by Adam Bender
“You’re insane. God would not seek the death of innocents.”
“They are not innocents who would harbor a Heretic. That includes you.”
“I won’t let you kill Young,” Eve growled. “You tried and failed once. And this time we’re ready.”
He clucked his tongue. “If we had wanted to kill the Heretic Young then, he would already be dead. At the time, we sought merely to scare. A more sensible man would have bowed out of the race immediately. It appears, however, that this one requires more…encouragement.”
“I won’t let you–”
“We must say we’re disappointed, Eve. After all, you grew up in the Church. Whatever happened to Daddy’s little girl to make her turn Heretic?”
“I’m not a Heretic,” growled Eve. She could feel her cheeks ignite. “And you’re not getting inside the building.”
“What makes you so sure I’m not inside already?”
Eve’s eyes widened into blue lakes. She had to get into the Wellor Center immediately. When she spun toward the stairwell, however, a hooded man in a black robe was standing in her way.
“Dust to dust,” said the Saint, leveling a pistol to Eve’s chest.
The moderator Bob Santos shuffled through his papers. “His holiness, the Headmaster, has expressed his support for Mayor Levi. Mr. Young, can you tell us why the Church opposes your bid for president?”
Ana squirmed. “That bastard! What kind of one-sided question–”
“It’s okay,” whispered Seven. “We prepared for this.”
“That’s a very good question and it definitely deserves an honest response,” Young said. “But before I do, I would like to point out that Interim President Randall has endorsed me for president. Randall, as you know, was the member of Congress who listened to our complaints about ex-President Drake and led the charge to oust him. Randall built the foundation for real change in this country, and it’s my plan as president to fulfill that vision of change.
“With all due respect to his holiness, the Headmaster has largely kept out of our effort to turn this country around. The Headmaster worked side by side with President Drake, and I have reason to believe he had a powerful influence over Drake’s policies. I do not think he has any interest in the changes sought by myself and Interim President Randall.”
“Do you envision a new relationship between Church and State?” asked Santos.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe that they should be separate.”
“Heresy!” burst Levi.
“Mayor,” Santos broke in. “You will have your turn to respond in a minute. Please continue, Mr. Young.”
“It’s my opinion that President Drake, working together with the Headmaster, exploited the people’s fear of God to keep them in line. They made people believe that free thinking was heresy and a sure path to imprisonment and Hell. But fear is not how you run a country. And the only solution I see is to keep the Church completely separate from the affairs of the government. I do not anticipate the Headmaster will support me. But I think it’s a key change if we are to come out of the dark ages in which we are living.”
Santos pointed to Susan Levi. “Mayor?”
“I have never heard such heresy,” she said. “The president and the Headmaster have always worked together, long before the Drake administration. Nobody has ever questioned this before. It’s only logical that the president would consult with God’s representative. How else can we be sure we are on the path to Heaven? What my opponent is suggesting would take us off the path and send us right off the cliff into Hell’s bottomless pit.”
Young laughed. “You see? This is exactly the kind of fear-mongering I’m talking about.”
“You are trying to destroy the foundation of our law-abiding society,” Levi spat back. “Why don’t you tell everyone your policy to improve church attendance?”
Young glanced at the moderator, who nodded his assent.
“Well, I would not require church attendance,” Young said. “I would allow people to practice any religion they choose, or if they would rather, not practice any religion at all.”
“Don’t shoot!” exclaimed Eve, edging backward. The building was at least ten stories and the street looked a long way down.
Tilting his head, the Saint grinned and mumbled something incomprehensible. At first she thought it was Rodriguez himself, but now she could see that this face was pale and bearded.
The tweedy voice of her former partner returned to her headphones. “Truly, it would be a shame for your skills to go to waste, Agent Parker. You were meant to serve God.”
“Is it too late?” she asked the radio.
C’mon Eve, she thought. Keep him talking.
“Interesting, interesting, interesting,” sang Rodriguez. “So the prodigal daughter wants to return.”
Eve felt the roof’s brick railing come up against her lower back.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Rodriguez said. “Empty your pockets and lay face down on the ground. My partner will bring you to a holy place. There, God will decide if you deserve redemption.”
As he issued the command, the Saint on the rooftop relaxed his gun’s aim. Immediately, Eve flipped backward and over the side of the building. Her hands held onto the brick wall as she did so and it took all her strength to hang on.
Eve could hear the pounding footsteps above of the Saint moving in for the kill. She squinted downward to confirm she was just a few inches above a window ledge, and then, holding her breath, dropped lightly onto the platform. Eve lost balance instantly and nearly fell backwards, but she caught the edge of the window frame with a flailing right hand and pulled herself in tight to the wall. With a free hand, she took her pistol and aimed for the sky.
The Saint’s black hood dipped over the edge and Eve fired. The dark figure fell forward and slid over the edge of the building. A piece of soft cloth brushed against her neck as she pressed against the window. A few second later, she heard a crash and the screams of bystanders.
“We offer you Forgiveness and this is how you respond?” sneered Rodriguez. “How disappointing.”
Eve pulled off the headset. “I already missed my chance at redemption,” she said.
She dropped the radio and watched it fall toward the bloody, black heap on the sidewalk. Balancing carefully on the ledge, she got out her phone and dialed Ana.
Seven noticed Ana listening to her cell phone. He scowled at her and whispered, “You didn’t turn that off?”
She grabbed him by the arm.
“What?” whispered Seven.
“That was Eve. Rodriguez attacked her team and she thinks he may be inside. ”
Seven turned sharply to the stage. Instead of Danny he saw his friend Adrian. A red laser dot appeared in the middle of the rock singer’s forehead. The electric guitar fell out of his hands, hitting the floor with a sonic boom.
Ana prodded him. “Seven?”
He fell out of his dream and saw Danny behind the podium again.
“Let’s spread out,” Seven ordered. “Go up to the balcony and scan the crowd. I’m going to check backstage. When the show ends, we’re getting out of here immediately.”
Ana nodded and they dispersed.
Santos cleared his throat. “I was planning to ask a question about how each candidate plans to handle our ongoing war with the Enemy. However, just prior to the show, an anonymous viewer submitted a shocking tape that we believe requires answers first and foremost. We’ll play the tape, and then I will ask the candidates for their responses. Mr. Young will probably want to answer first.”
After a few moments pause a deep, heavily accented voice filled the auditorium. The familiarity of the recording stopped Seven short at the door leading backstage.
“Our intelligence indicates that you lead a rebel movement in your nation known as the Underground,” said the voice on the tape. “We would like to make our intentions known to you, because we believe our interests may align. In one hour, we will launch a
‘shock-and-awe’ attack on your Capital. We then intend to come to shore and take it.
“You refer to us as the Enemy, but we are not the Underground’s enemy. Our mission is not one of destruction, but rather salvation. We are here to free your nation from the tyrant William Drake and his wholly oppressive government. We are here to install you, the Underground, as leaders of this new, free republic.”
The message set off a clamor in the audience. Even behind his makeup, Danny Young looked frightfully pale.
Santos turned to him. “Mr. Young, did the Underground assist the Enemy in its attack on our nation?”
Young gaped. “What? No!”
Seven saw Susan Levi grinning like a cat who had just bitten the head off a mouse.
Santos pressed, “Do you or do you not recognize this audio message?”
Danny looked helplessly at the seat where Seven had been sitting. He spluttered, “I–I recognize it.”
Everyone gasped.
“Wait, hear me out!” he shouted. “Yes, we did receive that message from the Enemy, but we did not respond and we certainly did not help them.”
“Did you alert the Guard?” grilled Levi. “To warn them of the impending attack?”
“No,” he said to more gasps. “But I didn’t even know about the tape until after the attack. We–”
“So, here’s what I’m hearing,” Levi interrupted. “Danny Young could have stopped the Enemy from destroying the Capitol Tower. Danny Young could have stopped the Enemy from blowing up our city’s churches. Danny Young could have prevented the evacuation that cost even more lives and brought this country’s economy to a screeching halt. But he didn’t. He stood by and let it happen.”
The speech sounded prepared, Seven remarked to himself.
Susan Levi shook her head disparagingly. “Is that the kind of person we want to be our next president?”
The crowd began to boo and Seven heard cries of “Heretic!” and “Traitor!” A water bottle lifted from the audience and slammed into Danny’s podium. He ducked as more debris came raining down.
Seven jumped to the stage and helped Danny escape. With horrifying clarity, he realized that the Saints had struck, accomplishing exactly what they had come for. Seven, Eve, nor anyone else, could have stopped them. The only thing to do now was regroup and hope the damage was not irreversible.
Eve wondered about the fate of old Bill’s flowers as she approached the ruins of the church. On this night she saw only mud, broken concrete, and twisted metal. The great sheets of glass that once defined the modern structure were now just color-stained shards on the ground, easily mistakable for the remains of broken beer bottles. The Enemy had come and wrecked this holy place beyond repair. For now, at least, all the Guard could do was erect a barbed-wire fence to contain the mess.
She was walking toward a circus big top on the other side of Ground Zero. It floated like a ghost above the wreckage, with white nylon skin flapping loudly in the wind. Eve glanced over her shoulder but didn’t see a soul. She was still feeling a little freaked out that the Saint who attacked her–the Saint who should be dead–had seemingly vanished into thin air. When Eve got down to the street, the black-shrouded body was gone. There wasn’t even any blood on the sidewalk.
Somewhere, a hound howled at the moonless sky. Eve couldn’t locate the animal but guessed it was another stray. There were so many of them now.
There was no way the Saint could have survived the fall, she told herself. The only rational explanation was that someone had dispensed of the body while she was still inside the building. Someone with a squeegee.
Eve moved on toward the big top. She wouldn’t have come here but she needed answers. Randall told her the Saints were just an urban legend. But he couldn’t explain who Rodriguez was–checking the Guard’s database turned up no results
Based on the Saints’ agenda so far–destroying Young’s campaign for president and punishing Eve for “heresy”–it was pretty clear they had a religious bent. What Eve wasn’t sure about was if they reported directly to the Church or if they were just a gang of reactionaries–some kind of ultra-conservative Underground. Randall suggested that she ask the Headmaster himself, but Eve didn’t want to confront the high priest just yet. No, first she needed to talk to someone she could trust. Or, at least, used to trust.
She hoped to God the Saints didn’t come from the Church. Eve grew up in a church. She had studied the Bible and listened to sermons every week of her life. Church was where she learned the difference between right and wrong. It was where she became inspired to join the Guard and make a difference. The Headmaster had been in charge of the Church as long as Eve could remember. How could a man she had respected and bowed down to her entire life be evil?
Okay, so he had sentenced her to death. He was still the Headmaster.
It started to rain, a cold sprinkle that felt like the harbinger of a great storm. Eve didn’t carry an umbrella–it would only get in the way–so she sprinted the rest of the way to the tent. She passed a sign that read INTERIM CHURCH in big block letters. Below that was a message: What appears as punishment is truly a test.
Inside she found rows upon rows of plastic folding chairs, separated into sections by a wide walkway and pointed at a great podium on the other end of the tent. The makeshift pews were empty except for a man with short gray hair, sitting in the front-row aisle seat of the right section. Eve called out to him but her voice failed to break through the rain thumping against the top of the tent.
She touched the old man on the shoulder. “Dad.”
He started with a yelp, spinning sharply to Eve.
Eve smiled lightly. “It’s just me.”
“My daughter, you’re alive!”
“I was pardoned.”
He stood up and hugged her. “Oh, Evey.”
Remembering the callousness with which he had treated her in prison, she pushed him away. “I’m here on business.”
“Oh,” he said, backing off.
“I was just wondering,” began Eve, sounding a bit too much like Daddy’s little girl, “have you ever heard of a group called the Saints?”
His eyes widened as if stabbed in the belly.
Eve smirked. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He closed his eyes in assent. “They are bodyguards for the Headmaster. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even tell you that much.”
She looked at him closely and realized he was shivering. This was not the man she remembered from when she was young. He seemed so frail.
“You have to help me, Dad. The future of this country depends on it.”
“It’s not up to you to decide the future, Evey. The Headmaster has already seen it.”
Now she was irritated. “And who exactly is the president in the Headmaster’s vision of the future? Susan fucking Levi?”
Dad looked appalled. “How can you use words like that in a House of God?”
Eve laughed. This circus tent?
“It’s not up to us to judge Susan Levi,” her father continued. “He has chosen her.”
“Are you talking about God or the Headmaster?”
“These questions are blasphemy! What’s happened to my–?”
“You left me for dead!” Eve screamed, not able to contain her anger any longer. “The Headmaster sentenced me to death. No one told you why, but because the Headmaster said I was a Heretic, you–my own father–believed that I was. And now you’re still on his side. Dad, just because he’s the head of the Church doesn’t mean he’s doing God’s work!”
They were interrupted by a loud crack. At first Eve thought it was thunder, but then a second bang made the folding chair next to her father fall forward.
“Get down!” she screamed, tugging her father by the collar.
Eve lifted a gun from her holster and aimed it back toward the tent flap that served as the church’s entrance. A rifle and the hooded head of a Saint poked out into the open. Eve ducked just in time to avo
id the bullets.
The Saint dipped back into cover behind the entrance to the temporary church. Eve fired straight into the nylon wall. The Saint staggered back into the tent and fell dead in the aisle
Eve muttered, “Taking cover behind a tent–what an idiot.”
Her father didn’t respond.
“Daddy?”
He was lying on the floor in a growing pool of red.
“You’re going to be okay,” Ana told Danny as they stepped off the elevator on the 114th floor. “Right, Seven?”
“Huh?” He was mesmerized by the flurry of activity. Young’s political whiz kids were running every which way and the phones were ringing off the hook.
“Danny’s going to be okay, I said.”
Talia emerged from the crowd of frantic politics to meet them. “Okay, as in alive, maybe,” she said. “But like, probably not as president.”
Danny Young frowned miserably. “What are the damages?”
“Channel 3’s headline right now asks, ‘Is Young a Heretic?’ Channel 5’s headline is, ‘D.A.Y. Traitor?’ And Wolf News asks, ‘Is Young’s Campaign on Life Support?’”
The presidential candidate looked like a balloon someone had stuck with a needle. “This is my fault,” he sulked. “And they’re right. I should have done more.”
“You didn’t hear the message from the Enemy until it was too late,” reminded Ana. “It was just bad timing, babe.”
Talia grinned ironically. “Yeah, well so far all of the networks have pretty much washed over that whole argument. And like, anyway, every five minutes they play that evil-sounding voice interspliced with footage of the burning Capitol Tower. No matter how much you try to explain it away, that image is going to be the main takeaway here.”
Ana looked annoyed. “What makes you such an expert anyway?”
“I’m a public comm major,” she replied sweetly.
“Wow!” burst Danny, seeming to forget his current plight. “That’s very cool! I didn’t know that! You should have said something about that before!”
Ana scoffed, but Seven had stopped listening. He was thinking about the way Talia had described the Enemy’s voice. And then it occurred to him. “Do we know who’s talking on the tape?”
