The Rejected - Episode 1 of 9 (Urban Fantasy Dystopian Serial)

by N. X. Roberts

  Chapter 9

  I do not hear the ambulance coming because all I can distinguish is a constant ringing in my ears. I manage to make out its silhouette through my scarlet colored, swollen eyes. I’m afraid to take my gaze away from Nanny again, who lay lifeless on the grass. She is pale and limp. Two pairs of powerful hands pull me away from her so that they can examine and resuscitate her. I can’t move from where I stand. I watch as her body is hauled onto the stretcher of the ambulance. There is nothing I can do to help my grandmother. Everyone looks on with a sense of foreboding for my Nanny as well as the other injured.

  Sister Margret is inconsolable. She is lying on the front lawn, yelling her daughters’ name and slapping her belly. Onlookers tried to soothe her and cover her thighs which are now exposed from the tortured jerking movements she makes. Tears streak down her dirty face, her lips trembling in agony. Two of her daughters died from the same bomb that killed our preacher.

  My mind goes to Father Lamont and the look in his eyes as he died. I glance through the large hole at the front of our temple and see his charred remains. Father Lamont was a pillar of this community. Who would want to harm him? There is no sign of anyone who could have done this. The person, who was injured from the grenade Nanny returned outside, was nowhere to be found.

  The temple compound is crawling with the media, sector guards, crime scene investigators, medical examiners, forensic scientists and fire-fighters. The fire men were able to get a hold of the raging blaze before long. It seemed like the entire sumudral would be lost because the structure fast became ash. The wind carries the thick black smoke to neighboring buildings and everyone came outside to view the spectacle. The media got most of the action on camera and did a few interviews with sumudral members.

  “Who do you think could have done this to your sumudral?” A young reporter asked the a deacon.

  “The Lord will reveal everything in due time. Just wait on the Lord. You will find the peace that passeth all understanding” Brother Mark seems to have been waiting for this moment for a long time. He squints his eyes and made wild hand movements as he shouted into the reporter’s recording device.

  “So you’re saying the Lord will reveal to you, the person who fire bombed the sumudral?”

  “We forgive whoever did this because the meek shall inherit the earth and no one is beyond forgiveness of the Lord. The good book says-”

  “Sir, do you think the Amani rebels are responsible for this attack?”

  He was preaching while she was asking the question. He has no idea how to answer her.

  “Let us pray. Oh Lord-”

  “I think we have all we need for now.” She rolls her eyes at him.

  Clearly out of patience with his inability to give a direct answer, and goes to one of the forensic fire experts to ask about the incendiary devices used in the attack.

  I already know it was a grenade. I saw it in my dream. It’s amazing to think that my dreams foretold these events but I know it sounds crazy. I would need to discuss it with my therapist.

  The press apparently had a theory about who did this but the Amani rebels were known for bombing clinics that administered PIT injections. This is the first I have heard of a sumudral bombing. It seems like the rebels were involved in all types of crime these days.

  An EMT taps me on the shoulder.

  “Would you like to ride with your grandmother to the hospital?”

  He is visibly tired and I suspect that this is not his first shift of work. I nod and he leads me to the ambulance, where Nanny is waiting in a stretcher. She is still unconscious with breathing equipment covering her nose and mouth. The van had the smell of sulfur and other strong chemicals. It stifles me, as I sit on the side bench. I focus on Nanny. She looks peaceful. She is a stark contrast to the woman who effortlessly threw around podiums and flung grenades at her enemy.

  The hospital ride is petrifying and can only be topped by the firebombing that just took place. My apprehension goes up a notch with every jolt that the moving vehicle makes. It’s hard seeing Nanny like this, strapped in to the stretcher. The other victims of the bombing said I needed to be strong for her. It’s true. I need to step up. Nanny was always the strong one. Taking charge of the situation and in some cases predicting it. Everyone in the sumudral owed Nanny their life. How did all of her courage get lost on me? In times of danger I shut down and retreated to my shell like a scared turtle. I wonder if I am capable of Nanny’s strength.

  My gaze never leaves her as I imagine a life without her.