Ammon eyed his brother, caught up in the mental vision. “Gotta love Captain Moroni. What a stud. Tears his shirt off, hangs it from a pole, and goes marching through the streets to rally the troops. Not many guys could pull that off. I’ll bet he was ripped, know what I mean. Bet he’d bench-press at least 360. Wanted to show a little muscle.”
Sara wanted to interrupt them and get them to be serious, but Luke went on before she had to, realizing they’d wandered from his point. “Yeah, yeah, maybe all that. But think about what I was saying about how the Nephite people must have felt. Just a year before, they had fought the Lamanites and won the greatest battle they had had up to that time. Now here it was, just a few months later, and ol’ Amalickiah goes off trying to steal their country. Nothing like that had ever happened to them before. You got to believe there were a bunch of ticked-off Nephites sitting around saying the same thing Ammon just said: ‘I never thought this could happen to our country!’ They had their constitution. They had their laws. Now someone was trying to destroy all that and make himself king. But they didn’t let him. They fought back. And they got through it. Just like I think we can get through this. It isn’t over yet.”
The room was quiet. None of them had ever thought about it quite like that before. “In memory of our God, our religion, and freedom, and our peace, our wives, and our children,” Sam finally said.
His brothers looked at him. “Got that right, brother,” Ammon said.
Sara listened, thinking. “There’s no doubt who should be the president,” she said.
“Are you certain, Mom?”
“Absolutely, Ammon. Secretary Marino should be the next president, assuming there’s no one else higher in the line of succession that we don’t know about, and I don’t think that there is. Brucius would have no reason to deceive me.” She paused. “I just don’t think he would lie.” She was speaking to herself now, making her evaluation. “If there’s no one ahead of him, the Speaker of the House, the president pro tempore of the Senate, etcetera, then he’s the president. He’s certainly ahead of Fuentes—that we know for sure.”
“Who is this Fuentes guy, anyway?” Sam sneered. “Where did he come from? Who’s ever even heard of him?”
No one answered.
“Is Secretary Marino . . .” Sam hesitated. “Is he going to go and claim the office, then? Does he have the guts to do it?”
Sara bit her lip. “He does. And yes, he will.”
“You’re going to help him, aren’t you, Mom?”
Sara looked away.
They were silent for a moment. Outside, they heard birds calling in the nearby trees, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. They were large birds, dark and greasy looking, with black feathers and a constant, hungry cawing that grated on the people’s nerves. They listened, all of them thinking.
Sam looked down at his dirty uniform, still covered with coal dust from the railroad yard back in East Chicago, mud from the ditch he’d waded through after jumping from the air force tanker and running through the night, a splatter of blood from when he’d tied up the shooter on the beltway that ran around Washington, D.C. A tinge of smoky scent still lingered from the fires that had been burning through the western quadrant of the city. Sniffing at his clothes, he thought back. All of it, from the first bomb over Gaza to the chaos they found themselves surrounded by now, had taken place in not much longer than a month. But all of it was blurred now, the old life—the good life—a faded memory. They didn’t used to drink from dirty water. They didn’t used to worry about where their next meal was coming from. They used to sleep in beds in heated homes, drive cars, talk on cell phones. They didn’t used to panic about infection from every scratch or every upset stomach, knowing there were doctors and medicines around.
They didn’t used to look at every passing stranger and wonder, “Will he try to kill me for my food?”
They didn’t used to look at senior government officials and wonder, “Is this guy on our side?”
They didn’t used to wonder if their government would survive.
But everything was different now.
Another day. Another world. The old one was so far gone it was hard to even remember what it had really been like. So much was different now. None of them would ever be the same.
Sam fingered the nylon laces on his filthy leather boots. “You know what today is?” he asked.
Sara shrugged. Luke kept his head down. Ammon looked confused. “I have no idea,” he said. “I couldn’t tell you what day, what month, I’m not even sure what year it is anymore. It’s like there is no time here; it’s all just one long, never-ending circle of bad things and really weird stuff like . . .” he nodded to the windows, “strange birds with red eyes that look like mini-vultures waiting to swoop down and claw our eyes out.” He took a breath and laughed. “Nope, don’t know what day it is.”
Luke looked up. “It’s Sunday,” he said.
“Sunday,” Sara breathed. “Oh, that sounds good. I love Sundays.” She turned to Azadeh. “Sunday is our holy day,” she explained.
Azadeh nodded, understanding. “I like Sundays too,” she offered, hoping to please them.
“Sunday comics,” Ammon said. “Dildog or whatever that thing was called. Man, that used to make me laugh.”
“Sunday afternoon meant ice cream. It was the only day your dad would let you eat it, remember?” Sara said.
“Which is why we always hid a couple of spoons in our bedrooms,” Ammon laughed, glancing at his brothers. “We’d slip down to the freezer in the basement, spoons in hand. Go through half a gallon in one night.”
Sara smiled at them. “You know what’s really funny about that?”
They looked at her and waited.
“Your dad used to do the same thing.”
Ammon stood up and pointed to his brothers. “I knew it!” he cried. “I told you guys I caught him with a spoon once. He looked so guilty standing there with a wet spoon sticking out of his shirt pocket.”
Sara started laughing. “You want to know something else that’s funny? You guys didn’t think we knew, but we could hear you every time you snuck down there. Your voices would carry up through the heat vents. Yeah, we always knew.”
“Did not!” Sam shot back.
“Every time!” his mother laughed.
“But you never said anything?”
“Didn’t you guys ever notice there was always another fresh container of ice cream in the freezer? You could finish off a gallon and go back two nights later and there’d be another gallon waiting. Didn’t you think I’d notice the empty ice cream containers? How could we not have known?”
The guys were silent. Ammon shook his head. “Wow, all these years we thought we were really getting away with something. And all the time you knew. It kind of . . .” he looked away wistfully. “I don’t know, it takes away some of the sense of accomplishment somehow.”
Listening to them, Azadeh smiled.
“It’s still a good memory,” Luke offered.
Sam pulled his pant legs tight around his boots, then stood up and started walking to the door.
“Where you going, dude?” Luke asked.
Sam looked back. “To get some bread and water. It’s Sunday. We’re going to have the sacrament.” Turning, he walked out the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Offutt Air Force Base
Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command
Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska
They gathered around the small plate of broken bread. Sara held Azadeh’s hand. She had spent a few minutes explaining what the sacrament meant, and though Azadeh watched the others, she didn’t participate, sitting slightly behind them on the floor.
Sam pulled out his set of small military scriptures to read the sacrament prayer, held them in his hands a moment, then looked up at his family and cleared his throat. “I used to laugh at these,” he said. “I’m sorry to tell you that, but it’s true—I used to think it was ridiculous. I
mean, come on: angels and gold plates and John the Baptist appearing out of thin air and all that. I used to read things about the people down in Central America just to try to prove it wrong. But then a good friend—you’ve heard me talk about Bono—asked me a very simple question. ‘Someone had to write the book,’ he said. ‘I mean, you hold it in your hands. It’s there. Someone wrote it. Now the only thing you have to figure out is this: Did the man who wrote it know Jesus Christ?’
“So I thought about it—a lot. Did ancient prophets really write those words, and did they know Jesus Christ, not just know of Him, but know Him?” Sam dropped his head, his voice cracking. “By the power of the Spirit, I know they did. And that testimony gives us more power than anything else we could hope for in this world.”
He fell silent, his eyes staring at the floor, then looked up at them again. “You don’t know how many nights I have thanked God that He gave me such a family. I mean, you guys know about my mom and dad. I would have . . . I would have been like them, I know that. But from the first day I came to your house—and I’ll remember this forever—from that first day I was thrust into your home, you always made me feel loved. I don’t know how or why you’d do that, but I am grateful. You’re my family, and I would do anything for you.”
His voice trailed off. No one said anything. Azadeh watched him carefully. She understood only a little of what he was talking about but there was something in his words, something in his eyes, a lost look, an orphaned look, that she immediately understood.
Sam looked at them, then bowed his head and said the sacrament prayer.
They took the bread and ate it. Luke said the blessing on the water and they drank.
Finished, they looked at each other. All of them wanted more.
“Do you remember how, when we were kids and traveling, we used to say our favorite scriptures in the car before we’d fall asleep?” Luke said. “Let’s do that now. That can be our Sunday talk.”
They went around the circle, Sara going first. Sam was last. He thought a minute then told them, “I don’t have a single favorite scripture. Mine is a series of scriptures, but they tell the story of my life, I think. So this is how I see the Lord. This is how I see myself.”
Sara watched him carefully, sensing this was one of those rare moments when she would get to see what was inside one of her children’s hearts.
Sam cleared his throat again. “Okay. Three things. A leper went to Jesus and begged Him, ‘Lord, if thou will, thou can make me clean.’ A weeping father brought his suffering son and placed him before the Savior. ‘Heal him, Lord,’ he begged. ‘I will if you believe,’ the Savior told him. ‘I believe, Lord,’ the father said, then he caught himself, realizing the true weakness of his faith. ‘Lord, help my unbelief,’ he begged again. Last one, okay? Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a publican, the other one a Pharisee. The Pharisee stood before the others and said, ‘God, I thank thee that I am not like these other men, unjust, adulterers, sinners even as this publican.’ But the publican stood afar off and would not lift even so much as his eyes up to heaven, but beat upon his chest and cried, ‘Forgive me, God, for I am a sinner.’”
Sam paused for a moment. The room was silent. No crying birds. No footsteps in the busy hallway.
“That is who I am,” he concluded, his voice low as he looked at them one by one. “You know me. You know how I’ve lived. It was hard for me. I’ve always had to struggle to do the right thing. From the very beginning, I knew I wasn’t like the rest of you; I was a sinner, rebellious. I had too much of my old man inside of me, I guess.
“Can you see what I’m saying? These scriptures I have talked about are me: Lord, you can make me clean. Yes, I believe. I want to believe. Please, can you help my unbelief? Forgive me, Lord, forgive me, please, for I’m a sinner.
“But that’s not the end of my favorite scriptures. The best one, the one that gives me hope, the one that means more to me than any of the others is so clear. Doctrine and Covenants 60:7, ‘For I am able to make you holy, and your sins are forgiven you.’”
He stopped and stared at the floor now.
“At the end of the day, I know that’s true. I’m a sinner. We all are sinners. But Christ has the power to make us holy. He can make you holy. Even make me holy. And that’s the only thing that gives me hope.”
* * *
Luke stared at his brother, the Spirit settling like a peaceful blanket over his troubled soul. As he listened, the Spirit told him: Everything you have been taught and believed is true. Jesus is the Christ. He is the Savior. That is the only thing that matters. Everything else will be all right.
And from that moment, Luke never doubted. His faith was more sure than even the growing devastation and evil all around him. He could feel the Prince of Darkness’s expanding power, but he realized the light of the Savior was still more powerful. He felt a reassurance that God knew them and cared for them and wouldn’t stay His hand.
The words of a prophet suddenly came to his ears. He didn’t know which prophet it was, he didn’t know when he’d heard the phrase or even that it was buried somewhere in his mind, but the Spirit brought the message in words he couldn’t miss. “You are a royal generation. You were preserved to come to earth in this time for a special purpose. Not just a few of you, but all of you. There are things for each of you to do that no one else can do as well as you.”
It was a turning point for Luke. And though the course of his life would turn out to be very different from how he ever thought it would, from that moment on he never doubted what his destiny would be.
* * *
Sitting back a little farther from the circle of the others, Azadeh listened to Sam’s words. And as she listened, she felt something that she’d rarely felt before, something inside her, warm and beautiful. It was both emotional and spiritual and it came with overwhelming power. A fire glowed inside her and her mind felt peaceful—alive and pure.
The feeling brought overwhelming memories as her mind went racing back. She was a little girl going through her morning prayers. Her sixteenth birthday, the beautiful morning her father had given her the silver brushes, knowing he’d given everything he owned to buy them for her. The night she was lost on the snowy mountain, the stranger appearing out of the storm and dark to keep her warm.
Yes, she’d felt this burning glow a few times before.
And she would pay whatever price she had to in order to make this feeling a permanent part of her life.
* * *
Lucifer watched them, listened to their words, and then started screaming. “NO! NO! NO!” he cried in unbridled rage and fury. “There is no hope! There is no future. You have nothing! Are you so blind you cannot see? I have taken everything you need to be happy! I’ve taken everything you need to live. You’re going to die, you stupid, brainless mortals, you’re going to suffer here and die! Are you so stupid that you can’t see that you’ve lost everything? How can you be happy? How can you have any hope at all! There is nothing left here for you but pain and loneliness. How dare you feel this way! How dare you look upon my Enemy and believe that He will help you! How dare you look to His Great Work and ignore the great work of my own hands.
“I am the Second Son. You are my brothers. I am a fallen angel, but you have fallen here with me! There’s only fury, there is no light. There is no hope. There is no answer. Now I command you to worship me! I should have been the savior. Worship the mighty works I’ve done. Worship the pain and dread and hopelessness. Worship the darkness I have created and settled upon this wretched world.”
He stopped raging and stared at Sam, then clenched his fists and cried again, “DON’T IGNORE ME! DON’T IGNORE MY GLORY. DON’T IGNORE THE MIGHTY WORK I’VE DONE!”
* * *
Behind him, Balaam watched his wretched master, then slowly turned away.
It was no good. It didn’t matter. His heart sank into the most hopeless of all despairs.
It didn’t matter what they did to them,
they could not steal their light. They couldn’t steal their hope or testimony. No matter what they did to them, some of them still knew. No matter what obstacle they placed before them, some of them fought on.
They could fill the world with darkness, but they could not stop the light, as long as some of them were faithful.
He turned and glared at Sara’s family.
These were the ones they had to fear. These were the ones who would destroy them. These were the great light in the darkness. Clear as the moon. Fair as the sun. Oh, it hurt to even look at them, they were so beautiful.
Sinking to his knees, he felt the empty hopelessness. But, unlike the lies they’d whispered to the mortals, his bitterness was real.
Trembling like a child, he fought in vain to hold his tears.
Chapter Fifteen
Offutt Air Force Base
Headquarters, U.S. Strategic Command
Eight Miles South of Omaha, Nebraska
Sam had barely finished talking when the door opened suddenly and a mustached air force sergeant burst into the room. “You’re going to want to see this,” he commanded.
They all stood. “What’s going on?” Sam asked.
The tech sergeant nodded toward the hallway. “Come with me, sir.”
The army lieutenant and his family followed the sergeant down a dimly lit hallway to a common room where a television was playing.
Seeing the TV screen, Sara drew a sudden breath.
James Davies’s exhausted face filled the screen. He was speaking slowly, his voice measured as he read from a teleprompter, the text carefully prepared. Though his hands were animated, his face remained unusually passive and grim. And there was something about him, something . . . Sara didn’t know, something artificial about the dryness of his voice, his words powerful but not convincing, at least not to those who knew him best. An off-camera voice swore him in, then asked him to begin.
The Great and Terrible Page 150
