Judgment Day (37 page)

CHAPTER 68 RUNAUAY

Family conflict is almost always a result of poor communication. Frequently the parents are poor listeners and the children incapable of expressing complex and conflicting thoughts and emotions. While improving communication can be extremely difficult, it is virtually the only way to keep some families intact.

—
UNDERSTANDING CONFLICT
, CHRISTINE MAITLAND

D
aniel threw his pack over the chain-link fence, then climbed over after it. Staying in the underbrush, he kept low until he was out of sight of the school. Then he cut through town, sticking to alleys and backyards, acting nonchalant when forced to pass someone on the street. Once through town he avoided the road, taking the trails through the waist-high brush.

He'd packed an extra large lunch that morning and had smuggled out a change of clothes the day before. He'd been stealing money for months and had enough stashed away to get him a bus ticket. They would expect him to go to San Francisco, but this time he would fool them. He was going to Seattle this time. Josh had a friend there, Syd, who would take him in and hide him until it was safe. When would that be? Not until he was eighteen, he guessed, but living in hiding for ten years was better than living with his parents.

It wasn't just his father he hated anymore, but his mother too. She kept defending his father, punishing Daniel when he tried to get his sister, Faith, to talk about what had been done to her. Soon the conflicts with his mother were as great as with his father and he ran away.

He was coming to the last fence between him and freedom and he angled toward the spot where he had dug a hollow underneath. When he got there he found that someone had filled it in, but the ground was still soft and he dog-paddled the dirt out of the hole. He was pushing his pack under the fence when he heard sirens. Pulling his pack back, he retreated into the brush to hide and watch. He could see the dust from cars drifting above the trees about a quarter of a mile away. Suddenly three state police cars came around the corner. Two raced past him, but the third pulled over just down the road. Four officers got out, three walking down the road, the fourth remaining. All of them carried shotguns.

They couldn't be after him. Something else was going on—but what? With his escape tunnel in full view of the trooper, he retreated deeper into the brush and turned away, walking in the direction the cars had come from. When he was out of sight of the trooper, he snuck to the fence and walked along looking for a way under. The ground was baked hard from the California sun and he didn't have a shovel.

Putting his pack on his back, he found toeholds in the chain link and then pulled himself up the wire. His feet were still small enough to fit in the spaces and he made good progress, quickly reaching the barbed wire at the top. Carefully, he gripped the wire between barbs and pulled it down, pushing himself up at the same time. Next he would pin the wire to the top of the fence with his foot and then swing over to the other side. He was poised on the top when he heard the trooper.

"Freeze right where you are!"

"I'm just taking a shortcut," Daniel said. "I do this all the time."

Not wanting to give the trooper a chance to argue, Daniel started to swing over the top. Once on the other side he was sure he could outrun the trooper, or talk himself to freedom.

"Freeze or I'll shoot!"

At the sound of a shotgun shell being jacked into the gun's chamber, Daniel froze.

"It's okay. I live here."

"Get back over that fence or I'll shoot."

"But—"

"Now!" the trooper growled.

Frightened, Daniel dropped back. Would the trooper actually shoot him for running away?

"What's the big deal? I'll just go through the gate," he lied.

"Not anymore you won't. This whole town is quarantined."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that nobody gets in and nobody gets out."

Daniel didn't believe the trooper so he began walking the perimeter of the fence, looking for a way out. Police and National Guard troops guarded every possible exit. As the afternoon wore on, and he walked the perimeter of the town, it became clear his days of running away were over.

CHAPTER 69 RUTH

Sin . . . has been made not only ugly but passe. People are no longer sinful, they are immature or underprivileged or frightened or, more particularly, sick.

—
THE PROVINCE OF THE HEART
, PHYLLIS MCGINLEY

R
uth Breitling liked children and worked as a teacher's assistant at the Christ's Home school. The classes were blended, so in the same room she worked with first through third graders, enjoying the developmental differences. With no children of her own she parented vicariously, teaching, baby-sitting, and foster grandparenting a half-dozen families. She was known as loving but firm, and well liked by both children and parents.

They were about to go to afternoon recess when the principal announced over the intercom that all classes were to stay in their rooms. A few minutes later the teacher was called to the office, leaving Ruth in charge of the class. The students were rambunctious now, since they were missing recess, and she decided to play games with them. Seven-up was popular, so she picked seven kids to go first and had the others put their heads down on their desks. While the seven snuck around and each touched another child, she looked out the window. The playground was empty—nothing to be learned from that. Then the speaker came on again.

"Would Ruth Breitling please report to the office?"

Worried that something had happened to Ira, Ruth started for the door and then remembered the class. There was no one to watch the students.

"Continue playing the game, please," Ruth told the class. "Mrs. Carmichael will be here shortly. Martha, you're in charge until then."

Martha, a mature, bossy student, beamed with pride. Happy to keep playing, the rest of the children picked the game up where they left off and Ruth hurried toward the office. The office was by the front entrance and waiting there was a tall dark woman with the blackest eyes she had ever seen. She was dressed in yellow coveralls, a plastic hood hanging over her shoulders. Two similarly dressed men waited with her.

"Ruth Breitling?" the woman asked. "We must hurry. Something's happened to Ira."

They weren't part of the Fellowship, she knew, but their clothes told her they worked with hazardous materials—like Ira often did. She let the woman take her by the arm, noticing the office staff watching through the glass. Outside they hurried her toward a large van marked "HAZMAT."

"Is Ira all right?"

"We're taking you to him."

Then they helped her in the back of the van. There were benches along the sides and she moved toward one but suddenly was grabbed by both arms and slammed to the floor. The doors closed behind her and a needle was jammed into her buttocks. She screamed, but a hand silenced her, and she was held down while the drugs circulated through her system, reaching her brain. As she sank into blackness, the last thing she remembered was the vibrations of the vehicle as it drove her away.

CHAPTER 70 KIDNAPPED

American astronomer Dr. Carl Sagan, one of the leading investigators in the field, has suggested that there may be as many as a billion Earth-like (and therefore habitable) planets in our Galaxy.

—
UNEXPLAINED:

MYSTERIES OF MIND, SPACE AND TIME
, PETER BROOKESMITH [ED.]

W
hen Mark heard that the state police had sealed off the roads leading to Christ's Home and the compound, he ordered an evacuation—not of people, but of their technology. Computers were wiped clean of technical data and all spare parts for spacecraft were loaded into sealed cargo containers and lifted into orbit. Key people were sent to the New Hope and other smaller orbital stations. Since the Mexican compound was still open, Mark ordered the evacuation of sensitive material from all foreign sites too. By dark all the Fellowship compounds and churches in the U.S. were sealed off, police or National Guard troops controlling access. Even those who had no connection to their space activities were confined to their homes under threat of arrest.

Stephen O'Malley called Mark at the Christ's Home compound.

"They're afraid you might have brought back a dangerous disease, Mark."

"It's nonsense," Mark said. "Micah and the others lived on the new world for months. They survived."

"As soon as someone dies from an unidentified disease, we'll be hit with a lawsuit," Stephen said. "Copycats will follow. It won't matter if the symptoms are different from person to person, their lawyers will convince sympathetic juries that we are responsible. Remember the lawsuits over silicon breast implants? The scientific evidence proved that the implants were harmless, yet jury after jury awarded millions to women desperate to blame someone else for their illness."

Now Mark regretted his decision to bring the animals down from orbit. He wanted everyone who had sacrificed to support the mission to see the fruits of the mission for themselves but his shortsightedness had put everything at risk.

"You're being charged with endangering the public health and violating laws regulating the importation of exotic and dangerous animals. However, they have banned contact with anyone who has been exposed to these animals, so until their anger at you exceeds their fear of an epidemic, you and the others are safe from prosecution."

The implications of the quarantine were devastating. While their communications stations in orbit would continue to be profitable, all tourist business would end, as would burials in space. They could shift operations to other countries—Mexico probably—but that would be costly. There was no risk to the people on Earth but their enemies could keep the fear alive for years. Mark made a decision. He called Micah and Floyd in to hear it first.

"It's time to move to the new planet."

Expecting elation, Mark was surprised by their subdued reaction.

"Mark, we don't even have full data on the planet," Micah said. "We need to study the climate and geology so we can select the best location."

"If we wait, lawsuits, government legal action, and fines will drain our resources—within a year we could be bankrupt, all of our assets attached or impounded. We need to get as many of our people to the new world and as quickly as we can."

"What about the other marker?" Micah asked.

"First chance we get we'll see where it leads, but we're quickly becoming unwelcome on this world. We must move, now!"

Mark was their leader and even with doubts they followed orders.

"I'll tell Sally to begin liquidating some of our assets," Floyd said. "We only have a fraction of the supplies we'll need and we'll be cut off from U.S. suppliers—probably all western sources. As long as Mexico stays open to us we can get what we need shipped south. It will raise the costs some, but it can't be helped."

"Covenant
is nearly ready, but we need a test run," Micah said.

"While Floyd organizes people and supplies we'll run the
Covenant
to Mars to test the drive. We can resupply the Mars colony at the same time and charge the run to the government."

Establishing a home on a new world would be their most complex undertaking and tax their resources to the maximum. The first step would be the most dangerous but the one they could most easily afford. For every person on the new world, there would be twenty-five people working on Earth to support them. As the new world colony grew the number of supporters would shrink, until it became prohibitively expensive to move any more off-planet. To make the enterprise feasible they needed to keep all Earth enterprises generating revenue long after the colony was established. Mark was about to turn to the finance issue when Ira rushed in, closely followed by Evelyn.

"Ira, you should be on the New Hope," Mark said.

"Ruth's been kidnapped," Ira said.

"What? Who took her?" Mark stammered.

"We've got to get her back, Mark," Ira said. "I need her."

Ira was dissolving into grief, so Mark turned to Evelyn.

"People came to the school dressed in protective clothing, like they were doctors or scientists. They paged Ruth and when she came to the office they told her Ira had been hurt and that they would take her to him. They put her in the back of a van and drove off. No one's heard from her since. We called the local fire district and the state but no one sent a HAZMATteam."

"She's suffered so much for my sins," Ira moaned.

Evelyn snaked her arm around Ira, comforting him.

"They took her to get to you, Ira," Mark said. "They'll call, and they'll want to trade her for you, or for our technology."

Now Ira looked hopeful but it was Mark who had to decide whether one life was worth the secret God had entrusted to them. He desperately wanted to avoid that decision.

"Evelyn, get George Proctor on the phone."

CHAPTER 71 PRISONERS

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.

—PSALM 139:13

P
roctor had long known he was called to protect Mark Shepherd and his people, but until he heard they had traveled to another star he had not fully understood why. He had enjoyed the world's humiliation at each of their successes, but now he saw God's people could escape the world—live separately as they were called to do in the Bible. It was God's plan for His people and he would do everything in his power to see that it happened.

Every terrorist group in the world was suspected in Ruth Breitling's kidnapping, as well as organized crime, although Proctor put them low on his list—they would have tried threatening Mark or Ira first. It was a long list, but the best place to start was with those who had tried to hurt the Fellowship before.

Proctor flew to his compound in Idaho. It was a fortress really, surrounded by barbed wire and stone fences that masked reinforced concrete designed to slow down tanks. The main building had once been a farmhouse, but there were so many additions the original structure was indistinguishable from the others.

His men patrolled the perimeter on all-terrain vehicles, rifles slung over their shoulders. The land had been cleared of native pine trees for a half mile in all directions, making it hard on government snipers. Nothing would stop artillery of course, but Proctor had plans for that contingency too.

More guards watched from windows on the third floor of the building—the windows bullet-resistant. Children played on the grounds, most swarming around the play structure near the barn they had converted to a school. The main building was filled with the smell of baking bread. Saturday nights they shared a common meal, the women coming together to create a weekly feast, including fresh breads. Only a third of his people lived in the compound, the rest spread out among the working farms in the area. Every farm was self-sufficient, donating from its profits for the common good.

Proctor climbed to the third-floor guard station. Brett McKenna was there, binoculars hanging from his neck. With sandy hair, a farmer's tan, and a red neck, Brett was a young man, energetic, fearless, and like most young men, thought he was invincible. Four years in the army had nurtured his love of country and patriotism, so when the government he swore to protect shut down his farm because of an endangered butterfly, Brett joined Proctor's army.

"Hello, sir, I didn't expect you this weekend," Brett said.

"Are they out there?" Proctor asked.

"Yes. In the usual spot."

Brett handed his binoculars over and Proctor focused them on a clump of trees perched on a small rise a mile away, just outside Proctor's property. He could see two men standing in the trees, one looking back at him with his own binoculars.

His compound was constantly watched by ATF agents, although they had yet to try to execute a search warrant. Federal agents weren't popular in rural Idaho where many of the residents had "Remember Waco" bumper stickers on their pickups. George knew the backlash over the Branch Davidian fiasco would keep the government out of his compound unless there was a clear danger to the public and he had no intention of becoming a danger. All their weapons were legal, all their bills and taxes paid on time.

He left Brett and went down to the basement and then through a hidden door into a room built dead center of the house. There under a rug was a trapdoor leading to a subbasement. He climbed down to the room below that led to the cells. There were a dozen small cells built in the subbasement, each with its own plumbing, plus two interrogation rooms. Eight of the cells were currently occupied. The man he wanted to talk to was in the last.

He switched off the lights to the cell block, then opened and entered, closing the door behind. As he walked the other prisoners were silent, familiar with his slow gait. They used to beg him when he passed, saying, "Please let me go home. I won't tell anyone. I have a family," or just as often cursed and threatened him. Nothing moved him, however, their sentences were for life and they had slowly come to accept that. All except the man in the last cell.

The cell block was pitch-black, but it made no difference to Proctor, who could see each of the prisoners as he passed. Lichter was the most pitiful, now wasted away to a stick figure. He sat on his bunk, head in his hands, no hope left in him. The other NASA engineers had fared better, eating well, exercising in their cells, reading the Bibles and Christian books they were provided. Both claimed to have accepted Christ, but neither was particularly convincing.

Rosa Quigly was standing at her cell door, and when he passed she spat at him. Still defiant, she rejected all of the books they gave her, tearing her Bible into tiny pieces, cursing the guards who brought her meals. Intellectually, she was the most gifted of the prisoners, a master of secular humanism who argued theology with Proctor's people. Ironically, her dogmatic defense of humanism kept her more alive than the others, but kept her from life everlasting.

Next to Rosa was the man who had fired the missile at the
Rising Savior
. He was a large man who kept himself strong with a daily regimen of exercise. He never turned down food, and never asked for any special favors. He read the materials they provided, but never asked questions, never discussed the Bible with the other prisoners or the guards, and rarely spoke. He was the most dangerous of the prisoners. Two months ago he had stolen a fork and now spent his nights under his bunk chipping away at the concrete. The hidden video camera recorded his slow progress every night. Early on they decided there was little danger since it would take him a year to get through the concrete and there was no way for him to cut through the steel reinforcing. They decided to study his techniques in order to learn how to improve their security. Right now his biggest problem was disposing of the pieces of concrete he was chipping away. Some of it was hidden in his mattress, and some had gone down the toilet. They were pretty sure he was eating the smaller pieces and it amused them.

He was sitting on the bunk staring defiantly into the dark when Proctor stopped in front of his cell.

"There may be a way out of here for you," Proctor said.

The man's expression remained blank.

"You'll never let me out of here alive. I know too much. Besides, if I get out of here I will kill you!"

Through his eyelids Proctor could see the man's eyes blaze with hatred.

"Things have changed since you've been in here."

Now the man looked intrigued.

"What things?"

"It may be possible to release you in such a way that you could not harm us."

The man walked to the bars, moving confidently in the dark, the sign of someone who has lived years in an enclosed space.

"I don't believe you."

Despite his words, Proctor could hear his interest.

"I'm a Christian. If I swear on a Bible will you believe me?"

The man laughed, cursing softly to himself. "You torture me—and the others here—imprison us without a trial, and keep us locked up in cells not fit for animals and you call yourself a Christian and ask me to trust you?"

"For what you did you should have been killed. When you went to war against us you warred against God. The only reason you're alive is because God is merciful—I'm not. You have a warm dry place to sleep and plenty of food. There are millions who have less."

"Less food, but more freedom. I'll gladly trade with them."

"That's what I'm offering. I'll trade you freedom for information."

"And my only guarantee is your claim to believe in an invisible being?

There is no God. Your promise is worthless."

"It doesn't matter what you believe. What matters is what I believe."

Now the man looked thoughtful, finally understanding that the promise of freedom depended on Proctor's faith, not his own.

"I want you to swear on your family Bible!" the man said.

"I've got a New Testament with me."

"It's the whole thing or no deal, and I want two witnesses—not prisoners. It's got to be your people and they have to swear on a Bible too. One more thing. I want to look you in the eye when you swear, so turn the lights on!"

The prisoner was making demands to cover up the fact he was going to betray his employer. His simple conditions were easy to meet. More problematic was arranging to set him free. For that he would need Mark Shepherd.