Divided We Fall_A Post-Apocalyptic Novel of America's Coming Civil War

by Mark Goodwin

  “Okay! Wow! Thank you!” He held up his hands for the crowd to settle down.

  A couple stray whistles and a dying round of applause persisted as he began speaking. “I hope all that fanfare was for the worship team and not for me because—I’m not teaching tonight!”

  Sighs and moans of disappointment came from the congregation.

  “No, no. This is good! We’ve got a very special guest tonight. He called me up yesterday morning to say he was in town, and I told him he had to speak tonight. Most of you have heard of him, it’s David Braxton of Liberty Builders. With the upcoming election, it’s important that we vote our faith, so David is going to talk about our responsibility as Christians, not to vote for a party or a candidate, but to vote our values, which we get from the Word of God.

  “Let’s face it. Unless Jesus is on the ballot, we’re always going to be voting for the lesser of two evils. David is going to share with us what this election is going to mean for the freedom of religion, what it means for the 3,288 children murdered in American abortion clinics every day, and what the Supreme Court Justices nominated by the next administration will mean for many generations who come after us.

  “Please give a warm round of applause for David Braxton.” Pastor Rob clapped as Braxton walked out on the stage and took the podium, waving at the audience.

  Charity seemed to know exactly who the man was. She joined with roughly a fourth of the congregation in a standing ovation. Ava stood and clapped also. However, roughly fifty or sixty people left their seats and walked out during the extended applause.

  While the applause rumbled, Charity looked past Ava and whispered in her ear. “That cute guy is in our row again.”

  Ava glanced over at the young man sitting several seats down from hers. He was rugged, with hands that showed he worked for a living. He was six-feet tall, muscular, with short brown hair and a well-kept beard. He smiled at Ava when their eyes met. Her heart skipped a beat and she quickly turned away. She whispered to Charity as the clapping died out, and they returned to their seats. “So, ask him out.”

  Charity flashed her ring at Ava. “I’m engaged, but you’re not.”

  Ava rolled her eyes. “He’s single for a reason.”

  “Thank you so much,” David Braxton began. “It’s an honor to be here tonight. But I wish the information I’m bringing to you this evening wasn’t quite so dire. The good news is, we still have hope.

  “In the past fifty years, Atheism has replaced Christianity in the classroom. Television shows have aggressively pushed immoral lifestyles and taken the name of God in vain on a regular basis. Our constitutional free press has been hijacked by a political machine. And we are now witnessing the fallout of three generations of Americans who have been told that God is a myth and morality is relative; that right and wrong are not moral absolutes, but something each person has to decide for themselves.”

  As Braxton delivered his presentation, he worked like a prosecution lawyer, laying out the evidence against a deep-state agenda which had infiltrated the public and college school systems, mainstream media, and entertainment industry.

  The message was familiar territory for Ava. She kept up with news items which related to the subject.

  Braxton’s message changed course about twenty minutes into the speech. He began to place the blame of abortion squarely on the Church in America, and more specifically, the pastors in the pulpits who had failed to motivate their congregations to eradicate the practice through the ballot box.

  Suddenly, a girl near the back of the sanctuary yelled out, “My body!”

  Another woman on the opposite side of the room yelled out right after her, “My choice!”

  Braxton wasn’t intimidated. “What about the choice of that child? Who will speak for the unborn children? I’m all about freedom, but your freedom ends where that child’s life begins.”

  The two women began chanting together, “My body, my choice!”

  Charity said to Ava, “This is staged. These two women planned that.”

  “My body, my choice! My body, my choice! My body, my choice!”

  Braxton said, “Ushers, can you escort these two ladies out? It’s obvious that they have no interest in a fair debate.”

  Ushers from the rear of the sanctuary took the two women by the arms and helped the disrupters out while they continued their chant. “My body, my choice!”

  Once the women were out, David Braxton continued his presentation. But, five minutes later, he was interrupted by another member of the audience. This time it was a man who yelled out, “No fascist!”

  Someone else, a female sitting behind Ava and Charity yelled next. “No hate!”

  “No United States!” another man yelled.

  Ava turned around to see where all the commotion was coming from. “Sounds like Antifa.”

  Charity also turned around. “Yep.”

  Ushers were swarming the three new distracters who now chanted in unison, “No fascist, no hate—no United States! No fascist, no hate—no United States! No fascist, no hate—no United States!”

  Before the ushers could get the three protestors out, a symphony of people began chanting along. It was far more people than the ushers could deal with.

  “They’re all over the place. Must be twenty of them!” Ava said.

  Charity nodded as she looked around. “The sanctuary seats 3,800, so there could be quite a few more hidden around us.”

  Ava watched as the rugged bearded guy got up from his seat in an effort to assist the ushers with removing people.

  Suddenly, the sanctuary doors flew open and a horde of protestors began pouring into the auditorium. They all wore black pants, black hoodies with red bandanas over their mouth. Some of the bandanas were embellished with a white star or a white hammer and sickle. Four or five of the invaders held red and black flags. Others carried baseball bats, tire irons, or broomsticks. They all chanted, “No fascist, no hate—no United States! No fascist, no hate—no United States! No fascist, no hate—no United States!”

  Uneasiness and distress erupted within the congregation.

  “We need to get out of here!” Ava grabbed Charity and began pulling her from the row of seats toward the aisle.

  “And go where? They have the doors blocked!”

  Ava looked around. “We’re closest to the podium. We’ll go up on the stage, and get out through the door behind the curtain.” She hurried up the stairs of the stage, following behind David Braxton who was being escorted off the stage by Faith Chapel security.

  POW! A gun went off behind Ava causing her to stoop down. The crowd screamed in panic, and Ava began running toward the stage door nestled behind the long black curtain hanging from the roof of the auditorium. What sounded like an exchange of gunfire between multiple shooters rang out. The screaming and crying grew louder, interrupted periodically by more gunfire.

  She reached the door and pulled the handle, but nothing happened.

  “It’s locked! We’re trapped!” Charity cried out.

  Ava shook the door and yelled, “Help us! Let us in!”

  No one did.

  Ava looked behind her to see several Antifa members pushing around people from the congregation. More gunshots went off. Ava scanned the room to try identifying where the gunfire was coming from. She saw a gang of protestors descend on an area and appear to attack a single person. People were running for the exits, screaming, knocking each other over.

  A contingent of six protestors, still chanting amidst the chaos, began coming up the stairs of the stage toward Ava and Charity.

  “Quick, grab a mic stand.” Ava hurried toward the closest metal pole and pulled the mic out of it. She raised the heavy black base of the stand into the air, ready to swing it at the protestors if they came any closer.

  Charity stood behind Ava. “We can’t fight six people!”

  “They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do. We might not win, but we can at least make a couple of them regret it
.” She took a practice swing to find her balance.

  One of the protestors swung a wooden bat as if to intimidate Ava while he continued his chant. “No fascist, no hate—no United States!”

  Another Antifa member stepped forward with a crowbar, and another who threatened the girls with the bottom of the flagpole. Soon all six of them stood in a semicircle, blocking Ava and Charity while continuing their chant. The six masked agitators stepped closer like hungry wolves yet none of them seemed ready to take the first blow from Ava’s mic stand so the other five could pounce.

  Ava kept the base of the stand ready, watching the eyes of each of the protestors, trying to gauge who would attack first.

  What came next wasn’t what she anticipated. The neck of the hoodlum holding the ball bat snapped back, and he fell to the ground. She seized her opportunity and took a swing at the chest of the ruffian holding the crowbar. WHACK! The invader dropped the tool to the floor and fell to the ground crippled in pain.

  Unfortunately, she wouldn’t get a second swing. Another protestor grabbed the mic stand, keeping her from launching a subsequent assault.

  “Let go!” Ava raged as she pulled the metal pole.

  Charity screamed as the agitator with the flag used the pole to slam her into the locked stage door.

  CRACK! A ball bat struck the skull of the instigator with the flagpole, sending him to the ground.

  Ava and the protestor she was wrestling with both paused to see who’d swung the bat. It was the bearded guy who’d been sitting in Ava’s row.

  He’d evidently been the one responsible for taking out the hooligan with the ball bat. He’d re-appropriated the bat and swung again, knocking down yet another of the invaders. The two remaining protestors decided to retreat, but more were working their way up to the stage area.

  Ava watched as the guy from her row took out his wallet and waved it over the keycard sensor next to the stage door.

  The lock clicked and the bearded man jerked the door open. “Come on! Hurry!”

  Ava put her arm around Charity who was crying and pulled her through the door.

  The guy pushed the door closed and checked to make sure it had locked. “Follow me!”

  Ava held Charity’s hand as they jogged down a corridor to an illuminated red exit sign.

  The man with the beard shoved the door open and pointed toward the far end of the parking lot. “Get to the white Silverado!”

  “But I need to get to my car!” Charity’s face was twisted in distress.

  “I’ll take you to your car, once everything is under control.” The man still held the ball bat as he urged Ava and Charity to keep moving toward his truck.

  Ava and Charity jumped into the back seat of the crew-cab pickup.

  “I’m Foley.” He slammed the door and started the diesel engine.

  “Thank you for getting us out of there. I’m Charity, and this is Ava.”

  “That was some fast thinking using the mic stand as a weapon.” Foley raced his truck toward the exit gate.

  “You took out most of them,” Ava replied. “Nice hero act, anyways.”

  “Is that supposed to be a thank you?” Foley dialed 911 on his phone.

  “Thanks.” She held onto the handle above her window. “I guess.”

  He put the phone on speaker and drove with both hands.

  An automated voice came from the phone. “All emergency operators are busy at the moment. Someone will be with you shortly. Please remain on the line.”

  “Seriously? 911 is busy?” Charity protested.

  “Everyone from Faith Chapel is probably calling right now.” Foley cut the wheel hard onto the main road and sped away from the church.

  Ava turned around to look out the back. “Smoke! Something’s burning. It looks like it’s coming from the front lot. It’s a ton of smoke!”

  “Who do you think was shooting?” Charity asked.

  “Both sides probably. I’m sure some people in the congregation had concealed weapons. And I’m sure Antifa had some also.” Foley slowed the truck once they were away from imminent danger.

  “You have a pass card. I guess you work at Faith Chapel.” Charity leaned forward.

  “I have a lawn and landscape service. We volunteer at the church on Saturdays.”

  “They give keycards to all the volunteers?” Ava didn’t think that sounded right.

  “No. I help out through the week sometimes as well.”

  “Doing what?” Ava’s line of questioning was closer to an interrogation than a friendly conversation.

  “Do you guys know what Faith House is?”

  “The rehab program?” Charity inquired.

  “That’s right. I went through the program three years ago. I mentor some of the guys in the house. I lead the Monday night Bible study at Faith House also. I worked full time on the grounds crew at the church until last year when I started my own business.” Foley stopped at the red light. “Do you guys want to stop and get something to eat? Maybe things will be cleared up afterward, and I can drop you back at your car.”

  “We were just attacked. This isn’t a date,” Ava scowled. “If you can drop us at my apartment, I can take Charity back to her car in the morning.”

  “Sure thing. Where to?”

  “Riverview Apartments.”

  “I know where that is.” Foley took a right-hand turn.

  “She’s upset. She’s had sort of a tough time lately. But we really appreciate everything you’ve done.” Charity gave Ava a reprimanding look.

  Ava rolled her eyes and crossed her arms more tightly, but said nothing.

  Charity continued to chat with Foley on the way to Ava’s apartment. “I think that’s so great that you’re staying sober and that you’re trying to give back by being involved with the ministry. Do you mind if I ask what you were addicted to and how you found Faith House?”

  “I served with the US Army in Syria. Did two tours. It was pretty rough over there. My unit was doing a foot patrol when we were ambushed by multiple snipers. Three of our guys were killed. One of them was my buddy that I went through boot camp with. The enemy had large shoulder-fired weapons, and help couldn’t get to us until they’d been neutralized. We were pinned down in an empty house overnight while we waited for rescue. The base doctor put me on meds to help me sleep after that incident.

  Then, about eight months later, I was in a supply convoy, going through that exact same neighborhood when the Humvee I was in hit an IED. We flipped over and, once again, were ambushed by snipers. We fought them off and help came pretty quick that time, but I caught a bullet in the leg, and my shoulder was dislocated in the crash. I also had several tendons torn around my rotator cuff from the wreck.

  “The Army flew me home where I got a steady flow of pain meds on top of the pills I was taking to help me sleep. But, they soon stopped making me feel as good as they did at first.

  “Even after the physical pain had become manageable, I kept begging the doctors for more. Most obliged me. Soon, that wasn’t enough to make me forget so, I started drinking on top of everything else.

  “I got a Purple Heart, an Honorable Discharge, and was basically dumped on the street corner. Counselors and programs were available to help, but they weren’t equipped to handle the root issues I was dealing with.

  “PTSD and all the horrible stuff that happens to people in war, it affects your spirit, so the solution has to be spiritual. Unfortunately, the Army doesn’t get that.

  “After I Od’d on a cocktail of alcohol and prescription meds, a guy from my unit reached out and asked me if I would try a faith-based rehab center. He told me how Jesus had fixed him; got his head right, gave him peace, took away his guilt, and gave him purpose. I fought beside this guy. He wasn’t some lunatic. So, I wanted to see if what he was talking about was real.

  “Detox was rough, but I made it through and came to Faith House. Then, low and behold, Jesus did the same stuff for me as He did for my buddy. It was a miracle. You�
�d have to spend a day inside my head to know what it was like back then, but just trust me when I say it was a living hell. I asked Jesus to forgive me and heal me. Instantly, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. I still struggle, but he pulled me through the tough part. I’d never go back.”

  Ava listened. Foley’s story was heart-warming, but he was a guy and probably couldn’t be trusted.

  “That is so fantastic!” Charity said.

  Foley pulled up to the front door of Ava’s apartment building.

  “Thank you so much, Foley. For everything.” Charity opened her door. “You should ask Ava for her number.”

  “Charity!” Ava’s face grew red with embarrassment and anger.

  Foley’s face was red, also.

  Charity held the door open as she stepped out. “Sorry! I see you two looking at each other at church like every week. It was an unfortunate event that happened at church tonight, but maybe God brought the two of you together for a reason.”

  Foley turned and glanced up bashfully at Ava. “May I have your number?”

  Ava fought back a grin but said, “No.” She closed the door.

  “Give us yours. She might change her mind later,” Charity waited.

  “You are kidding me!” Ava stormed off toward the building.

  “Thanks again!” Charity joined her once she’d collected the information.

  Ava pushed the elevator call button several times as if the more she pushed it the faster it would arrive. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

  Charity stepped into the elevator car. “Ava, I’m sorry. I think he would have asked on his own, but you were being sorta tough. I thought I’d try to smooth things over for you.”

  Ava hit the button for the sixth floor aggressively. “I was being tough so he wouldn’t ask me.”

  “You don’t think he’s cute? Why do you look over at him multiple times throughout the service every week?”

  “Cute doesn’t mean anything.” Ava walked out the elevator and toward her apartment.