Randi appreciated his attempt; she smiled and then returned to her pensive pose. “I know he used to be up at Barneston, near Des Moines. But, who knows what happened to him in the past several months, since I’ve seen or heard of him.”
“Well, I’d be really grateful for any information you can give me. I can do the leg work to track him down.”
“Come on over to my shop, I have an Iowa directory on a disk, and I may have a flyer from one of the events his church sponsored up there, years ago.”
Rodney bid Sara and Jay goodbye, smiling at Sara’s excitement over the prospect of a wedding, and smiling even bigger at Jay rolling his eyes. “Some things never change,” he thought, as he followed Randi out of the store.
They walked the two blocks to the computer shop and Randi let them in with her key. Iron bars protected the glass and wood shop door, a sign of the chaos that had invaded that friendly little town.
Randi turned on a light and gave a delighted little sigh at the return of reliable power. Her new business depended on that power as much as on the salvaging efforts of her mother and Jay. She slipped gracefully into a spinning, tilting office chair and flipped on the power to her main computer. The display lit instantly and she touched the interactive monitor delicately to open a file that contained all the addresses and phone information for the state, as of four years ago, the last directory of its kind. The fact that the majority of the people in that directory had died, or disappeared, gave it a morbid archival feeling.
Keeping up a pleasant patter of airy little words and phrases, as she picked her way through the database, Randi located what she wanted. “Okay, here’s the latest info in here.” She clicked a virtual button on the screen with her fingertip and a piece of paper popped out of her printer. Randi handed the contact information to Rodney.
“Thanks,” he said, eyeing the address.
“He wasn’t the kind of preacher who would attract attention to get thrown in jail, but he wasn’t likely to sign up with the Dictator either. I’m pretty sure he survived into last year, at least,” Randi said.
Rodney nodded. “Great. Thanks.”
At the house, Rodney and Emma discussed when to make the hour-long trip to Barneston, and whether they should take Daniel with them, or leave him in the company of Socks. The coyote looked at Emma when she said his name, wondering if there was anything good awaiting him as the humans talked about him. Daniel came out of the house eating bread, with peanut butter and jelly on it, gave some to Socks and scratched the coyote behind the ears. Socks swallowed his snack and licked his lips, as his eyes narrowed with satisfaction at the well placed scratching.
Daniel saw them both looking at him. “What?” He was feeling as if he might be in trouble. Daniel was not so optimistic about being the subject of conversation as was Socks.
“Think we could leave you here with Socks for a few hours?” Emma asked him.
“Sure, no problem.”
Out of habit, more than expectation of trouble, they left Emma’s rifle with Daniel, and instructed him to stick by the house and not wander off.
“And don’t take candy from strangers,” Rodney said, as he got in the van.
“You know anyone who actually has candy?” Daniel asked, as Rodney started the van.
Emma and Rodney both smiled at the irony; but Emma also made a mental note that she would get Daniel a treat, if they saw an opportunity along the way.
Rodney checked the charge in the van. Solar panels on its roof recharged the battery as it sat parked. Even though the main propulsion came through compressed air, it used electricity to start the process. He looked in the back of the van at the small treasure trove available for trading during their little trip.
Daniel waved, as they backed up to turn around. Socks waved his tail, interested in the departure of the adults. He looked at Daniel to gage his friend’s reaction to being left behind. Emma held that image in her mind as they drove off. She hadn’t ever intentionally left Daniel alone before and the ease with which she did so now impressed her. She wasn’t merely proud of her maternal maturity, but satisfied that life had become so normal that she could even consider letting him out of her sight. Of course, one fading consideration was the protection that Daniel provided her, a woman on her own in a dangerous world. With Rodney, all that had changed.
The years of fighting had left many of the roads between Somerville and Des Moines shattered, cratered and blocked by debris. Most of the debris had been moved to the side of the road by now, and some of the craters had been crudely filled, to keep an unaware driver from burying the nose of his vehicle there. Twenty miles from Somerville, north bound on a state highway, they actually saw a truck by the side of the road, where two men collected scrap metal from a bombed out car. Cleanup continued.
As they approached Barneston, a black military-style vehicle pulled onto the road behind them. Habitually vigilant, Rodney sped up and slowed down to see how their fellow travelers would react. Two men, with automatic weapons in visible racks, rode in the front seat of the vehicle, as Emma and Rodney could see in the mirrors, when they slowed down. They exchanged a knowing look and Rodney checked for the pistol he had stowed next to his seat.
In spite of an open highway ahead, the dark and dented vehicle did not pass. This concerned Rodney, leaving him wishing he was driving the PFV, a better match for the all-wheel-drive vehicle behind them. Rodney punched the accelerator to see what he could get out of the van. It boosted forward more ambitiously than he had hoped, but he could see that he wouldn’t be able to outrun the pursuers.
Emma’s thoughts, when she saw the black vehicle accelerate with them, turned to Daniel left at home, a habitual connection when she felt her security threatened. Rodney’s mind turned to strategies for getting the jump on two men more heavily armed than him.
As the black vehicle began to gain on them, Rodney signaled for Emma to get down. When she did so she saw that there was a small automatic rifle along the side of the van, where it wouldn’t be seen by the average passenger. Rodney wasn’t just telling her to duck, he was showing her where she could find a weapon.
Rodney got a thrill at how deftly Emma handled the unfamiliar weapon, clearing the chamber and checking the safety. The light military rifle would suit her perfectly. Rodney still felt outgunned, but not so much as Emma had assumed. She stayed hunkered down where she wouldn’t be an easy target from outside the van, though the light Kevlar-like material the van was made of would not stop heavy arms fire.
With the pursuers within forty yards, Rodney had to decide whether to tell Emma to fire at the approaching vehicle, to seize the initiative in the approaching fight. Just as he was about to say the word, the black vehicle slowed down sharply, as if they had been hooked by a tow truck or something. They did not skid as if they had stomped on the brakes.
Rodney let off the accelerator and he and Emma watched what their presumptive opponents were doing. The black vehicle had stopped completely, astride the faded double yellow line in the middle of the road. Slowing more, Rodney could see in the mirror that the men inside were extremely agitated. Emma, able to look longer and more closely, could see the source of their agitation. Two men appeared, one on each side of the vehicle. The two men inside the vehicle swung their doors open and pointed their weapons, but she heard no shots.
Unwilling to stop and investigate, Rodney had to settle for Emma’s narration, and a lot of speculation, to fill in the story. They had, however, both seen and heard enough by then to conclude that some of the Jerusalem people must have intervened on their behalf. Rodney wondered how long it would take them to disable all of the firearms in the country. “Demand for gun smiths must be skyrocketing,” he thought.
Their escape speed placed them in Barneston faster than they had expected, a mere fifty minutes from home. Compared to Somerville, Barneston had suffered much more severely from the fighting. Most of Main Street was burned out. But signs of restoration brightened the scene here and ther
e, a house under construction, another being painted. Burned out vehicles had been removed, only the charred marks on the pavement remaining. Rodney and Emma stared as they drove past sad stories written in broken glass and collapsed roofs.
Passing beyond the small commercial district, they entered a tree-lined lane, with large two-story houses on each side. Most of them stood intact; very few appeared to be occupied. Turning down a side street, they passed a woman pushing a cart, her head down and no acknowledgement of their passing.
Rodney pulled over in front of a church building and turned off the van. They both got out slowly, looking at the boarded windows and burn scars on the old Protestant church. This had, at one time, been the place where Reverend Cecil Miller had served, but the unconscious carcass of a building promised nothing of human habitation or activity.
They walked around to the front of the church, hoping to find some indication of where to look for the preacher. To their surprise, a rough, temporary door had been cut in the plywood that covered the missing façade of the building, plain steel hinges holding the improvised door in place.
Stepping over the hand railing, which lay across four concrete stairs leading to the main entrance of the church, Rodney hesitated before trying the door, not sure whether to knock. He put his hand on the door and it swung outward a bit. He pulled the door open now and called inside.
“Hello. Anybody here?”
With the windows boarded, little light leaked into the big, cold building. They heard a scuffing sound and a door close. Emma and Rodney looked at each other. Rodney thought of the pistol locked in the van. He hesitated and then decided to take the risk of continuing unarmed.
“Hello. We’re looking for a preacher to do a wedding,” Rodney called, hoping to disarm a defensive person, if not to evoke the friendly reception for which they had hoped.
Emma took Rodney’s hand. Having one hand disabled in a potential fight or flight felt vulnerable and dangerous to Rodney, but he didn’t pull away. At least, he would be able to pull Emma to safety if he had to move quickly.
Rodney started to call again, just getting the first half a syllable out, when they heard something completely unexpected. Somebody in the building laughed. The effect, however, was not cheerful. The laughter sounded more insane than amused.
Again, they froze where they stood. Rodney looked at Emma, asking a mute question about going ahead with this. She signaled a game attitude with a lift of her eyebrows, pursed lips and a half shrug. Rodney really did love this brave woman.
Rodney ventured to call out again. “Hello, could you help us find the minister?”
A door opened straight in front of them, silhouetting a man of medium height with fly-away hair and a prominent bald spot. He didn’t appear to be armed, based on his stance, but Rodney couldn’t see him well enough to be sure.
“Hello?” Rodney greeted him uncertainly.
The man laughed again. Then he cleared his throat lugubriously. “Okay, I can tell you where to find ‘the preacher’,” he said with unmistakable sarcasm. His voice sounded unused and ancient.
“My name is Rodney and this is my fiancée Emma.” He hadn’t called her that before, not even in his own mind, but in that tense moment, it just came out.
Again, with sarcasm, the man answered. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.” He half laughed and then said sternly, “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”
The way he said this made Rodney wonder if he was holding a gun, but with his eyes fully adjusted to the broken and scarce light, Rodney could see no sign of that.
“Sure,” Rodney said, holding his hands in front of him. Emma did the same. Then Emma tried to break the strange stalemate.
“We just want to talk to him about marrying us,” she said, her voice cracking involuntarily. She cleared her throat daintily and asked, “Are you the minister?”
The man stepped forward two steps and said, “Ha, you figured it out. Good for you.” Again, the encouraging words arrived in a discouraging tone. “Well, you may as well come in, it’s warmer in here.” He gestured toward the room behind him.
Rodney got the impression that the woman’s voice in the dark standoff broke the native hostility of the situation. The old preacher’s voice and posture seemed to have moderated after Emma spoke.
They followed him into the inner room, which turned out to be a long closet. Along the walls, they could see marks where coat racks had hung in years past. At the other end of the room sat an oak desk, like the ones teachers used a hundred years ago. Three candles burned on that desk and an electric space heater sat on the floor, glowing slightly in the dim light. Rodney hadn’t seen any signs of available electricity until he saw the heater. He glanced up at an empty light socket.
Rev. Miller noticed Rodney’s attention and answered the implied question. “Don’t have any light bulbs that don’t make this place too damn bright.”
Rodney and Emma both nodded. The preacher shuffled around his desk and sat down, motioning to two very small chairs in front of the desk. They looked at each other and then did their best to sit in the little plastic and metal chairs, which creaked under their weight. This arrangement put Emma and Rodney a foot lower than the preacher and he glared at them over the desk. The preacher’s glasses, such as were common when Rodney was a boy, reflected the candle light, nearly negating his eyes. The effect alternately amused and horrified Emma.
The preacher leaned forward a bit and said, “So you come a long way in search of a minister?”
Rodney nodded slightly, hesitated and said, “We come from Somerville, about an hour south.”
“You drive?” Rev. Miller asked.
“Uh, yes,” Rodney said, wondering how else they would have gotten there.
The preacher saw Rodney’s uncertainty. “Some folks are getting around by much more mysterious means, these days.” He looked at Rodney over his glasses, nodding slightly, as if sharing an inside joke.
Rodney and Emma wondered what contact the minister had with the Jerusalem people.
“I saw some strangers flying around like superheroes just last week,” he said accusingly.
“Uh, we just drove.” Rodney stumbled. “We’re just mortals, I guess.” His intentional lack of contact with clergy in the past, his uncertainty about the “superheroes” he had met, and the odd look of this man leering over the desk at his fiancée, left Rodney feeling imbalanced. His halting responses carried all of this.
Emma tried to help. “Do you preside at weddings?”
Rev. Miller looked at each of them in turn, a disgusted grimace evolving on his face. “What’s the point?”
Emma wasn’t sure how to answer this, but the preacher broke into the confused silence, to answer his own question.
“It’s all over. All of it,” he said, waving his hands vaguely. “The whole order of things is gone and a new order is in its place. Weddings are a thing of the old order. Now we’re under new management. The King is on his throne!” He bellowed. “And you know what really, really grinds me? The f----g fundamentalists were right!” He shouted this, a faint echo of his petulant voice ricocheting around the cavernous building.
Not being church-going people, neither Emma nor Rodney knew a minister could use such language. And, beyond that, they were baffled at what exactly he meant. The blank looks on their faces seemed to further provoke the preacher’s ire.
“You don’t get it, do you?” He was panting now. “You’re just godless people like me. I used to think it was so intellectual of me to be an atheist preacher, so progressive. Ha, I was completely wrong!” He slammed his hand on the desk so that all three candles rattled.
By this time, Rodney was simply looking for a way to make an exit. Bolting for the door seemed the best option, but he wasn’t sure Emma would be with him. He looked at her and she spoke up through the thickening silence.
“Well, sorry we bothered you.” Emma stood up, which took considerable effort from where she started. Rodney followed
her example, reaching out for her to make sure he got her out the door ahead of him, and to make sure he didn’t fall over, while trying to rise from his kindergarten chair.
“Thanks for your time,” Rodney said, and they headed for the door at the other end of the room. They both half expected the door to be locked, to be trapped in that room with the raving minister. But the door yielded easily, when Rodney reached past Emma and shoved at it.
Behind them Rev. Miller was saying, “Oh, go ahead. Leave if you must. And you certainly must, because you’re not going to find what you’re looking for here. No, there’s nothing anyone would want in a wedding to be found here in this...”
His voice faded as they made their way quickly out of the building. As strange as Rev. Miller’s behavior was, his strangeness was amplified by Rodney and Emma’s discomfort with anything religious. That he acted in, what they considered, a very irreligious way, only startled them more. They breezed out into the daylight, mincing their way over the tumbled wrought iron and down the stairs.
By the time they reached the van, they were starting to breathe again, and then Emma started to laugh. Rodney found her laugh much more warm and pleasant than Cecil Miller’s dark cackling. He caught the laughter from Emma. They got in the van like two party-goers who shouldn’t be driving.
When the laughter died down, Emma began to think. “What do you suppose he meant by ‘the fundamentalists were right’?”
Rodney swung the van around in a U-turn and headed back the way they came. He was going to correct the quote, by adding back the expletive, but Emma’s question seemed serious. He thought about what Hyo and Young had told him, about going to Heaven and coming back with Jesus Christ to be part of his Kingdom on Earth. Nothing of that was comfortable for Rodney to think about. The idea of Christ returning to the Earth seemed entirely foreign, but apparently Rev. Miller was familiar with the concept.
Rodney answered, “I’m not sure what he meant, except that it has to do with what the Koreans were telling us about their King. Maybe Miller is convinced that it really is Jesus, ruling in Jerusalem, and that didn’t fit with his kind of religion. He sure did seem upset about it.”
The REIGN: Out of Tribulation Page 15
