on,” the doctor said. “When you’ve changed, knock on the door.”

  Both he and Flake left, and Connor stood there staring at the flimsy, incomplete-looking scrap of clothing.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Forcing himself past the questions that rose up within him, Connor peeled out of his khakis and oxford and put on the test garment.

  After only one timid rap on the door, he came out. Flake was gone, but her doctor friend led him down the hall. Connor didn’t know why, but he felt like they were heading deeper into the facility.

  The doctor led him into a room. It was not that different from an examining room that anyone might sit in while visiting the doctor. Once inside, the doctor picked up a hypodermic syringe.

  He said, “Let me have your arm please.”

  Rather than comply, Connor asked, “Hang on! What are you injecting me with?”

  “It’s a harmless radioactive dye,” he replied.

  Connor said, “Hang on! Radioactive? That word and ‘harmless’ don’t usually go together very well.”

  “Trust me Mr. Merritt,” the doctor replied. “This same thing is used in every MRI that’s ever been done. Besides, you consented to it in the forms you signed.”