Caelyn thought back on the night the old farmer had shown up. She could remember his words almost perfectly. “The Spirit brought me to you,” the man in the baseball cap had said. “I was going to turn around. I wanted to get home before it got dark. But I couldn’t. I knew that someone else was out here.
“I think you prayed me to you, Caelyn. Your faith is strong enough that God was able to use even an old fool such as me.”
She considered her husband’s question. “I don’t know, babe, it’s kind of a funny story, but the long and short of it is that he found me out here. Anyway, they’re having a meeting at the church house. They’re going to work out a system to check up on each other, help each other, you know, share things if we need to, see who has what, who needs what, that sort of thing.”
Bono listened with even greater interest. “That’s beautiful, Caelyn. Exactly what I had hoped. That’s got to be the plan . . . it will work that way, don’t you think? I mean, if we can stick together on this thing, if we can work with our friends and neighbors, then things will be okay.”
She smiled at him. “I think when you say ‘if we can work with our friends and neighbors,’ what you really mean is ‘if Caelyn can work with strangers,’ isn’t it, babe? I mean, you won’t be here. And these really aren’t our friends. I don’t know any of the people in this ward. Remember, I joined the Church when we were at UCLA, not here.”
He stepped toward her. “I understand. And yes, I’m sorry, I was probably making it sound too easy. I’m just so relieved to know there are others here to help you and they’ve stepped forward. I was planning on going to the church to talk to the bishop before I left. I felt like I had to find someone who could watch over you while I was gone. Even better, Bishop Simpson has reached out to us. I knew the members here would be willing to help us . . .”
“But are they really willing? Think about it, honey. They don’t know me. They’ve got their own families, their own problems, their own worries and concerns.”
He sensed the hesitation in her voice and put his arms around her, pulling her close. “I do, Caelyn. I really do. It’s the way that God intended it. Think about it. Did the early Saints cross the plains by themselves? No. They worked together. Did they build Independence or Nauvoo or the Salt Lake Temple by themselves? No, they worked together. I can’t believe that God intends for us to go through this by ourselves. He understands, they understand, that I can’t be here to help you. They recognize the challenge you will have here, by yourself, with Ellie. They recognize that I’m not off on some overseas vacation. There are patriots and they’ll have to help us.” He lifted his eyes toward the heavens as if saying a quick prayer. “It’s going to be okay.”
She watched him, then started walking again. Ellie was forty or fifty feet ahead of them now, looking at something along the side of the road, and it made Caelyn nervous not to have her immediately by her side. It was silly, she knew—there wasn’t anything up there that was going to hurt her daughter, but she was skittish now, afraid of so many unseen things. What if Ellie got hurt, bitten by a snake or a spider? What if she fell and twisted her ankle? What if she got sick? Before, a doctor or a hospital was just a short drive away, and they would take care of things: medicines, surgeries, painkillers, antibiotics, the world’s best medical care, all at her disposal if she ever needed help. But all of that was gone now. And it scared her. There were so many things to deal with that she’d never had to think about before. So she wanted to be close to Ellie. She wanted to wrap her in a tight cocoon and keep her safe until this thing had passed.
If it ever did pass . . .
If things ever got any better . . .
Would they? Would things get better?
She really didn’t know.
The emotion of the moment caught up to her and she turned suddenly toward her husband. “What’s going to happen to us?” she whispered, her voice unsure.
Bono squinted while looking straight ahead. “Things are going to work out, Caelyn, I really believe they will. As bad as things appear, I still have hope.
“Some people think this is the end, that God is going to show up from the heavens with a host of angels, that the Millennium is finally here, Satan bound, heaven established here on earth. And who knows, maybe all those things are going to happen really soon. But I don’t think so. Not yet. Not right now. There are still some things that have to happen. Cool things. Great things. Maybe some more hard things, too. But I don’t think all the prophecies have been fulfilled yet.”
He stopped and motioned to the empty landscape around him. “Do I think it’s going to get better? Yeah, I really do. I don’t think that we are finished, not as a people, not as a
government. This has knocked us to our knees, maybe even come close to killing us, but I don’t believe our heart is gone. It’s going to be tough, no doubt. In fact, it’s going to be way more than tough—it’s going to be horrible. Lots of people are going to die. Maybe millions, maybe a hundred million, I don’t know. It will be unlike anything we’ve ever tried to imagine before. We might not be okay, not in the normal sense of how we think of things, but I think we can get through this. I think eventually we’ll rebuild.”
“But who, baby, who? Who’s going to rebuild? We don’t even have a government!”
Bono nodded slowly. “I don’t know.”
“All of our leaders in D.C. have been killed. Something isn’t right. It just feels . . . I don’t know, bad somehow. We’ve got no government, no infrastructure, no medicines, no food. How are we going to do it? Who is going to do it? These are the things that I don’t know.”
Caelyn waited, hoping he would answer. But he didn’t, and she turned back to the road.
Ellie was running toward them now, excited. “Look at this!” she cried. She was holding out a purple thistle, fuzzy at the bottom with tiny filaments of color bristling at the top. Deep purple. A hint of yellow. Beautiful but thorny. Bono took it cautiously. “You’ve got to be careful, Ellie, this thing has pricklies that can hurt.”
Ellie held up her index finger with childish pride. A tiny blot of crimson blood was dripping down the front. “I already found that out, Daddy.”
Caelyn took her hand and held it, examining the tiny prick. “That looks like it hurts, baby.”
Ellie pulled her hand away. “It’s okay,” she said before sticking her finger in her mouth. “It’s only a little cut.” She looked up at her dad. “I took it like a man,” she told him proudly.
Caelyn shot a look to Bono. “Like a man?” she questioned.
Bono hunched his shoulders in a don’t-blame-me expression.
Caelyn compressed her lips, then examined Ellie’s finger again. The blood was gone now, the bleeding stopped. Bono bent down and held the thistle between them, the brilliant colors flashing almost luminescent in the morning light. “You shouldn’t have tried to pick it, Ellie. I could have told you that you’d get hurt.”
Ellie didn’t hesitate. “It was so pretty, Daddy.”
“But it already pricked your finger.”
“It was worth it, Dad.”
Chapter Nine
Raven Rock (Site R), Underground Military Complex
Southern Pennsylvania
James Davies, FBI Director of the legitimate government of the United States, walked toward the presidential office suite. He took a quick breath, his heart lurching. Too many people were up ahead of him. Someone was bound to see the drone! It couldn’t get into the compound unobserved with so many people standing there. And the batteries were only good for a couple of hours. Once they were gone, the drone was useless. He had to find a way to get it inside the compound now!
For a moment he wished that he had waited to drop the drone, but, looking ahead of him, he knew that wouldn’t have worked. The instructions they had agreed on had been correct. Deploy the drone before you get into the presidential office suite. There will be far too many people, once you’re inside. You’ll be surrounded, and they will see it when you drop i
t. Either that, or the metal detectors will detect it. Wait until you’re as close as you can get, then deploy it just outside the door.
His mind raced. Only four steps to the door. The army officers watched him carefully, two men he didn’t recognize. Behind them, there was a security wall and reception desk, then a wide and beautifully furnished hallway that led to the president’s den, all protected behind a metal scanner. A red sign had been posted near the doorway.
STOP
PRESIDENTIAL SECURITY AREA
USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED
DO NOT PROCEED UNTIL INSTRUCTED
It was easy to pick out the two Secret Service agents behind the glass walls. Others were there as well, not seen, but watching. Even here in Raven Rock, the barrier between the open corridor and the president was as impenetrable as steel.
One of the army officers, a thin-haired colonel, pushed the door back a little further and stepped across the threshold to meet the unwanted intruder. He didn’t extend his hand to James to shake it, but reached out for his arm the way an irritated father would reach for a wayward son. “Mr. Davies,” he greeted simply, “come with me.”
Without waiting for an answer, the colonel nodded at the two marines who had escorted Davies down. “We got him,” he said.
The marines stopped at the door, releasing Davies’s arms.
James shot another look back. The fly had disappeared. Somewhere along the ceiling? He didn’t know.
He had to give them time to fly the drone through the open door and inside the presidential compound without being noticed. But he didn’t know how!
Only one idea came to mind. He turned toward the colonel. The balding man reached out again for his arm. James pulled his arm back defensively and stepped angrily to the side. The colonel gestured impatiently for him to come and he hesitated, then moved gingerly forward, then suddenly tripped. Falling, he slammed his head into the side of the glass door. Bulletproof, the heavy glass didn’t break but left a painful gash against his forehead, which immediately started to bleed.
The colonel stared down at him lying in the open doorway. The men on the other side of the glass turned instantly at the sound of the crash. For a moment no one moved; then one of the marine guards stepped back and reached down to the fallen man. James took his hand and pulled himself up, his other hand at his head, a smear of blood seeping through his pressed fingers. “I’m sorry . . . I guess . . . I guess I tripped on something . . . I’ve been feeling dizzy . . .”
The colonel didn’t seem to care. You’d feel a whole lot worse if you knew what we had in store for you, he thought as he stared passively at the fallen man.
One of the marine guards reached into his uniform pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and flipped it toward him. James thanked him and pressed the handkerchief against his head. The marine steadied him while he wiped the blood away. The colonel released the two marines with a determined nod. The marines stepped back and turned around, then started walking down the hall.
Handkerchief still pressed painfully against his forehead, James followed the colonel into the presidential suite.
Behind him, the glass door closed on its smooth, pneumatic hinges.
James glanced back.
Had the drone made it into the presidential office suite? He didn’t know. But whether it had or not, there wasn’t anything more that he could do.
Offutt Air Force Base
Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command
Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska
“Go, GO, GO!” the second technician screamed. “The door is closing!”
The drone pilot looked intent, his eyes squinting in
concentration, glistening drops of sweat collecting on his forehead. His hands were shaking, his lips so tight they were almost white, every ounce of mental energy focused on controlling the tiny drone. Enormously unstable, slow to respond, inherently unbalanced, with a high center of gravity and an unfathomable weight-to-lift ratio, not to mention the fact that the thing was at the mercy of every draft from every air vent or passing breeze, it took incredible energy and concentration to keep the miniscule drone from rolling over and flopping on the floor.
The technician pilot ignored his comrade’s shouted warnings. There could have been an earthquake at his feet, an explosion in the command center, a herd of wild horses stampeding across his desk, and he wouldn’t have known, he was so entirely and utterly focused on keeping the unstable drone in the air.
“You got it, you got it!” the geekish major cried. “Keep it up. Get it higher . . . watch it . . . watch it . . . look out, the door is closing!”
“I got it, SIR!” the pilot shouted back.
Hundreds of miles away, the drone dropped down and started flying, a soft buzz in the air.
“Back off! Back off!” the major cried. “You’re getting too close . . . they’re going to see it! Get back up near the ceiling!”
The flier struggled with the remote controls, one hand on a miniature joystick, the other on a throttle control.
“Through the door!” the major cried. “NOW! You’ve got to GO!”
Chapter Ten
Raven Rock (Site R), Underground Military Complex
Southern Pennsylvania
The glass door closed behind them.
Leading James past the reception center and security desks, they waited while he walked through the metal detectors, then moved him down the hall. Two doors down from the Secret Service station, President Fuentes was waiting in a large conference room. Other men were waiting with him, sitting around a massive wooden table.
Fuentes watched with deep and somber eyes. He seemed to enjoy the growing tension as James was led into the room. All the men were silent. There were no women among the group.
The colonel pushed James to the front of the table, nodded toward Fuentes, then walked out, shutting the door behind him. The room was dark, a bank of television screens glowing on the front wall. A bright spotlight in the ceiling glared in James’s eyes, making it difficult for him to see. He squinted, taking in what he could, but most of the dark faces were lost in the glare and shadows. He felt powerless in his black jumpsuit and shoeless feet—which was, of course, how they wanted him to feel. A heavy silence permeated the air, awkward and unpleasant.
James couldn’t see it, but he felt it, and he instinctively reached for the gold cross he wore around his neck. But the cross had been taken from him and he reached at nothing there.
The room was full of evil. He could almost smell the darkness in the air. Whoever these men were and whatever they intended now to do, it was as obvious as the darkness in the nighttime that none of them were friends. He stared at Fuentes. Where did you get these men? he almost sneered. How could you have located so many men willing to betray their own country!
Fuentes seemed to smile at him, his eyes fixed in a vacant stare.
James watched him, his fury building, then glanced around the crowded table, his eyes coming to rest on a hunched man dressed in a black suit and black tie. His worn jacket was draped across his slumping shoulders, and the hair on his neck was as long as the patches of white across his scalp. And he was old. Very old. James could almost smell his ancient breath. The old man stared back at him, his eyes pale and opaque, red-rimmed and teary. It seemed to James as if there was nothing in the man’s eyes, no soul or life, only angry emptiness behind two lifeless balls of glass.
James studied him and realized that there was no seeing in those eyes, no vision or light or revelation. The eyes of a blind man. The eyes of a man who didn’t have to see.
James shivered, his gut crunching into knots. Suddenly it seemed hard to breathe, the air stale and calm and foul. Something about the smell—what was it? Rank and wet. He didn’t know, but it was old and full of rot and terror. The hair on his neck stood on end, the spirit inside him sensing what his brain couldn’t know.
Looking at the group of evil men, he realized the ugly truth.
The ba
ttle wasn’t starting. It was almost over. There was nothing he could do now, no way to stop the coming wave from crashing down. He had walked into a throng of murderers and thieves, a den of predators so full of jealousy and fury that they couldn’t reason anymore. These were no comrades here, no friends or patriots who loved their country or a just cause. This was a group of men who’d been hating for many years, each of them having long before made the decision to betray their country. And, in a sad way, James realized they were not really traitors, for none of them had ever pledged allegiance to their country, not in any real sense of the word. They were outsiders on the inside, the cancer next to bone, the disease that would kill the nation after having lain dormant all these years.
The realization crushed him like a boulder, turning his warm blood into ice.
He stared at them, his eyes finally adjusting to the light, his heart racing with fear and anger as he recognized the faces that had been hidden in the dark. All the men were dressed in suits, but some of them were not Americans. He recognized their ethnic features: men from the Arab peninsula, Syria and Oman, the prime minister from Malaysia, the foreign minister of Russia next to him. The young Arab beside the old man was King Abdullah. Other leaders from around the world were in the crowd.
None of the men were friends or allies. He slowly drew another breath.
That was when he knew it. That was when he finally understood.
It had been a terrible mistake to come here.
And he knew that he was dead.
A sudden calmness came over him, sweet and full of warmth, a sense of peace so real it caused his mind to race. Time suspended and he drifted back, reliving the happiest moments of his life: the warm sun on the front porch of his ranch house, the ocean and the beach, the sound of his daughter’s laughter, the touch of his wife’s hand, the feel of the Good Book as he read it, the assurance of the Spirit that he had felt so many times before. There were no memories of the pain or heartaches or the challenges he had overcome, just the joy and happiness, and he couldn’t help but smile.
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