by Mark Romang
He moved his wings faster. And soon he reached hypersonic speed.
Tel Aviv became nothing more than a glowing ember beneath him.
Chapter 37
Seattle—Myrtle Edwards Park
3:00 AM
Brooke Mason held her nose as she waded in the shin deep water. Gretchen had landed her Maule M-7 seaplane as close to the shore as she could, but when they disembarked they had no choice but to walk in the accursed water making up Elliot Bay. C.J. placed an arm around her shoulders. “Almost there, Sis,” he said.
“I used to love the water. Now I hate it,” Brooke mumbled back. Darkness cloaked the park and rocky shoreline. She could just make out the shore even though it was only a few feet away. Memories of happier times came flooding back to her. Her parents and siblings used to visit Myrtle Edwards Park often. The park had a large grassy area, trees, a nice walking trail, and an incredible view of the Olympic Mountains. She was familiar with every square foot of it, and even now knew exactly where she was.
Brooke felt her squeamishness abate when rocks crunched under her shoes. She heard Gretchen slosh quietly behind her. Gretchen had done everything she could to erase clues as to who the plane belonged to. Before they left the peninsula she’d hidden the tail number with black paint, and then filed off the VIN number and serial number.
Brooke had grown to like Gretchen in only a short time, and she could see why C.J. thought so highly of her. Plucky and uniquely talented, Gretchen smiled and laughed often. And she seemed to know her Bible inside and out. Clearly, God had sent Gretchen their way. Without her plane and flying ability, they wouldn’t be here. Their chances still remained low they would actually rescue Tanner, but a chance was certainly better than no chance.
They reached the grassy area next to the shore. The grass also crunched under Brooke’s feet. Lack of rainfall turned the once lush grass into straw. Gretchen soon joined them. They all stood together, an unsure trio with no real plan.
“We’re here in Seattle, now what do we do?” Brooke asked.
“First, we find some shelter. And then we mingle with the street people and find out where the executions take place,” C.J. said quietly.
“I can tell you where they take place.”
All three whirled to see who the voice belonged to. Brooke stifled a scream. A UWC officer stood a few feet away. He held a flashlight in his hands. That was fast, she thought. We get discovered as soon as we make it to shore.
“The executions take place at Westlake Park.”
Brooke cocked her head. The officer’s voice sounded familiar. His tone and delivery reminded her of someone she hadn’t seen in three years, someone she cared deeply for. But it couldn’t be…him. Surely not. “Nathan, is that you?” She watched the officer take off his cap.
“Yes, Brooke. It’s me, Nathan Banks.”
“Stay back from him, Sis. I didn’t trust him when he stayed with us at the bunker. And I really don’t trust him now,” C.J. said.
“I know this looks bad. But I promise you, it isn’t what you think.”
“You better have a good explanation then,” C.J. warned.
“I can give you an explanation, but I’m not sure you will believe me.”
“There’s only one way to find out. Explain yourself,” Gretchen said.
“One of the guards at the prison gave me this uniform to wear. We walked out the front doors of the prison during the shift change.”
“Sounds like you had an angel looking out for you,” Brooke said softly. She took a half step forward. She ached to see Nathan up close.
“Oh, he was an angel alright. And he gave me a lift to downtown Seattle in a prisoner transport van.”
“But how did you know we were coming, and that we would make shore at this very spot and exactly at this time?” C.J. pressed.
“The guard wasn’t really a guard. He was an angel named Trislio. He told me to be here at this spot at 3:00 AM.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe you.”
“Listen, C.J., I know my explanation sounds outlandish, even kooky. But I can help you guys. I have a map of the storm drains and sewers. You’ll find safety down there,” Banks said.
“That sounds dangerous. What if it rains? And what about all the vacant buildings? Can’t we shelter in one of those?” Gretchen asked.
“The deserted buildings aren’t safe. UWC officers go inside and search for rebels. But the officers never go belowground.”
“Sure, we should use the storm drains then,” Brooke said. “It hasn’t rained in forever. I don’t think we need to worry about runoff.”
“There is one thing you need to do for me first,” Banks said, his voice sounding sheepish. He looked right at her. “When I turned myself in three years ago, they drugged me and implanted the chip in me while I was unconscious. You’re not safe as long as I am with you. I can be tracked. But you were a nurse, Brooke. I figure you can make an incision and remove the chip.”
“Wait a second. You show up here wearing a UWC uniform and sporting a Skymolt marking chip. It sounds to me like you’ve gone over to the dark side, Nathan. I think we should just part ways and pretend we’ve never seen each other,” C.J. said.
Brooke interrupted the tense exchange. C.J. and Nathan had never gotten along well. They just didn’t see eye to eye. “I was a nurse, Nathan, not a surgeon. Mostly I took blood and checked vitals, administered meds and helped patients in and out of their beds.”
Banks held out his wrist. “I can feel the chip. It’s just under the skin. You’ll only need to make a small incision.”
“If I slip and nick an artery it won’t be good for you.”
“I’d rather die with the chip outside my body than live with it inside my body.”
“Okay, but we should move out of the open to do this,” Brooke said.
“There is a thicket and a small line of trees not far from here. We can remove the chip there.”
“If you’re willing to accept the risk I guess I’m willing to try.”
“Then follow me.” She watched Banks turn and head towards some trees. She started after him but stopped when C.J. grabbed her arm. “If he tries anything I’ll make him pay,” he whispered.
Brooke saw that her brother held a Glock pistol in his hand. “C.J., please put that away. Nathan is harmless. You don’t need it.” Brooke jerked her arm away and followed Banks into the thicket. He sat down on the ground Indian-style and propped the underside of his wrist across one leg.
Brooke dropped down to her knees in front of Banks. She got into her pack and removed her first aid kit. She put a headlamp on her head and turned it on. She then removed a scalpel and some tweezers and a section of gauze. She handed the gauze pad to Nathan. Your part in the procedure is to dab at the blood.”
“Sounds easy enough.”
“And just so you know, this scalpel and tweezers won’t be sterile. But I have some antibiotics I’ve been saving back. I can give them to you if you contract an infection.”
“Sounds good, Brooke. I have confidence in you. You can do this.”
“I wish I shared your confidence.” Brooke rummaged in her first aid kit and took out a Sharpie. She then lowered her head and grabbed Nathan’s wrist. She felt around on his wrist until she felt something foreign. “Is this it?”
“Yeah, that’s the chip.”
She marked an X on the exact spot with her Sharpie. “Okay, I apologize beforehand for any pain and suffering you may feel, and for possibly sending you to your death.”
“I’ll be fine. Just do it,” Banks said as he shined his flashlight onto his wrist.
Brooke poised the scalpel over Nathan’s wrist. But a rustling noise in the thicket stopped her before she could begin the surgery. She looked in the direction the noise came from and witnessed a white dove fly to the ground no more than six feet away.
“Be careful not to get any blood on his uniform, Brooke. I have big plans in mind for the uniform,” C.J. said.
Gretchen grabbed C.J.’s arm. “I’ll go with you.”
After the two left, Brooke used her left thumb and forefinger to hold the skin taut on Nathan’s wrist. “I’m sure it was awful in the prison. How did you survive?”
“It wasn’t easy. I was in solitary the whole time. There were no windows in my cell. I lived in total darkness for all but thirty minutes each day.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult that would be. I would’ve gone insane living in utter darkness.”
“I almost did. I stayed lucid by imagining colorful things; sunsets and sunrises, green forests and blue skies, a lemon sun and a girl with aquamarine eyes.”
Brooke felt her heart lurch. First the dove and now Nathan telling her he cared for her—albeit in a subtle way. The night was becoming almost more than she could take in. “You didn’t think of Jenny, your wife?”
“I thought of her a lot, but not as much as you. Jenny is a resident of Heaven. She can’t give herself in marriage anymore.”
“We should stop talking. I can’t be distracted or I’ll mess up.”
“Okay, I’ll zip it.”
Still holding his skin taut, Brooke held the scalpel in her right hand as if it were a pencil or pen. She pressed down with the blade’s flat portion and carved a small C on Nathan’s wrist. She dropped the scalpel down and grabbed up the tweezers. She bent down even lower, her face only inches above Nathan’s wrist, her headlamp dousing the incision with light.
Brooke peeled back the flap of skin and looked for the RFID chip. She spotted the chip. The RFID chip was implanted vertically and looked no bigger than a grain of rice. Brooke inserted the tweezers. She gripped the edge of the chip and pulled up.”
“Ouch!” Banks exclaimed.
The chip slipped out of the tweezers. Brooke looked up at her patient. “I’m sorry. What did I do?”
“I felt a sharp pain. It was so intense I think my eyes crossed.”
“Whoever implanted the chip put it right next to your radial nerve. I must have scraped against the nerve.”
Banks grabbed a nearby stick. “It’s okay. Try again,” he said, and put the stick in his mouth, biting down on it.
Brooke asked, “Can you dab at the blood with the gauze pad? I can’t see anything for the blood.”
After he wiped away the blood she made another attempt at fishing out the chip. Still holding the tiny flap of skin back, Brooke once again delicately maneuvered her tweezers into the incision and gripped the chip. She heard Nathan moan in pain, but this time she succeeded. She held up the tweezers with the chip inside. “I got it.”
Banks spit out the stick. “I knew you could do it.”
“Hold the gauze tight to your wrist to stop the blood flow, Nathan. I have to get out my needle and thread and sew in some sutures.” It was then she noticed the dove had hopped even closer. The dove was so white it almost glowed. “I don’t know what the deal is with this dove. It’s behaving oddly. It almost seems like it’s supervising what we’re doing.”
“I just think the dove likes us. Maybe it’s a good sign.”
Brooke looked at Banks. “What do I do with the chip? Should I smash it?” She waited for him to reply. But he never did. He kept gazing at the dove, who continued to hop toward them.
“Nathan? Did you hear my question?”
“Instead of smashing it, I want you to grab my satchel. It’s filled with some oddities Trislio gave me. You’ll find a very small leather pouch inside the satchel. Get out the pouch and put the chip inside.”
Brooke didn’t understand Nathan’s request but obliged him anyway. She looked around inside the satchel and found the pouch. The pouch probably didn’t measure any more than an inch square. She held it up “Is this little thing what you’re talking about?”
“That’s it. Put the chip inside the pouch and close the flap.”
Brooke did as Nathan requested. She thought she could see him smiling, or maybe she just sensed him smiling. “Now what?”
“Loop the strap on the pouch over the dove’s neck.”
Brooke looked at the dove. The bird was only a couple feet away from them. “It’s going to fly away if I move my arm toward it.”
“Maybe it will, but maybe it won’t.”
Brooke moved her left arm in slow motion toward the dove. Inch by infinitesimal inch she worked her arm over. “This might be easier if I had some bird seed.”
“You’re doing fine.”
Incredibly, the dove didn’t budge from its spot. It looked at them curiously, and then cooed. Brooke hovered her hand above the dove. And then very slowly looped the pouch gently over the bird’s head. As soon as the pouch secured itself onto the dove, the bird flew off. They watched the dove fly off in a southerly direction at a high rate of speed. When the bird disappeared completely from view, Brooke said, “I hope it flies all the way to Mexico. If it does the UWC officers will be scratching their heads for some time to come. As it is, you don’t need to worry about them tracking you.”
“I think we just witnessed a miracle,” Banks mumbled.
“First an angel, and now the dove. You’re getting a foretaste of Heaven, Nathan.”
“Why me?”
Brooke shrugged. “Why not you? We’re all going to be witnessing supernatural events before long. The natural and the supernatural have been on a collision course ever since the Rapture happened. But really, this is the way it was supposed to be all along before sin entered the world. We were never meant to live apart from God. We were supposed to live in His presence, to experience Him moving amongst us. And we soon will.”
“You better get me stitched up, Doc. We’re pushing our luck aboveground for this long.”
“Right, I’ll get on it.” She dug around in her first aid kit and grabbed a needle—already threaded—from inside a Ziploc bag. “This is likely going to hurt badly. I don’t have a numbing agent.”
Banks grabbed up his stick again. “I’ll try and be a big boy and not cry,” he said and put the stick back into his mouth.
She worked quickly and efficiently. And despite the darkness and her jittery nerves, she soon had three stitches in his wrist. She tied a small knot in the last stitch to secure it. “Okay, we’re done. I’d give you a lollipop for bravery if I had one.”
Banks stood up. He grabbed up his satchel and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s find your brother and Gretchen and get underground.”
Brooke hurriedly packed up her first aid kit and shoved it into her backpack. She then doused her headlamp. “I’m right behind you.”
Banks nodded. “Okay, follow me.”
Chapter 38
Rural Virginia
The “Seven” hadn’t yet left Washington D.C. for their home countries when they were called back for an emergency meeting at the deserted farmstead. Inside the barn, drowsy heads of state struggled to keep their eyes open. Some were privy to what happened in Tel Aviv overnight while they slept. Others were clueless. But all kept their focus on U.K. Prime Minister Brett Loring, who held a SAT phone to his ear and listened intently, his drawn face showing little emotion.
Normally U.S. President Nathaniel Dixon facilitated the secret meetings, but today Bret Loring seemed poised to take the helm. While they waited for the prime minister to complete his call, some sipped on bourbon, others on Scotch, some on wine, and of course, Germany Chancellor Deidrick Braun drank beer.
With the world’s freshwater supply ruined from the same mysterious blood curse that plagued the oceans, drinking water had become hard to come by. Wells were frantically dug each day all over the planet, but the demand for potable water had reached a tipping point in every world region. The poor and middleclass expired in staggering numbers from dehydration. Only the wealthy elite seemed to escape the water crisis. They used their money to snap up booze whenever and wherever possible. Out of necessity, alcoh
ol became their favorite drink. Besides keeping them satiated, it blunted their misery.
Likewise, the enormous pressure to wrestle the world away from Henrik Skymolt’s grasp weighed heavily on the “Seven’s” shoulders. A dying planet hung in the balance, and the burden to save it grew heavier each day.
Brett Loring ended the call on his SAT phone. He looked around at the others. They slumped in their chairs, half-drunk already. “I still don’t have confirmation whether Henrik Skymolt is dead or not. Our double-agent has hiked his way to ground zero. He says nearly half the city lay in rubble, and that the Moshe Aviv Tower that Skymolt lived in is leveled. All that remains of the tower is a twenty-foot deep crater. If Skymolt is dead, finding what’s left of his body might take days or even weeks.”
French President Estelle Duval sipped Cabernet from a glass, and then asked, “Isn’t there a news conference scheduled for one PM near the bomb site? This is what my cabinet people are saying.”
“I can answer that,” interjected U.S. Secretary of State Trina Davis. “There will indeed be a news conference sometime in the early afternoon hours. Tel Aviv is roughly seven hours ahead of us. So we should know something in a couple of hours.”
“Who is putting on the conference?” Deidrick Braun asked.
“The Skymolt News Agency.”
Canada Prime Minister George Anderson rolled his bloodshot eyes. “Didn’t I tell all of you this mission was overkill,” he slurred. “Tens of thousands of innocent people were killed. And it is quite possible Skymolt wasn’t even in the building.”
“How would you have done it then, George?” Nathaniel Dixon asked, clearly perturbed. Although the Canadian prime minister rarely came up with a workable solution of his own to subvert Henrik Skymolt’s rule, he liked to second-guess every proposal submitted by the others.
