 
### The Final Stage  
Book 3

### Nate Allen

Copyright 2019

–The Holiday Season–

### 1

" _We interrupt your scheduled programming for a short Breaking News update."_ the man's voice was automatic and familiar. There had been many Breaking News updates lately. And as they always did, this update brought Ken to the newsroom of Lidia Johnson: the voice of the people. _"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Money, once something we all pursued, will soon be obsolete. It once chained us. It once controlled us. Now it has become powerless. Let these clips give you hope for the coming new year. The best is yet to come."_ Four different videos were displayed at once, showing large piles of money burning in the streets. The cheers were loud and continuous. The four videos differed in the details, but the thread of each was clear: freedom. Some expressed it with words; others expressed it in physical manifestations.

Ken turned the TV off, shaking his head. "If only they knew..." waiting for a response that didn't come, he turned to find that Willow had fallen asleep on the couch next to him. He kissed her forehead as he settled back in with her. He let out a deep breath as he closed his eyes. Whenever he doubted God's presence in his life, he only had to look at the current trajectory of his life. Though tragedy had branded him in a cruel and relentless fashion, his life was now the brightest it had been in a very long time. To think that on the very night he decided to follow his mom into The Holy Army, God brought Willow across his path instead.

Sometimes he wondered—even to a guilty degree—if his relationship with Rosy had always been meant as a stepping stone to bring Willow into his life. She carried the same kindness Rosy had, but her story more closely mirrored his own. Though they didn't come together because of pain alone, their pain had created a similar depth. The details to their relationship were very similar: two puzzle pieces sure that their place was found in the other.

Ken looked around his apartment, cardboard boxes in uneven stacks all around. In just under a week he would have to vacate the property, a mandate made clear by letter to each tenant. He didn't have a place to put his things. Renting a storage unit was no different. Without the Chip, there was no access. Packing his items (a futile effort) was less to keep them and more a way to maintain some sense of normality. There was a small stack of boxes he planned to bring with him: photo albums his mom dropped off before leaving for good.

It was strange when he would drive by the house he grew up in, abandoned now for nearly three months. To think it was once a place he called home. It now reflected his old life: empty and cold. Even though he was happy his mom had found her calling in Christ, the chances they would ever see each other again in this life were not high. She couldn't tell him where she was going. She couldn't contact him by phone or letter. In many ways, she was gone from his life just the same.

But there was not a moment where he regretted his decision to stay. The Holy Army was his mom's path; Willow was his. Where their story would lead he didn't know. What he did know was that the plans he had for them were already firmly grasped by his right hand in his pants pocket: the ring was sterling silver with a black onyx stone in the center.

### *

It was Christmas Eve (as of a few minutes before). Debra tried her best not to think about the holiday season. It only made her think of her many losses; and when she walked down that road, it led to some very dark thoughts. Every Christmas tree, regardless of its size, brought her back to the towering spruce her and Keith bought every year.

The last year had not only taught her about the frail nature of life, it had stabbed the reality into her repeatedly. Loss upon loss. Grisly. Grotesque. Something she had to keep separate from the new person she had become. She had to remind herself constantly that they were no longer hers. And even the best memories she had of Kyle and Keith did not bring warmth; it brought a level of sadness that cannot be fully described. To accept that they were once hers also meant accepting that they were now forever lost. Those memories couldn't be hers, not even the happiest ones. They had to disappear from her life, they had to swept out from every corner and cut from every memory. It was the only way she could function.

Usually, Deb functioned quite well. It was only when the action died down and she had to sit in the quiet with her thoughts. This is where her function stalled and where a day of full productivity ended on a sour note. Tonight, December 24th of 2022, a Saturday, was one of these nights.

A week is all that separated the Christ followers from the deadline. In the time that Deb had been with The Holy Army, she had been witness to a swelling persecution. Still something boiling just beneath the surface, the coming eruption was unavoidable and quickly approaching. She was part of a group of people that were seen as disruptors, trouble-makers, roadblocks...

The people were vocal in their opposition, but they let the picketers stand; they let the preaching go on in the streets; they even let the Christ followers slander President Pummel, replying with one small but very powerful point: "when money is obsolete, you will be too." Maybe the words weren't always as succinct, but the message was always the same.

Deb slept on a small cot in a hidden location that she didn't even know how to reach. Best she could tell it was an old school and they were living in the gymnasium. It was kept secret for very good reasons. Once the deadline passed, it would be used as a place of safety for those left with nothing. When Deb arrived a little under three months before, it had been a place for active members to stay. But as the deadline grew closer, more people were brought in daily.

It wasn't particularly quiet tonight. And even though the overhead lights were off, there were many other sources of light present. A nightlight here, a flashlight there, at least half a dozen candles lit and placed in different locations, and one small pre-lit artificial Christmas tree. One small group of people were having bible study around one of the candles; another small group was sitting around the tree, the presents beneath nothing but empty boxes wrapped in paper. They were talking about the birth of Christ. There was no message more precious as the deadline approached.

Deb closed her eyes only to open them again. She saw Keith. She saw Kyle. She saw Ken. She saw a life that was no longer hers when it was at its very best. And it made her miss it all the more.

### 2

Cancer kills often and in brutal ways. It not only takes a loved one, it slowly carves them into something unrecognizable. And when it finally shuts off a person's lights, it leaves those behind with their memories forever stained. Even when happy moments are found together, the sickness is always present.

John had experienced this once with his wife. And now, after a violent and sudden relapse, he was witness to it with Junior. His boy, once a picture of athletic discipline and fortitude, was now a bag of shrinking bones. He couldn't eat; it ran through him. He could only drink sips of water. Cracked lips. Ashen skin. Sunken eyes. John saw very little of his boy left.

_This illness does not lead to death._ The words were John's focal point. When first given to him they arrived like a strike of the bell at midnight. It woke him back up. It gave awareness back to his position. And though once they were given Junior began to improve, John walked each day in faith, deciding to follow his Lord no matter the outcome.

"If You are going to take my boy, prepare my heart, Lord. If I hate You in this time, I fear I will fall away entirely." A prayer stripped of all presentation, this was what John recited daily. The words he held onto were contrary to the sad reality. The glossed over look in his boy's eyes, the empty rattle of breath, and the distinct and rotten smell of a body shutting down—Junior didn't have much time left. Maybe hours, but not even they were guaranteed. The symptoms were different but similar to the day his wife—his sweet Cara—passed away. And as he sat at Junior's bedside, hands folded tightly together, he began to say goodbye.

"Son, you don't have to respond to me. Just listen to my words. I promise you that I will keep up the fight. I will not fall. I will see you again soon. For where you go is a place beyond description. Be ov-overjoyed—" a tear interrupted his flow as he stopped for a moment. A man of usual stoic exterior was doing his best not to cry. He had to be strong for his boy; he had to leave Junior convinced that he was strong enough to carry on without him. Whether it was true or not is something John didn't know. One can only carry so much weight.

A sniffle acted as a reset. "No eye has seen. No ear has heard—"

A knock came at the door. And then it opened.

### *

Lily went to her room early that night, emotionally drained and spiritually frustrated. Her position was a difficult one. Though she had spiritual sight, it only worked when it was meant to. She couldn't flick on a switch and receive divine insight, meaning, in this time when she so desperately wanted to give Pastor John words of comfort, she instead had to remain quiet. She had received nothing in regards to Junior. Nothing but the light she saw on him only getting brighter... When she pushed and prodded, like an impatient child trying to pull answers from a purposely vague parent, she would only receive vague answers.

"Is Junior going to die?" _All will be revealed in its perfect time._ "Do you have any words I can give Pastor John?" _They have already been given to him._ "What can I do to help?" _Wait on Me and listen._

As the deadline approached, it seemed her gift was growing more sporadic, much like a radio struggling to pick up any stations. It was unfamiliar territory, especially considering the harsh nature of the gift at times. Such as the reveal that her sister was murdered only moments after finding her body... or the immediate confirmation that her mom was gone... or the continued sight to see all those damned by the Credit Chip. At times it seemed so inconsistent. In reality it was selective, still requiring her to use faith in her daily life. She could still doubt because there were times when her questions weren't answered; there were times when God simply said nothing at all.

Tonight was different than that though. When she turned in early, it wasn't because she was physically tired. Instead it was an appointment that she hadn't been notified of prior. It seemed spontaneous (though it wasn't) and when she entered her room her eyes didn't close, they simply opened to another realm.

She saw a field of healthy green grass ceilinged in by a cloudless blue sky.

_Hell is coming, Lily._ Jesus' voice was a soft whisper from within. _It will be calm at first, like what you see before you. What waits just beneath the surface, something you see daily, will soon manifest for all to see. But still many will not see._

"What can I do?" Lily matched His whisper with one of her own.

Your gift, as frustrating as it may be to you from time to time, was given to you for such a time as this. The world will soon be darker than it has ever been before, which means My light can shine even brighter. Tonight your gift is whole. Simply speak to a mountain in My name and it shall be cast into the sea. Simply lay your hands on the sick in My name and they will be healed. Give hope back to My people, Lily.

The transition from one realm to the other happened within a blink. And she found she was now standing back in her room, a warm tingle flowing through the entirety of her. She couldn't explain the difference but she had an understanding that had been lacking before. Her gift had been only a piece to a whole because now she felt a sense of completion, a sense of being fully plugged into The Source.

Give hope back...

She knew exactly where to start. Leaving her room, she walked to Junior's door and knocked. She didn't wait for an answer to open it.

### *

On the night Steven nearly raped Willow, the night she was narrowly saved by divine consequence, she didn't get in the car with Lily, Junior, and Stephanie. She just walked on the country road back into town. Hours led her from here to there and then right onto the very pathway Ken was driving to meet his mom. As soon as he pulled up next to her, the rest was automatic, as if the path had already been laid out. They had seen each other many times before, but this time there was a new light cast. A relationship began soon after.

Always convinced that she had to give away her body to be valued, she was finally in a relationship where her value was well beyond her physical appearance. And without the pressure in place to satisfy the needs so many others required from her, she was in uncharted territory. Only a week into dating Ken, despite her desire to stay abstinent, she was ready to give herself to him. It was her default setting. But he told her no. He told her, despite how attractive he found her (a list he went into great detail about), he needed to now be abstinent until marriage. What God said before didn't matter to him like it did now. When with Katy, he was trying to live in _the old_. Now he was trying his best to live in _the new_.

This had never been offered to her before. So, of course, she approached it carefully, unsure of his motive. There had to be a motive, after all. Even those she believed to be good men always ended up going after one thing. She was just waiting for that moment, that first surge of testosterone that made Ken hold her down and take what he wanted from her. The first month of their relationship, Willow's thoughts didn't match the smile she displayed. Every opportunity she had to be with Ken, she jumped at the chance. Her doubts were just that, not overwhelming or all-consuming, just fear fueled voices always chattering.

They began to quiet as time passed, whispers she was able to ignore. A day finally came when she found herself able to open up so many of the things about herself she had kept hidden. And as she let Ken see new sides, she discovered new things about her she had never known. She had always been convinced that her most special quality was her looks. Even her mother commented on them oftentimes in her life, seeming to envy many of the details that made her beautiful. It was what gave her value at home and so it became her identity in all things.

Leaving the old behind had been something she attempted to do time and time again. But it wasn't until Ken was brought across her path that she felt the chains of her old life starting to break away. Their relationship was not a cure. The presence of one didn't fix the past of the other. It simply gave the needed support and stability to start moving forward.

On this night, Willow slept on Ken, safe and secure in her position. The voices barely made a sound when it came to him anymore. And when they did she paid them no mind. This was her best friend. Somehow she didn't fear the hell to come knowing he was by her side.

### 3

Controlling the body of Margaret Stills had grown more than tiresome. Not only had her effectiveness plateaued over time, her overall purpose for being around felt like it was approaching a natural conclusion. From a Christ-like figure one day to yesterday's news the next. The Spirit saw firsthand that the world had changed considerably since The Christ walked the earth. With so many things vying for the people's attention, not even a legitimate healer was important beyond a certain point. She offered only a facet to the benefits of getting the Chip. The Spirit's true oversight had been the nature of people. Why did it ever think Margaret's pitch would bring universal appeal? People are selfish and tend to find things that serve them—not help others. Healing the sick worked as a pitch for those who had sick loved ones. But, what of those who didn't? Even more importantly, what of those who were still on the fence for very different reasons? The Christians?

Though It had performed Margaret's role in an evangelical manner for the duration of her fame, it was still for the already won—the already trapped. When thinking about the coming Feast, the greatest sources of light would provide the most satisfying meal. Those who were housing the Spirit of Christ—if It could trick them, one meal would last for centuries. There was no light purer and no meal more satisfying.

It knew exactly where to look for Margaret's replacement. It only had to find someone that knew the words of Christ and had already twisted them convincingly in their heart. Someone that claimed Hell was metaphorical. Someone who was lost enough to believe they were already saved.

### *

Pastor Linda Masters was up late preparing for the night's Christmas Eve service. The birth of Christ was easily covered every year by a very enthusiastic few members that loved performing. They put plenty of time, effort, and resources into the production. Always a highlight at the Church of God's Love, it barely registered on her radar of worries. What she was worried about was the coming currency deadline. She still had many members of her church that were convinced that the Credit Chip was the mark of the beast. How could she convince the congregation that the book of Revelation (fear mongering at its very worst) was not to be taken literally? These members were only a week away from losing everything in their possession because they simply didn't understand God's love. He would not condemn them—He died for them.

Curse those judgmental voices in their lives that gave them such a harsh image of God. Hell? How can Hell and a God of perfect love exist? Hell was always a scare tactic and it now was truly threatening precious members of her church. What could she do to prove them wrong? A leader leads. She hadn't gotten the Chip yet due to fear of the fallout. But the time was quickly approaching. She had to take a stand and shut down this parasite of fear once and for all.

Now just minutes past midnight in Washington D.C., Linda knew of an all-night clinic nearby. She grabbed her keys as she whispered a soft prayer. "Help them understand, Lord."

### 4

Francis' suicide attempt nearly three months before nearly derailed the entire facade the Head Spirit had built. The gunshot was loud and the response was immediate. Four security guards rushed the room. They saw the blood dripping from the ceiling. They saw smoke still coming from his mouth.

"Precautions must be taken, gentlemen." the Head Spirit explained the scene immediately within the logic of The President's ability. "Someone already tried to take my life and they failed. But, what if someone tries again and succeeds? I had to test my theory without interruption. I had to see if I can die. Not even with the barrel of a gun fired in my mouth." To keep everything light, he made a gun with his pointer finger and thumb on his right hand and blew, the fading smoke from his mouth making a soft stream rolling over and past his pointer finger-tip. A cowboy move with a twist...

The four security guards responded with a wide eyed expression. Amusement? Disbelief? Each was different enough to be unreadable.

"Unfortunately, Mr. President, regardless of your reasons, this is a suicide attempt. The necessary steps must be taken to ensure your continued protect—" the man speaking was suddenly hit in the back of the head with a night stick. And then a second time. He fell to the ground. The other three guards' expressions were now lifeless, their eyes like burnished black stones. It was time to cover Francis' foolish attempt up with a new story.

This guard would be the scapegoat. It wasn't a suicide attempt; it was a nearly successful assassination attempt. A member of that damned Holy Army, maybe? Someone that tried to finish the job at The White House as another brought death and destruction with an explosive device at a self-help seminar? Yes. And even better the story had the benefit of putting an even bigger target on the Christians.

The three guards helped frame the scene in methodical succession, everything ending with one final gunshot to his back. The bullet piercing the spine, killing him in only moments. The story the Spirit wanted to tell would perfectly match the scene several others would find after rushing to the president's room, all the way down to his gun being in the security guard's hand.

The guard who was instructed to inform the president of the bombing, instead entered his room quickly, put the gun in the president's mouth and pulled the trigger. Fortunately, the shot didn't kill him. The Holy Army had failed once again... A perfect cover story for a close call that never should have happened.

From this moment on, Francis Abraham Pummel was secluded to a small, isolated room in his mind. Unable to die, the image of the blood spatter on the ceiling was always with him, a cruel reminder. Oh, how he wished he had died in the fall that killed his brother. Everything would have been so much simpler. All his life he had pushed through all his hardships, propelled by purpose he couldn't define. All he knew was that his position was meant to be great; his pain didn't have to be for nothing. He could bring hope to the hopeless; he could be the savior little Frankie Pummel so desperately needed and was never offered. A foolish pipe dream...

Even his best intentions led to the darkest of places. The faceless man was no longer faceless. He had never been a blank space for Francis to fill once he reached his potential; it had always been a trap. And now a man who only wanted to help people was nothing more than a broken child locked away in a dark room.

With Francis being locked away, all control was now the Head Spirit's. It didn't even have to work with Francis' political counterpart anymore. Though The President didn't have as sensitive of a moral compass as Francis, having a moral compass at all was problematic. Now that the Christians were able to be targeted for their violent acts, It wanted no net, no rules, no red tape. Closing away all aspects of Francis had never been easier. The man was reserved to his fate, understanding that his body was no longer his to possess. And even if it was, the idea of inhabiting a person as corrupt and unrecognizable was sickening. Hiding in a dark room was the closest Francis could come to cleaning his hands of the carnage.

An official report was filed a few days later. Detail for detail matched the story the Head Spirit was trying to sell. According to official record it was a failed assassination attempt. But, that didn't mean there weren't mutterings among the country of alternatives. The evidence pointed to the security guard; but it just as easily pointed to the president. Maybe the pressure of reaching such heights had driven him to a place of wanting to opt out. Maybe living with such powers, yet untapped by so many, had rendered his life pointless, leading him to daredevil tendencies. The theories ran across spectrums, creating yet another mystery to surround a man who already was far from being an open book. It somehow made him even more relatable to the people. Even the first man to reach the final stage of evolution struggled with the day-to-day.

The days and weeks following the mystery of the lone gunshot led to an outpouring of affection. Thousands of flowers were laid out at the gates of The White House, along with cards filled with encouraging words. His approval rating by this point was a staggering 91% of the country.

The more popular he became, the easier he was able to sell policies that were once considered inhumane. Called The Holding Zones, a policy that would see any illegal citizen as of January 1st, 2023 (most being Christians at this point) shipped off to three designated zones in the country: Zone A was located in the deserts of Utah and would hold any illegal citizens that came from the West third of the country; Zone B was located near the border of Canada, where Minnesota and Lake Superior met and would hold any illegal citizens from the Mid third of the country; Zone C was located on a small island off the coast of the Carolinas and would hold any illegals that came from the East third of the country. Already passed in legislation, it was considered no different than a holding place. Once the Chip was received they would be welcomed back into the country immediately; if not, they would remain in The Holding Zone indefinitely.

All of the pieces were in place. Now the Head Spirit just had to wait for the deadline to come. In one week, The Gathering would reach the next stage. The Great Feast was fast approaching. It had waited for this moment ever since inhabiting a snake in the garden. The end was near and It couldn't wait for what was to come.

### 5

Before going to sleep, Ken covered Willow with a blanket and then laid one out for himself on the floor at the base of the couch. Morning soon arrived with light snowfall. It was still early when Willow's phone rang, waking both her and Ken up at the same time. She answered groggily. By the end of the phone call, her face looked confused.

"Who was it?" Ken asked as he sat up.

"Pastor John. He invited us to dinner tonight."

"But," Ken stopped himself from saying what he was thinking. Knowing Junior's condition, it was the last place he wanted to go. That smell filled all parts of the house. A rotten smelling urine; the scent of fecal matter escaping Junior as it decayed within him...

"What is it?" Willow scanned him.

"It's nothing. I just thought with how Junior was doing—I mean if it were me, I wouldn't want people around."

"I understand that. Maybe Pastor John just wants to hold onto the family tradition. He always cooked for Cara and Junior for Christmas Eve. Maybe he wants to do it one final time for his son."

"Maybe," Ken nodded. "We tell ourselves the stories we want to believe. I've been there."

"Will you come with me tonight? I know you're uncomfortable with Junior's state. I am too, but that's my family."

Holding the ring tight in his pocket, he saw that the perfect window had presented itself. He presented the ring, now kneeling on one knee, his blonde hair matted to one side. "Will you be my family? My wife? My best friend? My partner?"

Catching her completely off guard, he was witness to a truly naked expression of joy. She just nodded her head up and down as he slipped the ring on her finger. A perfect fit. This hadn't been his initial plan for proposing. His plan had been getting down on one knee on December 31st at 11:59 p.m. to show her that no matter what was to come he wanted to face it with her.

The proposal that happened wasn't poetic. It wasn't rife with metaphorical importance. But, it was much like their relationship: a simple source of joy.

### *

A lone wolf in the midst of a growing community, Debra didn't know how to translate her love for Christ into a relationship with others. The things people were talking about all around her struck many different chords. She was still new to the faith. Hearing the hearts of those who had walked with Christ for years or even decades inspired her. Although she had joined The Holy Army for the mission to save souls, she realized that her environment couldn't be ignored. If she wanted the strength to withstand the coming persecution, she needed to learn from this community. She needed to embrace the people in it. And she needed to see firsthand who they knew Christ to be.

He was still new to her, still a Message of Hope at the very end of her road. But Who was He to them? Who was He to the man leading the bible study? Who was He to the woman crying as she prayed over her two sleeping children? Who was He to the young Asian boy on a cot near her, who no longer had a family? Beyond fear of damnation, what kept them fighting? He had to be more than an ideal. He had to be more than a character in a story. He even had to be more than a bible at the edge of her dead boy's blood...

Soon the conversations became white noise that put her to sleep. She didn't wake up until morning to the sound of a bullhorn:

"Good morning, friends, and a Merry Christmas Eve to you all. We will be showing some classic Christmas movies in the auditorium today. We have a list of movies and times up on the bulletin board in the hallway. Feel free to stop in for one or make it a whole day." he paused for a moment. "Now on a more serious note, we are officially one week away from the currency deadline. I strongly suggest taking some time in prayer and finding supernatural strength in His Word. You are free to stay here as long as possible." Another pause, this one heavier than the last. "But there is no guarantee we will be safe after the deadline passes. It will be on a minute to minute basis, friends. I wish I could give you more. Please remember these words found in John 15: 18-19: 'If the world hates you, remember that it hated Me first. The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of the world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you.'

"You are chosen by our precious Savior. And because He chose us, He will give us the strength to endure the coming trials. No matter what persecution awaits, keep your eyes on our eternal Hope."

Debra considered every word the man said. She only knew his name (James) but she didn't know his story. The only story she knew was her own. And it painted a very vague picture of Christ, a picture she worried would fade if it was all she had to hold onto. She knew what she needed to do with her day. She took her first step by walking over to the young boy not far from her cot.

"Hello," he was the first one to speak, his tone soft and reserved.

Debra's pause was long, her smile an uncomfortable place setting. When she finally spoke, her delivery was awkward. "Ca-can you tell me your story? Wa-why are you alone?"

He processed her question as he picked at his bottom lip with the tips of his right thumb and pointer finger. "Mom and dad were always loving but very strict. They always regretted letting me go to camp with my friend. I came to Jesus—had one of those moments they talk about. Spiritual exploration is not allowed in my culture. When they found out, our relationship changed. They tried to reintroduce the things I grew up with, the gods and the traditions, but when your eyes are opened, you can't really close them again." he paused, shaking his head. "I brought shame to them. It was considered a betrayal of our traditions and a betrayal of our ancestors. They got the Credit Chip early. I ran away. I haven't seen them in months. I'll probably never see them again."

"Do you ever regret your decision?" her question clearly still sprung from her own doubts. Was it worth the cost?

"No," his answer, though soft, was certain. "Truth is truth."

_Truth is truth_. His reason was simple and clear. And Debra understood it the most. Set aside relationship for a moment, set aside the desire to reach Heaven—for a seeker, the ultimate goal in life is finding truth. And those who find it are fools to let anything take it away. Debra was not a spiritual woman at heart; she was an explorer, now in possession of what few truly find.

### 6

"Hello, Lily," another sniffle. "I'll be with you in a moment." Always there to serve others, John gave the same consideration to her even as his boy was nearing his final breath.

"I have a message for him, Pastor John. It won't take long."

He nodded his head as he made room at Junior's bedside for her. Lily grabbed hold of Junior's hand, a tear immediately dropping free. "Be healed in the name of Jesus Christ."

A dying body responded with immediate life. A frail frame strengthened. A cancer riddled system cleared. And a boy who had been too weak to speak was now sitting up.

Tears sat in John's eyes as he processed the reality of the moment. He watched Lily quietly leave the room without saying a word. Everything seemed to pause as he thought about the culmination. It made Cara's death matter. And it made the path to this night take on a whole different light. Joy was steadily flowing inside of him, while the outside remained a picture of disbelief. Believing for a miracle is different than receiving one. It is something the body isn't equipped to handle. John was in a full state of shock, his body separated from the rest of him. Why? To experience God is to fully understand why a fire starts in an overpowered outlet.

_You are worthy of eternal praise, my King._ His thoughts were the only way he was able to speak. _I have no words to say that can begin to exalt Your Name. Rock of my salvation. Precious Savior. King of k —_

"Dad," Junior's voice was steady, the empty rasp removed. "I'm hungry." These words gave John access back to the familiar. It helped him gain control of his body again. When he stood up, he inflated with euphoria. And a man who usually kept his emotions tight to his chest, displayed them for all to see.

"What do you want me to make you, son? Anything is on the menu." Even John at his happiest did not include a persistent smile. It was in how he carried himself. His demeanor was lighter; his words were delivered with a layering of enthusiasm.

"Grilled cheese and ramen?" it was clear Junior still wanted to take it easy.

"Coming right up," John left the room and headed toward the kitchen, noticing Lily's door was closed. He did the same thing she had done only minutes before: he knocked on her door and opened it immediately after.

"I will never be able to thank you enough, Lily."

"It wasn't me, Pastor John." she smiled, sitting at the edge of her bed. "It's something tangible for you to hold onto. His promises will not return empty. Remember this through everything."

He noticed that she wasn't overjoyed but burdened.

"Are you okay, Lily?" it was jarring to see her heavy after she had brought indescribable hope back to him.

"I'm just preparing for what's coming. Gifts don't come for free. Mine never has." she paused. "Don't worry about me, Pastor John. Go and enjoy this time. You deserve it." her smile was familiar to him, one he had shown many times. It was a smile to cover internal turmoil.

He didn't leave as she requested. Instead he stepped into her room and laid his hands on her. "Lord, give this extraordinary young woman strength. Only You know how heavy this gift truly is. Be her comfort. Be her constant. Be her closest confidante. I plead the Blood of Jesus over you, Lillian Matthews. And I speak these words of prophecy over you: Your pathway is well defined. You will be an answer to the prayers of many. You will save many souls from the brink of damnation. You will provide protection when danger is all around. You are a vessel of The Living God and you were made for such a time as this. Do not be afraid."

He stayed with her a while longer, letting her wrap her small arms around his large frame as he held her close. This was something Lily never got from her mom, no matter how much she needed it. She always had the gift but only now did she have the support around her to help distribute its weight. She was not alone. And though very few words followed his prayer of prophecy, his actions spoke at a volume that was both loud and far reaching. She was loved as his daughter. He had given her priority only minutes after his boy had been healed. It was a love she had never experienced from a person before.

Junior's grilled cheese and ramen was delivered soon after, John watching his boy eat without issue. And once he got to the end of his meal, he asked for more. There was the appetite John remembered.

Even though the rest of the house went to bed that night, John didn't sleep for a second. He drove to the store near his house, grabbing a bone-in ham, a ten pound bag of potatoes, two cans of cranberry sauce, two cans of corn, a box of stuffing, and a couple bags of salad. When he reached the checkout, Credit Chip scanners had replaced card readers. The only way he could pay was by finding someone to check him out manually. And once he did, he was on the receiving end of a judging look that reminded him of the many he had been given because of his skin color and size.

"Just in case you weren't aware, Sir, we will not be accepting any form of currency other than the Credit Chip come January 1st."

"I'm aware." John looked around, the few people checking out at the surrounding scanners now looking at him. "But, it's not January 1st yet." he handed a debit card to the cashier, waited for the receipt to print and the card to be handed back, and left without saying another word...

John started cooking early in the morning, as the night sky faded to a dull gray. Looking out the window of his kitchen, he saw the backyard. The well was in place. The generator was tucked in next to the house. Everything was ready for the deadline.

He treated this Christmas Eve as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He made his famous mashed potatoes, glazed the bone-in ham with a special recipe his mother had passed down, and had an extra bowl set aside so he could make his homemade salad dressing. He called Willow with his free hand.

"Hi, Willow. I wanted to invite you and Ken to dinner tonight. Please be here by 7:00."

He let on nothing about the miracle. It wasn't something to spoil by phone. Instead invite them into a home where they expect sickness and instead find restoration.

### 7

Similar to businessmen with clients, there was a system to how The Spirits operated. And just like humans, there were some that wanted a position that gave influence and responsibility and there were others that were happy to just remain in the shadows. The human soul was almost seen as currency: Those that gathered the most for The Feast would remain fat and happy the longest. Others were content with the bare minimum, aware that Their final meal would end far sooner than Those that put in the work. The Spirit assigned to Margaret was a ladder climber. Many decisions It made were considered going against the ranks. And by doing so, It had exhausted her potential sooner than expected. The Gathering hadn't even reached its most potent stage yet. To think It would have to be stuck on auto-pilot in her small, shriveled body—the idea alone sent waves of rage through It. Once fat and happy with light, now reduced to this...

It was early morning when the Spirit left Margaret's body without permission. And with no Spirit in possession of Margaret, the darkness began to clear. She was lucid for the first time in months. But her first and only thought was terror. The last image burned in her mind was that of the Spirit's face, the ink-dot eyes pooling inwards until they overlapped. The smile—that smile alone had picked her apart piece by piece.

The nightmare continued now, her waking to the room where It had consumed her. She feared it was only a matter of time before It returned. She ran from her bedroom out to her kitchen, desperation fueling every step. Her condition reminded her of when she was sick. Each step was difficult. When she looked down at her body, it was emaciated and thinner than before.

No thought of her old life passed before her. She thought of nothing but escaping from the creature. And there was only one way to do it. The desperation dissipated as she took a few steps over to her living room wall and flicked on the radio, which immediately projected through the house speakers.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas was just beginning as she walked over to her kitchen drawer and pulled out a knife. She drew the blade across one wrist and then the second, sliding down to a sit.

... _from now on our troubles will be out of sight..._ The blood was draining out quickly, her smile of relief short lived.

"Margaret, come with me." Little Ben Simons was standing in front of her, offering his hand. "It's time to go."

"B-Ben? Wa-what are you doing he—"

Too much blood emptied too quickly. Her body died. And yet she was still sitting on the floor looking at Little Ben, aware and fully alive in a sense different from what it had been. Always a woman to leave room for many options, the idea of life after death was always a mystery to her. She thought it was possible that her energy could live on in some aspect after her physical dwelling expired, but this... this was beyond underwhelming.

Still Margaret? Still in her house? With Little Ben Simons as her guide?

"Why are you here, Ben? Why are you the best I get?"

Ben just smiled, his hand still offered. "Just take my hand, Margaret. You're going somewhere."

With a typical Margaret eye roll and a shake of the head, she grabbed his hand. She didn't even try to hide her disappointment. When she looked back, her body was still there.

"You'd think with all the good I did to help people... I don't know, you'd think I'd end up with better. You don't deserve to be with me, Ben. You are a footnote. What? Am I supposed to feel guilty for making sacrifices? You made it possible for many others to be healed. You were a necessary means—fine. I'm sorry for doing what needed to be done. Can you go away now? Let me explore the "great" ether?

"No, Margaret." Still that coy smile present. "Come with me." Ben was still holding her hand as he walked forward. He stopped at her basement door and opened it. And what was revealed was a staircase descending into the dark.

"Ben?" she looked to him. "What is this?"

Not just a little boy anymore but a force beyond herself, her hand trapped in his, he began to walk down the stairs, closing the basement door behind them. And then, as if never there to begin with, he disappeared, leaving Margaret in the dark. She looked around frantically, sprinting back up the few stairs. But, the door was gone.

"Ben?!" he was the only one she called for. "I-I'm sorry." A genuine apology that now didn't matter. Her reality was nothing but these stairs. And eventually what they led to...

### *

The Spirit, now free from the complacency of Margaret's position, searched the menu list of names available, looking for another vessel. It needed someone who was recently added, someone "Christian", and preferably someone in a position of leadership—

There she was. Pastor Linda Masters. She was considered a high end delicacy and only accessible to those in the higher ranks. It was the work the Spirit had done through Margaret that qualified It to possess Linda. Even though Margaret had been a quality vessel for climbing the ranks, her worth would never approach Linda's. Once a true Christian herself, she had housed The Christ for many years. It was only when misinformation found her, when she became uncomfortable with the idea of eternal damnation and sought out a message that was easier to handle. She was exactly the vessel the Spirit desired. Enthusiastically deceived and convinced she was still doing God's work. No platform was better.

It entered Linda's body as she sat in her office chair, looking down at the barcode on the inside of her wrist.

"It's harmless, friends." she practiced what she was going to say to her congregation, her eyes heavy from the long night. "It's harmless." It was the last thing she said before falling asleep, the morning sun pressing through her office window.

### 8

Information met the Head Spirit in Pummel immediately, a steady stream coming from every other Spirit. The head of the rest, It knew exactly when Margaret was left unoccupied. And it knew when she took her final breath. It wasn't pleased with the insubordination. But, It understood the reasoning. Linda Masters was an improvement over Margaret in every way. Margaret's death only mattered because of the thread that she could be tied to.

It all could come back to the gunshot in the president's bedroom. First Pummel? Now Margaret? It pointed to evidence. It pointed to humans trying to escape something. And for those on the fence, it would only further confirm their reservations. What the Christians claimed about the dangers of the Credit Chip—there was a pattern forming.

The first stage had been a rousing success. A vast majority of the population had received the Credit Chip simply because they were promised that it would simplify their lives. For those who weren't moved to action by the first promise, they were strong-armed into it by the impending deadline. A satisfying result so far, they were still small in comparison to what It truly desired.

There was nothing more frustrating than craving light. It rebelled to have a domain all Its own. Cast from the light, It embraced the darkness, finding the dark would respond to whatever command It gave. And yet, it was only when the first human soul perished that It found light was still the most satisfying. King of Its domain, It would never be able to fully escape The One that created It. To love the dark but to only find light satisfied Its hunger...

At the same time, there was nothing more satisfying than feeding on a child of light. Not only because it was incredibly rare, but it permanently took a child from The Creator. Full sources of light rarely ended up in the dark. Even those who strayed and wandered far—their initial decision to have The Christ live in them didn't return void. But, The Great Feast was the exception to the rule. The lines were permanently drawn. It was allowed to set up a simple trap. And any who fell for it were forever lost to the darkness.

Nothing could get in the way. Any thread left loose could be pulled, unspooling the whole thing. The operation needed to be flawless in order to deceive the Christians. It knew, realistically, that many would never fall and would willingly die for The Christ. But, there were those who could be swayed. The final stage was defined as simply weeding out the weak from the strong.

The Head Spirit couldn't leave anything to chance. There was a thread just waiting to be pulled by the Christians. It was time to cut it free:

Dylan and Sherri Smith slept soundly in their bed, the Spirits in each patiently waiting for direction. Even as direction was given, neither vessel awoke. The next door neighbors to Margaret Stills, they were used as a cleanup crew. Sherri cleaned the kitchen vigorously, the blood thick and caked on many surfaces. Dylan was responsible for body disposal. He wrapped her body in her shower curtain, dropped it in the trunk of his car, and drove to an undisclosed location. Fittingly, just like Little Ben, she ended up buried in an area of woods where she would never be discovered.

When the sun poured through the elegant eggshell curtains in the Smith's master bedroom, both Dylan and Sherri were back in bed. None the wiser to what they had done the night before—the only evidence being blisters on her fingertips and his palms.

### 9

Ken and Willow held hands as they approached the front door to Pastor John's. Snow fell heavily from a dark sky, the air cold and biting. Willow wasn't wearing the ring; instead it was in her pocket. They both had decided to tell him at a later date. Now didn't seem an appropriate time, considering Junior's deteriorating condition.

At separate times prior to this moment they had put on a mask to hide their discomfort toward the situation. Ken was doing it for Willow; Willow was doing it for her family. Neither was particularly ready to open the door. Before Willow could reach for the doorknob, the door opened, Junior standing in the doorway.

"Hey, guys," his smile was there but restrained, a spitting image of his father. "Chilly night tonight. Come on in."

Ken's mask of a smile slipped off as something genuine took its place. "Junior? You look good, man." Junior was still much thinner than he was before getting sick, but the illness was gone from his face. "What happened?"

"God always has the final say." he said as he stepped aside to let them in.

Willow's face was something different than Ken's. Not just a smile from an acquaintance, but joy overflowing. Her brother was healthy again. She hugged him, having to get up on her tippy toes to reach his neck with her arms. "You don't know how happy I am, Junior."

He answered her with a warm smile. "It's a good thing."

Ken noticed that Junior wasn't as enthused as everyone else was. He had seen him react before. He had even seen joy in the boy's face more than once. Tonight his face was something different. It was a mixture of disappointment and relief. It was clear that he would have rather died. Maybe the relief came from knowing that his dad wouldn't have to face the coming persecution as a spiritual amputee.

When Willow let go of Junior, she grabbed hold of Ken's hand again and they walked toward the kitchen.

Lily was setting the table. When she saw Willow and Ken, she gave a half-smile and a nod of the head. It was strange how normal everything was. The miraculous had taken place and yet in many ways it was no different than it had ever been. It wasn't a miracle given during a simple time. It was a miracle meant to alleviate the pressure from what was to come.

There was joy but there was also realistic expectations. After the deadline passed there was no guarantee that they would remain together. When Willow and Lily decided to fortify the home, it was before The Holding Zones were suggested, let alone approved. They were under the impression that they wouldn't be able to buy or sell. The equation had changed over the last few months. There were no guarantees after December 31st came to a close.

"Good to see you again, Ken." Pastor John stepped from the kitchen holding a large pot of mashed potatoes, setting them on an oven mitt in the center of the table.

"Same to you, Pastor John." As Ken took a seat next to Willow, he thought about how Pastor John had been the lynchpin for his salvation—and all that had come from it since. If he hadn't taken the bible when it was offered...

Pastor John's smile was not restrained like Junior's. Ironically, the man who usually brought restraint to emotional display was the very one that gave everyone access to a lighter atmosphere. Yes, in a week everything was going to change. But, they only had this moment. And living in fear of what was to come would only poison the gift they had been given. All they could do was sit down and enjoy one final holiday meal together, thanking God for everything they still had.

### *

It was strange how certain people entered Debra's life and seemed to fit there immediately. This Chinese boy, not even thirteen, alone and displaced, leaving everything familiar to follow Christ—his story was one that kept coming back to her throughout the day. Though she listened to other people's stories, she gravitated back toward his. He had told Deb his full name because she asked. And once she butchered the pronunciation even after a few attempts, he told her his American name: Charlie.

Charlie and Deb sat in the auditorium, It's a Wonderful Life currently projecting on the screen overhead. Both were in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people. And yet, as they sat next to each other, their old traditions were fading. They saw that family could come from many places. A mother who no longer had access to her only living son. A son who no longer had a safe place with his parents. They were from two different worlds but seemed to fit alongside the other seamlessly.

"My dad," Charlie whispered and then paused. "His favorite line of this movie was always the one at the very end, where George's brother says that he's the richest man in Bedford Falls. He always told me the lesson was that family and friends is what made a man rich—" he seemed to regret bringing it up as he realized what he was saying and then he didn't say anything more about it.

"Tradition is important, Charlie." Deb saw the effects of his realization. "Your parents were caught between loyalty to you and loyalty to all they've known. Not many people have the strength to do what you did. You are brave. You have shown me why following Jesus is worth the cost. We met each other for a reason." her soft smile of assurance seemed to meet him right where it was needed, because he responded with a smile of his own.

### 10

John thought about the first meal he made for Cara and Junior twelve Christmas Eves before. It was definitely a work in progress that involved a lot of processed food. The potatoes came from instant packets, the ham was glazed with the included option—oh, how he had grown since then. He cooked for Christmas Eve; Cara always cooked for Christmas Day. John handled the ham; she perfected the turkey. Every season since her passing there had been a missing ingredient to the tradition. Despite his best attempts to make it special, her empty chair was always the loudest guest.

But, tonight was different. His boy was alive and he was cooking a dinner he thought he would never cook again. Everything about it felt new. Cara's empty chair, though something he acknowledged, was not a consuming presence. The joy at having his son restored to him—that far surpassed the hole she left behind.

"This illness does not lead to death," he repeated the words under his breath, preparing the final sermon he would give at the church tomorrow. "When Jesus says this in John 11: 4, He is explaining himself to Mary and Martha. They are beyond themselves: 'Why did You let our brother die? We told you two days ago of his condition. You were more than capable of saving him. We have seen what You can do. You do it for strangers willingly, but for friends... You take Your time getting here. Why?!'" he paused as he tried the mashed potatoes. They still needed some seasoning. He added a few more dashes of this and that. "Why did He take His time? He let Lazarus die. He let it get to a point where it seemed hopeless. He was stretching the bounds of their faith, showing them something they never thought was possible. He let Lazarus die for one reason: so that He could publicly raise Him from the dead."

The story so closely mirrored his own that he had to stop in his tracks and reflect on it for a moment. "Help me glorify Your name with this final message, my King." And then he stepped out to meet Ken and Willow.

### *

Lily couldn't stop thinking about the conversation she had with Junior earlier in the day. He blamed her for the words she spoke and the disease she removed. He was only hours away from being safe from all the hell to come. He was only hours away from seeing his mom again.

It was a conversation she didn't expect. Instead of sharing a warm moment of reflection with her friend, she was a target he was firing at.

"Don't you think we all want to go to our eternal home, Junior? Nobody wants to stay here. Nobody wants to face pain and heartbreak and death. You are scared. And irrational. And completely selfish. What if you dying led to your dad falling? It's not just about you! Willow and I prayed that our mom would die because she was too weak to handle this hard life! We willingly lost her so we could save her. The same is required of you. You don't get to escape. You don't get to leave. I was appointed to bring hope back. And nobody deserves it more than Pastor John, a man who gives and gives, who holds the weight of so many others. I should not be expected to apologize or to explain why. If you aren't strong enough for the hell coming, you better prepare. You better plant yourself in Christ. Nobody gets out easy. It is about so much more than you!"

Already a young girl burdened by the weight of her gift, she left his room shaking with anger. Even when she was used to bring miraculous healing, she was in the line of fire...

Junior and Lily didn't say a word to each other the rest of the day. Even at dinner, eye contact was avoided. What a coward. To think she once thought he was someone she could be a partner to. He didn't even care about how it would have affected his dad—at least that was the impression she got from him.

Being someone that saw a fuller picture than the rest, Lily could never meet people where they needed her to. It hadn't even been twelve hours when he talked to her. Whiplash should be expected when yanked from the edge of eternity. The shock hadn't even begun to wear off yet.

Lily was quiet at dinner, giving short but pleasant answers when asked a question. Of course Willow prodded about the healing. She was surprised but not as much as you'd expect. Lily had always fit outside the spiritual box—if God was going to call someone to heal others in His name, it made sense she was one of them. The girl who knew Rosy was murdered. The girl who knew as soon as their mom died. It wasn't bizarre when looking at the history—it was the next logical step.

### 11

The worship songs were done. The small play about the birth of Christ had been received warmly. And now Linda stood at the front of the church behind her white podium. She was dressed in a white sheer blouse buttoned tight at the wrists, her dark black hair hanging over her shoulders matching the pencil skirt that ended the ensemble. Before she revealed the Chip, she had to state her case, provide the evidence from the bible, and most importantly, paint a picture of what their life would be like if they didn't get it.

"Please take a seat, friends." Her voice seemed made for the spotlight, projecting from the speakers with both authority and accessibility. "Let's pray and then we will dig into this message. Lord I thank You that You will make every heart receptive tonight and that Your Word will be our guiding light in these uncertain times. In Your name we pray. Amen." The congregation settled in as she took a deep breath, her voice shaking just the slightest. "I wish tonight's message could focus on the birth of Jesus. But we live in a time that requires clarification. The Credit Chip is not the mark of the beast because there is no spiritual mark of the beast. Revelation is a book that is misunderstood by most. When looking at anything you must look at the context and origin that relates to the time. Following the resurrection of Jesus, Christians were under a horrible deal of persecution, under the thumb of vicious Roman rulers. The book we now know as Revelation was written on the island of Patmos. Following an unsuccessful attempt to kill John by boiling him alive in oil... he is sent to an island to live out his final days. And it was during this time on the island that God gave him visions to bring comfort to those in his time, his fellow Christians." she paused for a moment, scanning her members to see their receptivity.

Some had digital pads out, typing up notes. A few others operated in the old school, taking notes with a pen and notebook. And then there were the variety of others that were not at all receptive. She wasn't going to reach everyone. As she realized this, the rest of the message became easier. _Save those who will listen. That's all I can do._

"What is God's Word meant to do? It's meant to comfort His children. It's meant to show us that we are not alone in our struggle, by giving us examples of others who have walked a similar path. It is a long letter of comfort, a long letter to show that despite our fallings, He loves us regardless. The idea that the God we serve would allow eternal damnation nullifies His love. A place of eternal torment for us points to a sadistic Creator. And it's not One I serve. I serve a God Who encompasses all, loves all, and has paid the price for all to enter His gates. To believe that the mark of the beast is a real thing is to believe that God is selective and God is selfish and God is cruel. Let me ask you this. Do you believe that God is cruel? The very One that willingly died on a dirty, undeserved cross to save you? His actions at the cross speak to a level of love we will never understand." She began to fidget with the blouse button, preparing to unveil the barcode. "I want to make a statement that some of you may find controversial. Not everything is persecution when following Christ, some of it is simple misunderstanding. To lose your homes and your cars and everything else in your possession because you won't get the Credit Chip—friends, it's martyrdom without a cause. It surely isn't what Jesus requires of you."

A bearded man stood up from his seat in the middle rows, looking like he wanted to speak. Instead he moved past those still sitting and left the service out the backdoor. And when he left, at least another dozen and a half followed. Her congregation numbered just shy of a thousand people, a fairly large church for the area.

Her sleeve now loose and rolled up to the elbow, she prepared to unveil the Chip. "I love each and every one of you. And I care what happens to you. You have trusted me with leading you through the pitfalls of life. I do not take that responsibility lightly. Do not lose your homes. Do not let fear push you to become a martyr when it isn't required of you. I believe my God is a God of indescribable love and I hope you believe the same." She held up her arm to show the congregation the barcode. "Do not let fear control your life. Lay back in the arms of God, knowing you are safe and secure in Him. There is nothing you can do to separate yourself from Him."

Dozens more people left immediately, their heads shaking in wide eyed disbelief. Once they left, those that remained didn't move. She smiled out at her congregation. The response was better than she expected it to be.

The Spirit was elated. No work was required of It. She was a self-propelled machine, deceived enough to believe every word she said. There was nothing unnatural It had to suggest. It didn't have to plant ideas. It didn't even have to present thoughts. Maybe as things progressed, but right now It was a passenger in a vessel that was passionately deceived. Her words were eloquent, her reasoning was genuine, and her understanding of God was skewed just enough that it would lead her sheep into the dark.

### 12

With the deadline one week away, the president was to answer questions from the public. Using a Q&A social media platform, anybody could enter their questions. The most popular would be asked on LIVE TV in a personal setting: The president and a reporter sitting in front of the main Christmas tree in The White House. It was a new option created to help the people continue a dialogue with their leader as the country entered uncharted territory.

The Head Spirit had been a natural speaker from Its first conscious moment. So, naturally a Q&A format was where It could disarm any questions that tried to point out the inhumane nature of The Holding Zones. Simply holding a press conference would have the opposite effect. The last thing It wanted to do was cause concern where there was none.

Lidia Johnson sat across from the president, a large digital pad in her hands.

"Thank you for suggesting this, Mr. President," they were now LIVE. "I'm sure this will help iron out any uncertainties people have as the currency deadline approaches. I guess you could say we're all explorers on an exciting voyage."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Lidia," a warm smile. "This has been my vision since the very beginning. Being able to see it come to fruition—well, there is just nothing like it. We are rewriting our country. We are giving freedom back to these great people. And, most importantly, we are removing the very things that have classified us, the very things that propel some and cripple others. In one week, your slate is clean."

"It's just wonderful, Mr. President. People burning money in the streets instead of rioting. People celebrating each other's differences instead of hating each other for them. You laid out a vision for us, and unlike so many presidents before you, have seen your promised vision through. Having said that, the people of this great country would like to pick your brain a bit. We want to know what's ahead. Be our guide through the unfamiliar?"

He nodded his head as he cleared his throat.

"First question, Mr. President. _It has been common knowledge for a while that once the deadline is reached, people will no longer possess anything they don't fully own. How long will it take for their possessions to be available to us? And how do we 'call dibs'?_ "

"An excellent question. It's going to be a simple answer. Their possessions will be available immediately. Think of it like an eviction. They have been given plenty of notice to do what's required to remain in legal possession. As far as 'calling dibs', every item will be raffled off. Using the unique number associated with your Chip and the zip code you live in, you have just as good a chance as anyone else to win property in your area. And of course, you can always trade if you win something you don't want. This is The American Dream perfected."

Lidia seemed to marvel at the man across from her, staring until he gestured back to her pad.

"I apologize, Mr. President. I never thought I'd see such a day."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Lidia." he flashed another smile. "It is definitely something to celebrate."

She nodded, brushing her bright blonde hair away from her face. "The next question is—no, we'll move onto the next one."

"We don't need to be selective, Lidia. I'll answer any question thrown at me."

"O-Okay." She blinked uncomfortably as she prepared to read the next question. " _The bo-book of Revelation has laid out what's to come. Those who will not receive this mark will be killed. Do you deny th-this_?" she shook her head through most of the question, giving it no hint of sincerity.

This was the kind of question It had been waiting to answer. Twisting scripture was the Head Spirit's specialty. "The book does say that, yes. But, I do not. You see a mark and you immediately assume prophecy has been fulfilled. It is only the Christians that believe Jesus was Messiah, simply because they feel He fulfilled the prophecy. So what do you say to our Muslim brothers and sisters that claim it was staged? Or what do you say to our Jewish brothers and sisters that believe He was not Messiah? They have access to the same texts as you but come to a different conclusion. Couldn't it be that your conclusion is flawed? Who are you to say your belief is right when others come to a different conclusion from the same information? The same applies here. Over 90% of the population have seen your evidence and decided it is flimsy at best. It may be a prophecy for another time but that time definitely isn't now."

The Head Spirit had always known how to pose the right questions to convince others against truth. When It rebelled against The Creator, It simply asked questions that led to many others. So instead of answering the question posed in any way, It instead posed questions of Its own. And by doing so, it made the question lose any weight (not that it had much to begin with).

"Thank you for being a good sport with that, Mr. President," she scrolled down to the next question. "The next question. _Concerning The Holding Zones. What policies have you put in place to guarantee that they do not become like-like concentration camps?_ " more discomfort in her voice.

"The Holding Zones will be treated as three distinct prisons. All the person has to do to leave is get the Credit Chip, which will be readily available within each Zone 24/7. Such a simple solution. I wish The Zones weren't necessary, but to revisit the last question for a moment, there is a group of people convinced that what we're doing is wrong. Apparently bigotry was a good thing. Apparently classes were a good thing. Apparently closed-minded living was a good thing. I will not pander to one group of people. They have been given all the information needed and more than enough time. The Holding Zones are in place as a way to give them more time to make the right choice. I will not let the rest of the country suffer one moment longer. If you will not unite with us, you will live apart from us. We are building something great and we would love it if you would join in. I promise, we don't bite." His smile was somehow genuine despite a human presence being fully absent from the vessel.

"I think that is a good stopping point, Mr. President. I think The Holding Zones were the main concern for tonight's Q&A. And, as usual, you handled it with aplomb. Sometimes the solutions aren't perfect but it sounds like you have made plenty of accommodations for those who will end up in The Holding Zones. Hopefully they will see the error of their ways and join us in The New World soon enough."

"That's the hope, Lidia. 'The New World'. Could I borrow that? It's a beautiful tie back to an earlier speech I gave about sailing the unknown."

"It's yours to have, Mr. President. It's all yours."

### -The Deadline-

### 1

It was December 31st. Ken stood in the doorway to his apartment, looking in one last time. Every one of his possessions was left behind in uneven box stacks, other than the photo album boxes, his small 32" TV, and his clothes, which he had thrown in garbage bags and were now in a pile in Pastor John's basement.

Walking through the courtyard to leave, he saw colorful posters plastered all over the bulletin board. They all said the same thing: **There's Still Time to Change Your Mind!** Included on the bottom of the pages were different locations where the Credit Chip procedure was done.

"Hi, Kenny." he knew that voice anywhere.

He turned around to confirm. "What are you doing here, Katy?"

"I'm taking your apartment." The news was delivered almost playfully, from a bitter ex who wanted to poke him with a sharp stick. Her blonde hair was in a sloppy bun. "It's been—what? Almost three months? You said I would change, that the Chip was dangerous. I gave you time to cool down. I gave you time to consider how cruel you actually were. I waited for you to apologize. Instead, you never contacted me again. How could you throw me away like that?"

"You made your choice, Katy. And you have to live with the consequences."

"Consequences... right." She nodded her head in disbelief.

"I told you what I believed—what I still believe. You may not see it right now but you will. And I can't be around for that."

"I'll tell you what I believe. I believe you always had your eyes on someone else. Willow Matthews, right? Your dead girlfriend's little sister? A whore from what I—"

"You've been stalking me?"

She shrugged. "What would you do if I took her away from you—if I made her suffer? Would you scream?"

"How can you say you haven't changed?" Ken shook his head as he walked past her and toward his car.

"I have but not because of the Chip. It's you. Your cruelty changed me. Hurting me just to hurt me—"

"That's not what happened! It was you getting the Chip. Nothing more. Move on from me. Please."

Her blue eyes, hard as stone, suddenly softened as tears filled them. "How do you know your brother changed because of the Chip?"

"You know the details, Katy."

"I followed you that night, Ken. I saw you pick her up. And ever since I've had dreams of killing her. These-these vivid dreams. They excite me. They electrify me. A-am I going to be okay?"

"I wish I could give you the answer you want to hear," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "You were special to me, Katy. You really were."

Ken left without saying another word, leaving Katy alone.

She looked at the posters on the bulletin board, shaking her head. If only she had listened to him when he warned her. She worried that her dreams would only become more vivid until they spilled over into reality. And she knew Willow would be the person she went after. It couldn't happen. She loved Ken. And above all, she wanted him to be happy. Maybe things would have been different if she had never gotten the Chip. Maybe they would be approaching the deadline, hand in hand, preparing for what was to come together.

Instead, she was left with only one decision: how she was going to end her life. She walked the remaining steps to Ken's apartment, the door still unlocked. She let herself in, removed the belt from her jeans, and hung herself on exposed pipe in what would have been her living room. It was 10:32 p.m.

### *

The Holy Army did all it could to help, using some members to preach on the streets, others to infiltrate the nooks and crannies to find Christians in need of shelter, and others still to encourage those already hiding in the shelters.

Even with the deadline just over thirty minutes away, Debra stood on the streets, telling her story. Her voice projected through the megaphone with authority. This was her calling and she reveled in it. A heavy snow was falling.

"I was an atheist until I saw what happens when you get the Credit Chip! Do not be deceived!"

Red and blue lights appeared, two officers stepping out of the cop car. "If you are still in sight at 12:01, we will arrest you. Don't say you weren't warned."

Debra barely acknowledged them, desperately trying to reach another person, another soul. Although the crowd was sparse near her and the few people in earshot sneered at her words, she continued on. If she could only reach one more...

She couldn't stay out much longer. The abandoned school where she stayed was still a thirty minute drive from the city, a parked van nearby ready to bring her back.

"My boy was kind. After getting the Chip he killed two people and then himself! Do not be deceived!" it was her final petition. As she pulled the megaphone away from her mouth to give up, she saw an older black woman in a long green coat wander over to her, her eyes heavy with questions. Two little boys followed along, the oldest no more than seven.

"I don't want to be homeless. It's cold out. We'll die." she spoke to Debra, full of conflict. "I have two little boys. If I don't get the Chip, where will we go?"

"You can come with me. Your boys too. We have shelter and food. And we have hope. Don't be deceived. To get the Chip is to be dead already. Follow Jesus. Even if you end up losing your life, you will have hope. He will be waiting to wrap you in His arms."

The woman nodded her head, her eyes still undecided. "But my responsibility is to them."

"There is a reason you haven't gone to get the Chip. Even with minutes left to the deadline, you have resisted. Why?"

"I never got a good feeling toward it. Just something eerie."

"You are a wise woman. And you have done the best thing you can to protect your boys. Come with me. You will have a hot meal and a warm bed tonight."

The woman nodded with a sigh of relief. "They call me Mama B. What's your name?"

"My name is Debra. I'm so glad I found you tonight, Mama B. You were an answered prayer."

"No, Debra. You were the answered prayer."

Debra led them away from the area and to the van a few blocks away. As the minutes passed, the night sky was painted with swirls of red and blue. The arrests would start soon.

### 2

John stood in the dining room, watching Willow stare out the front window. She had grown up so much in the short time he had been her guardian.

"I can't wait to tell him what you suggested, Pastor John. Getting married tonight." She couldn't stop smiling, already wearing a nice white dress.

"Why wait, Willow? Enjoy the time you two have together." _Even if it's just for tonight._ Words he thought but didn't say. It was still his job to protect her. He knew she wasn't approaching the deadline blind. She knew just as well as him that their time together could be ending very soon.

Junior sat at the dining room table, looking up at his dad. "What do you think's gonna happen tonight, dad?"

"Nothing, Junior." He gave a reassuring grin. "Your Grandma used to tell me a story about your Grandpa. When he first came to Africa with a small group of missionaries to build the church, they were met the same way a virus is met by a healthy immune system. From all sides, people tried to remove them. He was called to be there and he knew that The Lord would protect him. Still though, there wasn't a place he could actually call safe. He had faith and faith alone. Before going to bed in this little hut, he would plead the Blood of Jesus over himself, the people with him, the hut, and the area surrounding it. There were multiple reports over the next number of weeks of people seeing men guarding the borders of the property as well as the front doorway to this little hut."

"But Grandpa died over there, dad."

"Only once his purpose was completed, Junior. He was used to plant the seed."

"How do you know that applies to us?"

"Only God knows what will happen tonight. But I believe in the power of The Blood. And I believe we will not be found tonight because we are having church tomorrow. The congregation needs us. Never forget, son. God is still in control."

"I know." Junior had to remind himself he was still there for his dad's benefit. But as the minutes crept closer to the deadline, it was hard to not long for the eternal home he had nearly escaped to.

John believed what he told his boy. But, he also didn't truly know if it applied to his situation. He had the first home service planned for the next day but that didn't mean he couldn't be taken before. He could only prepare the message and trust that he would be there in the morning to give it. In his heart of hearts though, he knew that he would never be able to hold a church service again.

### *

Looking outside a window can be like looking into another world. Pastor John's was a place of safety, a haven within the growing dark. Everything beyond those four walls was something different than it had been. Even though Willow had prepared for this moment for months, she didn't feel prepared.

To see the end of the world unfolding before the eyes—it's both surreal and devastating. But beyond the broad spectrum aspect, beyond the idea of seeing people she knew, knowing they were lost... beyond all of it, her only concern was seeing Ken's car pull up. Once he was safe within those four walls, she was prepared for whatever waited on the other side of the deadline.

Unlike most girls, Willow never had a vision for her wedding day. She had never really valued herself enough to imagine it being a possibility. Where she had seen herself, if married at all, was in a relationship where she was valued for only one thing. To think that she would soon be married to a man that valued her for all her aspects was beyond comprehension. Ken was Rosy's greatest gift to her little sister—although unintended and well beyond Rosy's control.

### *

Lily wasn't content to stay within the four walls of Pastor John's house. Her calling was to give hope back to the body of Christ, regardless of what happened to her. She related her calling now to a modern day Paul. He suffered greatly for His Lord. And she believed she would have to do the same.

Since her gift was made whole, Lily had been motivated to reach those in her grade. It was Christmas break and even though she wouldn't be returning to her freshman year, there were those she needed to help. Close friends and those she knew very little.

Some people don't randomly come into the lives of others. They are appointed. This was true in Stephanie's case. She couldn't have known that listening to Lily's story all those months ago would keep her family from getting the Chip. She also couldn't have known that the MS diagnosis her father had been dealt at the start of the year was much like Junior's: put in place simply so it could be taken away in a miraculous way.

After Stephanie was witness to her dad's healing, she followed Lily on her mission. She didn't have Lily's gift but she had the passion. And better yet, she had the accessibility that Lily lacked. She was much more popular among the kids. But, even considering her status, there were only a handful of kids they knew of that they could actually help.

Familiarity can be a negative component. Even those who could have taken her help scoffed at the very idea. They didn't buy that Lily could do anything about it. _The weird, quiet girl is nothing special._

Lily had been given the gift, but in a week's time she had healed only two people. Junior still left a bad taste in her mouth; only Stephanie's dad showed her why it was worth the struggle. It was a far cry from what her vision had been. The image in her mind had been something close to a spiritual revival—something to bring Christ back into focus. What she found instead was confirmation to something she didn't want to admit: she was entirely powerless to help those who didn't want help. Even with the anointing to heal, she couldn't change anything. Even as the world fell to hell, she could only watch...

Now the night of the deadline, she was stuck sitting in her room, her frustration mounting. She thought her calling was bigger. She thought her reach would be greater. She thought she could leave behind some spiritual surge before the deadline hit, something to carry people over the threshold. She was meant for more and yet... she was forced to sit and wait. It was strange to think that only a few months ago her and Willow planned to remain safe within Pastor John's house for the duration. Now all she felt within these four walls was the itch to leave. Her purpose was well beyond what they had built together here.

### 3

Linda was all in. Now a carrier of the Chip, she was dedicated to making sure the sheep she had charge over were not left out in the cold of the D.C. winter. Not long after the night of her reveal, she did what needed to be done to have the procedure available within her church. Two stations were present in total, both at the main doors. Although she was witness to continued falloff, the congregation that remained was still a large number.

The Spirit had never felt more at home in a body. To see Credit Chip stations welcomed into a church—the infiltration was complete. A ladder climber was now content to sit back and let this woman follow her _good intentions_ as far as they would lead.

As the deadline approached, her church doors were open and inviting. Holding a New Year's Eve service, complete with food and games, she was able to approach those on the fence in a less forceful manner. The signs placed throughout the halls of the church were subtle enough but not fully convincing:

Why Carry a Cross When You Can Simply Carry a Chip?

Don't Be Left Out in the Cold! Step Out in Faith to Keep All You Have!

The trick to convincing those on the fence is approaching them from all sides and presenting the argument from many angles. The signs were effective reminders, but for those unsure, they didn't do anything to push them over to the other side. But, Linda had an idea for the night. Having let the atmosphere soak in the ethereal after-effects of worship, Linda took the stage, the wall behind her now a screen for all to see.

"Sometimes love requires a convincing argument. Sometimes it must come with pain." She paused as the screen behind her pulled up the first image. A simple picture of fire. She stepped to the side, so everyone could see. "Christians are ruled by fear. You don't know how many I've seen in my time decide they want Jesus in their life for no reason other than to act as fire insurance. Hell, I've been there. The entire relationship is predicated on selfishness. 'If there is a Hell and I will go there, I must choose Him for my benefit. He is the only One keeping me from the fire.' Do you not see how flawed this idea is? I've never had the privilege of being a mother, but I'm told by other parents that they would do anything to keep their children safe, even give their own lives. These words come from the mouths of sinners, imperfect people who make mistakes daily. And yet, this shows a love beyond us. If an imperfect person can love so perfectly, how do you think a perfect God loves? If a flawed parent would lay down his or her very life for their child, why do we think God won't do far more? He will rescue us from ourselves."

She motioned for the next image as she took a breath. The second image was of a full body third degree burn. She heard the congregation groan collectively, disturbed by the image.

"This is what it looks like to be touched by fire for no more than a few moments. This is what we are told Hell promises us. A literal lake of fire. Eternal torment. But being in a form that doesn't die, you won't reach an ending point. The fire will burn for all time, and you will feel the pain for all time. No moment of relief will exist for you. What awful words are these? Are these the words of a perfect God? Or are they the words of vengeful men? If an imperfect parent would lay down his or her life—what kind of God would cast His children into the fire? The image is terrible and haunting. And it should be. To live in fear of Hell, is to believe that God would let this be your eternity. And if you believe in that God, you are in the wrong church."

She motioned for the third and final image. It was of a filthy man overjoyed.

"This is one of my favorite images ever. I saw it years ago online. It was of a man freed from a prison in a third world country. This is each and every one of us. We are filthy in our sin. But there is great joy in our position. Because of what was done on the cross, we are free. And though we remain dirty, smile. He died so you could live. You have a decision to make tonight. What God do you believe in? If you believe in a God of all-consuming love, get the procedure before you leave. Protect yourself. But, if you believe in a God Who doles out eternal punishment at every whim, a God that throws His children to the fire, leave my church now and never return."

Other than a handful walking away with the same wide-eyed disbelief, the rest remained. There was still close to seven hundred people in the church.

### 4

The wind was cold as the president surveyed the unofficial Eastern Holding Zone. The one the public knew of was an old prison that had been updated to look comfortable and humane. Only ten miles from the coast of The Carolinas, it was simply in place as a facade. And it would hold only so many. The real Holding Zone was a large island cleared of its trees with no walls. It wasn't so much a fortress as an invitation to escape. If they didn't try to escape, they would be at the mercy of the harsh winds and cold rain. The next nearest part of land was just over forty miles away. It was desolate, in the middle of nowhere, and something no one would ever look for. Anyone who tried to swim would be taken by the ocean or the creatures that lived in it.

The same was true of each of the three Holding Zones. They had a structure in place to appease the public, while the real Zones were in barren places, with little food and no water provided. They were not places people were meant to survive. They were where the most stubborn holdouts would be sent. Everyone would get their chance to get the procedure done at one of the three structures. How could It weed out the weak from the strong if the offer wasn't even made? But when it was clear who the strong were, they would end up in places meant to kill them.

Even though the deadline had not yet passed, the secret the president had been keeping from the public eye was that Christians were already here—they had been coming in for the last two months. Dozens of people had already died. Bloated bodies littered the shoreline. The smell was one of rot. It made the Head Spirit think of Its home. Unlike the next planned wave, these Christians hadn't been presented the option of the procedure. They were meant as lab rats, to test the effectiveness of the environment. Very few made it past two weeks.

The smell met Francis in his dark room. He couldn't look to see where it came from because he already had a good idea what the source was. With no control to stop the Thing in him, he only had two choices: to look or to keep his eyes closed. He kept his eyes closed tight.

The Head Spirit walked the shoreline, the sound of excessive groaning coming from behind It. It was a sound It was lovingly familiar with. Those souls in the dark, once they were stripped of all their light, lived in a state of dread. They groaned for the light to return. They called for a Hope they would never find again. The only difference between their groaning and the ones currently behind It was their groans came with hope. Once they breathed their last, they would be forever safe.

"It's worth losing you," he said as he walked inland toward the people. "Just getting to witness your suffering for a time. It gives me joy. Many more will follow. The body count will be numerous. And the smell on the shoreline." he sniffed the air pleasantly. "The smell will only sweeten in the coming weeks."

A Creature made up of rot and ruin, It walked between the people, savoring the time It had to walk freely, knowing that soon enough It would be back in chains.

### 5

When Ken reached Pastor John's, Willow ran out to meet him, wearing a long coat to cover what she was wearing underneath it. She delivered the news that they could be married tonight. The idea wasn't one he considered but once it was presented he smiled. It was similar to how he had wanted to propose. Instead, they would be married before the deadline, entering the unknown together. It was perfectly fitting. Poetic and a summation of their relationship from the beginning: finding comfort with each other when everything else was falling apart around them.

Once the necessary number of steps were taken to enter the house, he found that Pastor John was standing in the living room.

"Nothing's orthodox anymore, Ken." Pastor John smiled knowingly. "Would you like to change before we begin?"

Ken looked down at his clothing. Blue jeans and a graphic t-shirt. He had a nice button up white dress shirt in one of the bags downstairs. He even had an old black tie from a wedding he had been to years before.

It didn't take him long to dig out what was needed. As they say, 'he cleaned up nicely'. And then he took his place near Pastor John. He watched Willow remove the coat to reveal the white dress. His eyes jumped to a new level as he nervously pumped on his tippy-toes.

Junior was watching from one side; Lily on the other. The two witnesses to the union. They both still didn't say a word to the other. It didn't seem they ever would...

Willow walked with purpose, looking at Ken's eyes with every step. She rushed the last few steps, eager and impatient to spend the rest of her life with him. Pastor John smiled as she positioned herself to face Ken. They grabbed each other's hands.

"I have watched both of you grow together through great tragedies. And I am overjoyed and truly privileged to have seen you both stay strong when so many others have buckled under the weight. Jesus is The Cornerstone. And we base this union tonight on that very Foundation. Though the world is like sand being pulled and changed by rapid waters, He is The Rock that will never move." He paused as he looked at Willow. "Would you like to say a few words, Willow?"

She nodded as she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again she found it hard not to get lost in his eyes. "This is a moment I never thought I'd get to have. And you are the kind of man I never imagined could be mine. We may not get a lifetime together but even a moment with you is priceless. Getting to say these vows tonight is more than I could ask for—to be your wife for even a short period of time is to be blessed beyond measure. I promise to be here through it all, Ken." her smile ended with a sigh of relief.

Pastor John motioned to Ken with a nod of the head.

Ken looked at Willow, his pumping feet now calm. "My vows are not nearly ready," he smiled as he looked out at Lily and Junior. "I didn't know how to approach them to be honest. I'll try my best though. Willow, you are such a treasure to me, such a perfect light to guide me through a still dark tunnel. And yet I still don't know what I should say. I want to honor Rosy without you feeling like she gets your moment. Just let me say this one thing. I thank God for the time He gave me with her. And I thank God that it ultimately led me to you. You are my best friend. You are my compass that keeps me from getting disoriented and wandering off. You are the greatest gift I could ever be given. And if we only have tonight together, I have been given the best night of my life."

"I've officiated many weddings in my years," Pastor John said. "Very few are as genuine as this. Nobody is guaranteed a lifetime together. They only have the present moment. Though you are forced into this mindset by the impending deadline, it makes you appreciate each other for the present instead of a planned out future. Cherish every moment together." A warm smile acted as a period to end his thought. And then he continued. "Due to the spontaneous nature of this wedding, the rings will be handled differently. Willow, please remove your engagement ring and hand it to Ken." as she handed the ring to Ken, Pastor John handed her a gold band. It looked old.

"Ken," Willow had a smile on her face. "This ring was my dad's. And now I want you to have it. He loved me for me. Just like you do."

Ken nodded as she slipped the ring on his ring finger. It fit like it had been handpicked. Ken then slipped the black onyx ring on her finger.

"Willow, do you take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to walk through the valleys with him? Do you promise to see the best in him even when his worst is showing? Do you promise to choose to love when hate is easier?"

"I do." She said without hesitation.

"Ken, do you take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love her when she doesn't love herself? Do you promise to protect her when danger abounds? Do you promise to see her as a gift even on the hardest days? Do you promise to see her flaws as a reflection of your own?"

"I do," Ken looked her up and down. Dark black hair. Pure green eyes. He saw no flaws in her whatsoever.

"I gladly pronounce, before the eyes of The King of kings and our two present witnesses, you to be husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

It was 11:01 p.m. when Ken kissed his bride.

### *

There was a solid black partition between the driver of the van and the gutted out back. The only other windows were those at the very back. Trying to figure out location by staring out the back windows caused a feeling of disorientation and nausea. It was intentional. If anyone was caught and asked to give up main hiding locations, The Holy Army wanted the information to be vague at best. They transported members back and forth using decommissioned delivery vans.

Debra had tried to pinpoint her location by looking out the back windows a few times. The only landmarks she saw when close was a distant old water tower and a park. Currently, the older of Mama B's boys was looking out the back window; the younger boy was sitting in Mama B's lap.

"I used to go to church a lot," Mama B broke the silence in the back of the van. "When I was a younger woman—when I had my Bo. But he died. The only man that treated me with love and he died." She scratched the heavy wool stocking cap keeping her graying curls from spilling out."

"How long ago did you lose him?" Deb asked looking at the little boy curled up in her lap.

"Twenty three years this March." She looked at Deb and smiled. "I can see you trying to do the math. These aren't my sons. They're my grandbabies. Bo and I had a little girl. Brielle. Oh, she was the sunshine. Such a bright light. But she followed in my footsteps and let trash into her life. She had these two little miracles before drugs got her."

"I'm sorry,"

"We create patterns as parents, you know. I thought her seeing me get pushed around and beat to hell would inspire her to find a good man like her father. Instead what I was telling her by staying in it was that I wasn't worth more. I found out later she felt the same. I failed her. I won't do the same with these little miracles. I have to be better."

"The best part of life is that you can always be better. Your mistakes don't have to be your identity," Deb said, still thinking about when her boy called for her and when she turned away in response. "It may always haunt us but it doesn't have to define us."

"You said you were an atheist. What changed you?" Mama B seemed to scan her.

"My oldest boy got the Chip as a way to start over. He struggled with drugs too—um, heroin mostly. And uh, and he changed. First he killed my younger son's girlfriend. And a few days later, he killed my husband." She looked around the van, wanting to be sensitive to the little ears listening. "S-T-A-B-B-E-D him several times—"

"You don't need to be spell for their benefit," Mama B smiled. "Boys. Ears." Both covered their ears immediately.

"Um, he had Keith—my husband's blood all over him. And he looked at me with these eyes, they were almost joyous. He died only minutes later on our front lawn after trying to cut the Chip out of his wrist."

"I'm sorry, Deb. So, fear led you to your faith?"

"It was the starting point. But it led to something more. I'm not a spokesperson for faith. I'm just someone that has a story of hope I've found in a very dark place. That hope happens to be Jesus. But I don't know the proper words to say. I just know He offers hope."

"Almost impossible to find nowadays," Mama B smiled as she pulled the little boy's hands away from his ears. "Michael, please relay the same message to Terrance." He got up from her lap and scooted over to his brother, who then took his hands away from his ears.

"You've definitely got a system in place." Deb smiled as she looked toward them.

"You gotta. To keep 'em safe, they gotta know when to cover up. Preserve their innocence as long as possible, you know?"

"Definitely." with a quick glance toward the back windows, she saw the water tower. They were nearly there. "I think we're officially illegal citizens."

Mama B looked down at her thin golden wrist watch. "It's official." A light hearted smile shared between two women battered by life.

### 6

_Pearls before swine._ Lily never thought she would look at Junior in such a way. Even a week after confronting her, he hadn't tried to make amends. Simply being in the same room with him was sickening. He didn't understand how undervalued it made her feel. In trying to bring hope to all, she instead brought weights back to him. Had she known, maybe she never would have gone into his room that night. Maybe she would have let Pastor John say his goodbyes and trust that Jesus would keep him strong. The idea that Junior could fall was an irritating itch of a voice she couldn't scratch. Nothing was easy about her gift. And now she had to sit and pretend she belonged with everyone else.

She would always be a square peg in a round hole. Watching Ken and Willow's wedding met her on a plain of ambivalence. He was good enough for her sister and she was glad they found each other but there wasn't much opinion beyond that. Whatever they had to do to remain strong for the coming hell—that was her outlook and all that truly mattered to her.

Willow and Lily had a surface relationship. Her only remaining family remained a near blank space in her life. They didn't fit together and Willow put in little effort to find common ground. Other than rare and far apart moments—maybe once they reached Heaven and the walls of imbalance were lifted.

Lily had known early on in life that she wasn't on earth to cultivate relationships. She was on earth to be a voice directing the searching and lost souls to The Savior. This had only become clearer the longer she was around _normal_ people. They were concerned with emotions. They were concerned with status. She was concerned with only one thing: her calling.

Pastor John had spoken words of prophetic purpose over her. She didn't believe those words would be fulfilled within these four walls. She believed they were well beyond the boundaries of this little haven, out among the darkest parts of the world. She was made for such a time as this. And she planned to set out very soon.

Nobody knew. She covered it with a pleasant smile, pretending to be invested in the wedding. But in her mind, the gears of a plan to leave this place of safety were churning at full speed.

### 7

There were two foldout tables at the front of the church auditorium, able to take four people at a time. The wall screen now projected a countdown clock: 15m 45s. Linda stood behind her podium, offering hearty "spirit-filled" platitudes as a soft piano invited God's presence to enter the room.

"God's love knows no bounds. Do not let fear control you. You are forever safe in His loving arms."

There was no moment of accomplishment greater to Linda than this. Nearly 2/3 of her church saw God as she did. And they now were standing in two long lines to sign their names on legally binding sheets of intent. As long as they had this paperwork with them and presented it to any inquiring member of law enforcement, they would still be safe. But like any sheet of intent, there was an expiration date. The people had twenty four hours from the moment of signature to get the procedure done. No extensions were allowed. And to sign a sheet of intent without seeing it through was an illegal act. To put your name on a sheet put it in the system. And if you were to decide against it, you would be on the run.

Of course, while waiting, another fifteen to twenty people flaked off from the two lines and decided that their fear of Revelation being a true divine warning were too strong. But for the most part, the lines remained intact. And Linda was privileged enough to watch her sheep follow her lead.

She watched both members she had known for years and those she had never seen before sign sheets of intent, receive their pink copy along with the sheet of instructions, and leave the church efficiently.

"The white sheet, the instructions, walks you through everything. I will cover the basics as you wait." Linda had spent many hours learning the policies over the past week. "Be sure to go to any nearby clinic tomorrow and get the procedure done. The last thing you want is to be an illegal citizen. And if you do get a visit tomorrow from any company wanting to repossess your property, show them the seventeen digit code at the top right corner. It will have all of your information available and they will check in with you again the following day where they will then ask for your Credit Chip pin. Do not lose the pink sheet, especially the seventeen digit code. Even though your name is in the system, the code is a password that gives you the 24 hour extension. They will not be able to give it to you. It is considered private and something they cannot access. This pink paper is the only thing keeping you from being arrested. Guard it with your lives."

Linda turned around to see the countdown clock: 6m 15s. This process was going to last another couple hours, the lines moving at a snail's pace. She did the only thing she could think to do: she continued talking.

When ten seconds remained, she counted it down with all the world's enthusiasm. And when the clock hit zero, hundreds of balloons were released from a net up in the high rafters. The lines weren't much smaller at 12:01 a.m. The only thing that was different were the multi-colored balloons that now bounced happily around the room, joyously welcoming in a new and different world.

### 8

A motor boat now carried the president over choppy ocean waters. The dark of the night had quickly swallowed up the island. No image was more fitting for the approaching world. Everything was about to be swallowed up by the darkness.

At 12:01 a.m. he was still thirty miles from the official Eastern Holding Zone, the only other person with him a security detail driving at a steady clip. The man's eyes were pools of ink. The Spirit assigned to the man was in control for the time. Nobody needed to know about the secret island yet.

A mistake had been made. The president had spent too much time on the island, basking in the suffering, basking in the smell. Now, he was running late. But the people would understand. After all, nobody's perfect. Not even him. Yet another reason why the people loved him so much...

### -After 12:01 a.m.-

### 1

A honeymoon can only offer so much when it takes place in the basement of a hideout, even when that basement is fully finished and closed off from the rest of the house. Ken and Willow made it what they could. They lit a fire in the downstairs fireplace and pulled out the bed from the pullout sofa.

At 12:01 a.m., the dimmed lights turned off, leaving only the glow of the fire. They were lying in the bed together, no longer fully naked but not nearly fully clothed. He had on his boxer briefs; Willow was wearing nothing but her beige panties. The matching bra was tossed aside somewhere on the floor while the white dress warmed itself by the roaring fire.

"Do you think Pastor John is going to turn on the generator tonight?" Ken asked as he traced roads with his fingers across her bare back.

"Probably not." she answered softly, her head resting against his chest. "I know he plans to for church tomorrow."

"I don't see it happening. I think he keeps talking about church tomorrow because he doesn't want to accept the truth. Nobody is coming. Nobody should come."

"I know," she sounded sad when she said it. "It was a plan we all agreed on months ago. But things have changed."

Ken laid without saying another word, just rubbing his bride's back, enjoying the time they had together. At some point within the next fifteen or twenty minutes he fell asleep. Willow followed not long after...

KNOCK! KNOCK! A sleep that met him naturally was disturbed abruptly. Ken opened his eyes to a racing heart and a sour pit in place of his stomach. Even with the basement door closed away from the main floor, the knock at the front door reached them with force. It sounded like a hit stick was used.

"We have to get dressed, sweetie." Ken said, jumping up from the bed to gather his thrown-about clothing. When he found her bra, he tossed it to her.

"Are we gonna be okay, Ken?" she asked with widened eyes. She couldn't believe it was happening this soon. She thought they had more time. Why couldn't they have more time?

"Yeah, sweetie. We'll be okay. But we need to get ready to leave now."

It didn't take long for either of them to get dressed in the clothes they were married in. Both would have preferred a different outfit but there was no time.

Unlike many of the houses in the area, Pastor John's basement didn't have an exit.

"Whatever happens, Ken," Willow pushed out a smile from a frightened state.

"I'm yours, sweetie." Ken grabbed a fireplace poker from the fireplace as he stepped up the first stair. His hands squeezed the weapon and repositioned as he took another step. And another. Willow was directly behind him, her eyes darting from here to there.

As Ken neared the door, it opened. Pastor John was a thick figure filling the doorway, only candle light behind him

"It's time to move on from here. I'm sorry it couldn't have been longer." Pastor John's voice was steady but sad.

"Are we caught, Pastor John?" Willow asked from behind Ken.

"No. We have a different problem."

When they stepped onto the main floor and out of the kitchen, they found two cop bodies dead on the entrance floor. The front door was still slightly opened, letting a steady winter chill crawl into the powerless home.

### *

Debra promised Mama B that her and her boys would have a warm bed and a hot meal tonight and she didn't lie. They enjoyed a bowl of chili with cornbread muffins. This was the most she could promise anybody. And now that the deadline was passed, she was living minute to minute. There were no more promises she could give, no more assurances to offer.

She looked to her right to find Mama B sitting on an empty cot as she lightly stroked behind Michael's ear. Terrance was already asleep on the same cot, wrapped in a fleece blanket.

To her left and only a few cots away, Charlie was tossing and turning. She was very protective of him, having created a near unbreakable bond in just a few days.

"Can't sleep?" she walked over to him, the dark of the gymnasium lit only by various candles.

"Not really," he breathed out deeply, his blinks long and heavy. "Just thinking about my parents."

She sat down on the cot next to him, rubbing his back with light strokes. "I feel like there is going to be a lot of self-reflection in the days to come. I've always found nighttime to be the loneliest. In the daytime you can distract yourself. But when the night brings the quiet, you are left with memories. You flip through them like a photo album you shouldn't be looking at." She thought about her boys. "They bring comfort. But they also bring terrible sadness. Because that isn't your life anymore—they aren't yours any-anymore."

He nodded his head, his eyes seeming to probe the dark walls of the gymnasium for answers.

"What can I do to make you feel better, Charlie?"

"Can you stay here with me?"

"I'll be here all night if you need it,"

"Thanks, Debra."

"No thanks needed, Charlie." She continued to rub his back lightly. "When my youngest son was a little boy, he could tell himself what to dream. If you could dream anything, what would it be?"

"Dad used to tell me about him and my mom going to The Great Wall of China. He said he couldn't wait to go again as a family. We never got to go."

"Close your eyes and go on that trip, Charlie. Forget about the reality for a moment. And while on that trip, tell them the words you never got to say in person."

Charlie closed his eyes. No images came, no matter how much he wanted them to. All he saw was the murky black of his closed eyelids. "There's nothing there."

"Okay," Debra sighed. "I'll take you there." And so she told him the story of a family trip that he would never go on, filling it with love that he would never again receive from them. And once she reached the end, as she was about to say a final goodbye from him, he saw them fade in from the murky black, bright smiles on display.

Charlie no longer heard Debra's story; asleep and in a realm different from this one, he wrote an ending of his own:

"We understand why you have to go, son." His dad spoke for both of them. "We're sorry we can't come too."

"Why can't you come with, Baba? Mama?" here Charlie was free to call them what he usually did. "Why can't you come into The Light with me?"

"It's not our light, son. It's yours." His Baba never said much but his words always held wisdom.

"But He is the only light, Baba! He is the only light!"

His Baba said nothing more. Instead they just pulled him close and hugged their child tight until he opened his eyes to the dark gymnasium again. Debra was still sitting on the edge of his cot, having fallen asleep sometime in between. Tears sat in his eyes as he closed them again. Even the warmest of goodbyes left him feeling cold.

### 2

John stood in Junior's doorway, one lone tea candle on his nightstand the only source of light. Even though it wasn't yet midnight, John had the lights off upstairs. He knew that power would shut off at 12:01 a.m. He had received many warning letters from the power company stating just that. And he was prepared for it. He had no plans to turn on the generator tonight.

His only remaining plan for the night was to check in on his boy. His elation remained at having his son back and healthy. But beyond a father's elation, he noticed his son's somber demeanor. Once the high of the miracle faded, he was left to deal with the fallout.

Junior looked at his dad and then around his room. It wasn't easy being here when he could have been safe.

"Son," John was nothing more than a full silhouette caught in the cast of dim candle light. "You can be honest with me. Do you wish you wouldn't have been healed?"

"Yeah, dad." Very little hesitation came from Junior's voice. It was something he had wanted to say for a while now. But how to tell his dad...

John processed the news like one processes a gunshot wound. He had allowed his boy some time, understanding that shock alone would keep him in a state of despondency. But no improvement came. And the longer he stayed around, the more corpse-like he became. The cancer was gone but the will to live hadn't returned. "I don't know what to say, son."

"I'm glad it was able to give you hope again, dad. But I am still left in between here and there. She had no right—to just come in and wave her magic fingers in my direction. I hate her for—"

"I'll listen to your reasons, Junior. But I will not entertain your poison. It wasn't your time. You got sick so that you could be healed in such a way. You were not meant to die. And hating Lily—it's absolutely unacceptable. And it's not the kind of character I raised you to have. It's not the kind of character your mother—"

"Don't talk about mom. She was meant to die? And I was just meant to live through the same excruciating process? I couldn't be healed when it started, right? I had to shrink, look like a walking skeleton everywhere I go. Maybe a badge of honor, dad? 'I'm one of God's showy miracles everyone?!' I'll forever look sick! And now I have to act like I'm thankful for this?! Why?!"

"I don't know the reasons why things happened the way they did, Junior. You don't need to know the reasons to move forward. Walking with God is to know you will never understand all of the ins and outs of life. Do you still trust Him?"

Junior paused for a moment. "If I had died, dad, would have you fallen away?"

John thought about the question. Despite his daily prayers not to hate God, he couldn't say one way or the other. "I don't know, son. I want to think I would have stayed strong." He had thought about what he would do after Junior died. And he always returned to the image of him dying quickly on his bed, his upper half zipped up inside of one of the plastic bags he used to keep his suits pressed when not in use. Maybe he wouldn't have fallen away, but he also wouldn't have ended his life in a way that was befitting to his legacy. And worse yet, he would have left behind two girls already familiar with death to struggle through yet another. Just like their mother, he would have sent them the message that they weren't enough to fight for.

Something about his dad's reply met Junior where it needed to. "I'm here for you, dad. And I'll stay here for you." a smile of realization. "I've gotta go talk to Lily."

John nodded his head as he stepped aside, Junior getting up and leaving the room...

When the power cut off at 12:01 a.m., the only clear indicator was the sound of the heater shutting off. And almost immediately, the house grew cold. John sat in his room alone, with nothing but a tea candle lit and his bible out. He didn't read through Revelation. Instead he mined the depths of Acts, trying to find comfort in those who suffered the first wave of Christian persecution.

He walked along the words, following the path through familiar passages and into ones he had never noticed before. He had read this particular book at least fifty times. And yet it always gave him something new—the wonder of reading God's living Word. He found comfort in many places, closing his eyes and sitting in the quiet. A still quiet was interrupted with a sudden knocking at the front door.

John put his hand to his heart. A usual steady heart was now racing.

"Prepare my heart, Lord." He stood up from sitting on the floor and headed toward his door, the voices muffled but present. It came sooner than he had expected. When he looked down at his phone, nothing more than a source of time now, it was only 1:17 a.m.

When he entered the hallway, he saw the glow of red and blue pushing through his living room window. But he didn't hear voices anymore. He reached the entryway quickly, seeing Lily standing next to two dead bodies on the floor, Junior's eyes wide with shock from the living room couch.

"What happened?" John asked, his expression nearly matching Junior's.

"They found us." Lily said, her eyes glossed over with a cold understanding. "We can't stay here anymore, Pastor John. I'm sorry."

He didn't know how to respond to what he saw. How did they die in such a short time? They had knocked only moments before. And why did Junior look like he had seen a ghost?

"You okay, son?" John asked as he walked toward the kitchen. He had to check on Ken and Willow.

A slight nod of the head was all Junior could give, his eyes still looking toward Lily.

John opened the basement door to find Ken and Willow near the top. He still had no idea what happened. All he knew was that two police officers were dead on his floor. And it seemed Lily was the reason for it.

### *

Lily sat in the living room alone, looking out the window. The house was dark except for a few lit candles. The closest one to her was on the coffee table behind her.

"Hey," It was 11:46 p.m. when Junior said his first word to her in a week. He sat down in the old chair near her. "I never thanked you for what you did."

"Don't bother." She refused to look at him. "I know you're only here now because you just got done talking to Pastor John. Did he want you to come and make things better with me?"

"Dad has always helped give me perspective." he paused. "You were right, Lil. When I asked him what my dying would do to him, I saw his eyes. No matter what he told me, his eyes said everything. It would have destroyed him. I know that much." he rested his thin arms on his long legs. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for blaming you. Will you forgive me?"

Lily now looked toward him, her eyes searching his as she nodded her head. "I didn't consider your feelings, Junior. I didn't even think what it meant for you. I was told to give hope back and I started where it was needed most. We all needed hope again. You don't understand. It wasn't just Pastor John that needed to see something miraculous. We all did."

"I understand, Lil." he offered a warm smile. "Who else have you healed? I couldn't have been the only one."

"Steph's dad. Just you and him. No one else let me near them."

"That shouldn't surprise you though. Remember when Jesus tried to heal in his hometown? They knew Him as nothing more than a carpenter. And because of it, He only healed a few people. They think they know you, Lil. But they don't."

"Thanks, Junior." she let him see a slight smile. "I've missed you being my friend."

He looked down at the floor, nodding his head. "Me too."

Within the next few minutes, both Lily and Junior moved to the couch. And from there they watched the deadline pass, shutting the power off of only one other house in the neighborhood.

"What do you think's gonna happen to us, Lil? You told me I better plant myself in Christ for the hell to come."

She thought long and hard about what to say. No longer the little girl to blurt out heavy spiritual revelation to distribute its weight, she gave a vague answer: "I just meant know that you know Him." The real answer would have scared Junior: _Know that you're ready to die for Him._ It was a conversation for another time. And even though she believed Junior already understood it, she didn't want to bog the moment down.

He didn't answer. He just nodded his head as he looked around.

The future was now boxed up into little sixty second segments. If they made it through one, the next came along, the same threat present. Everybody who entered the deadline without the Chip already understood what stand they were taking. And they understood that eventually they all would end up in the same place. They could run. They could hide. But they couldn't escape the inevitable. All would have to face their trials and their moment of decision. Were they willing to suffer as followers of Christ? Or would they let the fear of a temporary pain push them to make the biggest mistake one could make?

Lily understood her fate—everyone's fate. All she could do was sit in each sixty second box, knowing that one of them would bring the start of the promised persecution. Maybe it would be tonight; maybe it wouldn't.

A fractured friendship was being repaired as Junior and Lily sat next to each other. They didn't say much more. Junior's eyes grew heavy as the minutes wore on, and soon his long body was slouched over awkwardly, his head laying on the right arm of the three seater.

When she closed her eyes to pray, she found that the boxed in segments broke away. The future was not condensed into these individual boxes of fear; it was eternal. And as long as she could endure the coming pain, she would live in the presence of The Savior for eternity. This was only the beginning, only the shadow before stepping out into the sun.

Move mountains in My Name, Lily.

It was the only instruction she received before hearing the loud knock at the door. Her eyes opened to the red and blue swirl of cop lights, the car parked directly behind Ken's black Buick. She looked to her right. Junior was awake now, looking out at the lights, fear filling his eyes.

"Stay here, Junior." Lily said as she calmly stood up to answer the door. She took the few steps required to reach the door and opened it.

Two tall white men stood in the entryway, looking small compared to the Spirit's tethered to each. The Spirits looked down at Lily, their smiles wide and stretched long.

"We received a call from the neighbors that people were hiding out here." They stepped into the house, now looking over at Junior. "Is it just the two of you here?"

They looked back at Lily. "We're gonna have to search the house for anyone else."

She didn't step aside. She looked at them with eyes that were both cold and sad as she spoke: "Jesus Christ, who gave you life, now takes it away."

Immediately the men fell to the floor, dead. But, Lily didn't hear the silence that Junior heard. She heard the screams of their souls as they were dragged down into the dark. And then she heard nothing. When Pastor John appeared only moments later, Lily could only appear cold. A mask to wear for a young woman haunted by her gift. She saw too much. And now there was no way to separate the faces of the men from their final screams.

### 3

Linda was finally on her way home from the church. The process had taken longer than she expected. The members of her church signing their letters of intent cemented who remained of her congregation. She was overjoyed at how many she still had. Losing about 1/3rd of the people was actually less than she had expected. That virus of a Hell gospel had spread far and wide. But fortunately it hadn't soaked so far into their belief that she couldn't pull them back out.

Because of her, they were going to sleep in their beds tonight, not having to worry when they would be arrested. She was just doing God's work. It brought a warm smile to her face as she turned into her apartment complex...

After a number of tired steps brought her to the front door of her first floor apartment, she took a few more, collapsing onto the couch. Sleep found her immediately. And with it came a vivid dream, given to her by a Spirit she wasn't aware she housed:

She was standing behind a clear podium, looking out at a group of people far different from her congregation. Everyone was wearing plain gray jumpsuits, each with a different set of numbers stenciled in white on their left breast pocket. Behind her was a pull down screen, displaying the same third degree burn image from the presentation she had given earlier in the night. And just like her congregation did, the people seeing it reacted strongly.

Her eyes opened to her apartment with fuel behind them. If the message she gave earlier tonight could convince her congregation, the same message could convince others in need of her words. She had been given dreams from God before, little snapshots to help guide her along her path. This one was simple enough to understand: her calling was at the Eastern Holding Zone as a pastor to lead them away from unnecessary martyrdom.

She grabbed the thin silver laptop on her glass coffee table, opening a search engine bar:

volunteer positions available at eastern holding zone

Like a prayer answered, the first result that popped up was positions needing to be filled. Reading the brief description, she saw 'pastors needed desperately'.

"Okay, Lord. I hear You loud and clear." She clicked the result. It brought her to a webpage where she only had to put in her Credit Chip ID number to claim one of the volunteer spots. Linda had never felt such a divine sense of purpose. She could do some real good for the misunderstood and the lost. Having been exhausted from the long night, she now couldn't wait to step into her new calling. She had no plans to sleep anymore tonight. She pulled up a word document program on her laptop and began to work on a message that could convince even the most stubborn believers.

### 4

The president had arrived behind the old prison a little after 1:00 a.m., the boat coming up to the dock in a darkened and heavily guarded area. None of the guards asked where he came from. Just like his driver, the assigned Spirits took control of them for those moments, leaving the guards to later wonder what happened during a shared blackout.

He now stood at the main entrance to the official Eastern Holding Zone, the cameras lenses a group all their own in front of him.

"It's a funny thing. I can heal people with my mind. But, I can't make a dead boat engine come back to life. I apologize for my tardiness. Thank you for covering while I was fighting the choppy Atlantic waters." He used one of his famous smiles to remove any lingering questions. "Now to address this historic night. I am hopeful that this is only a temporary need and that these people see the error in their ways. Nothing would make me happier than to close these doors for good. Is it too much to ask for a country truly united in its goals? Yes, we are all different. And our differences are what make us unique. My goal isn't to make people carbon copies of the other. My goal is to evolve our thinking—this has been my goal from the very beginning. When you look at a person you shouldn't see difference in color, or class, or orientation. You should simply see a human being, like you, who offers their own solution to life's greatest question: 'how do we find peace?' Unity is like a puzzle and we all offer our own piece. When one person withholds their piece, the picture can never be fully complete." The Head Spirit knew how to speak the language people wanted to hear. And It knew how to present it in a way where the strings were hidden. "My hope is that America can act as a stencil for other countries to copy. The Credit Chip is only in America now. Other than this group of holdouts, it provides a solution that has never been seen before. When there is unity, we can do absolutely anything. Imagine this, not only our country unified, but the whole world unified under a cashless system. Wars ending. Hate dissipating. Instead of seeing each other's differences as something to push us apart, we see each difference as necessary to fit where we lack." He turned to look at The Holding Zone. "The first wave of people hasn't yet arrived. They are still being rounded up and gathered from their hiding places. What breaks my heart is their one mindedness. Everything is about religion. Your character doesn't really matter to them if you don't believe what they do. They toss you aside. They act superior to you. And then they try to say it is done in love. It was apparently love that held a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. And it was love that blew up over two hundred people at Margaret Still's self-healing seminar." He paused as he closed his eyes, making sure the weight of the next statement was felt everywhere. "I am not only speaking to the people of The United States of America tonight. I am speaking to the world. There is a better way. There is an answer to our greatest struggle. And it lies inside each of you. When the Credit Chip is implemented, it removes all other worries. And with all other worries out of the way, you can now focus on what truly matters: unity. If you are on the fence, or even if you doubt my claims, watch America soar from here on out. I would love to be able to help you reach the same solution in your country. This is an invitation I have longed to offer. Though the dollar was a different currency than yours, the same truth applies. Money in any form is worthless. It is interchangeable. It can be anything. It is just a way to dole out power to some and offer the short end of the stick to others. You will only find freedom when currency no longer classifies you, when it no longer controls your life. I have already created the structure for this system. All you need to do is reach out to me. Ask for a helping hand and it will be given to you. Together we can heal this world of a disease that has plagued it since the very beginning. This is a moment in history. Together we could make it one that will never be forgotten." Along with the camera lenses, he heard the loud clicks of photos being captured. "I know this comes as a surprise to the media. I will gladly take any questions you may have."

Lidia's hand raised first. He noticed and called on it immediately. After all, she was the voiced the people preferred. "I'll be honest, Mr. President. Nobody knew what your message was going to be tonight. Of course we could speculate—which we did. I'm not only surprised. I'm elated. You are always setting your sights on the next goal. Will you ever be satisfied?"

"Is that your question, Lidia?"

"It is, Mr. President."

"I will not be satisfied until full worldwide unity is achieved. Once that happens, and I believe it will, then I can finally sit back and enjoy the new world. A beautiful world." He smiled at her, as if to thank her for giving him the phrase.

She smiled back at him in response.

Another hand raised. Ned T. Elway, not nearly as much of a kiss-up as Lidia. "Mr. President. How would you implement these systems into countries where money is low?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way, Ned. I will work to find a solution in even the toughest of circumstances. If a country wants it implemented, you can know for certain that I will do anything to make it happen. The word 'no' is not in my vocabulary."

He nodded his head with halfway understanding, his little round glasses barely fitting his round face. "Thank you, Mr. President."

"A good question, Ned. Now, I'll take just one more. Don't want to talk your ears off," he laughed slightly. The next raised hand he saw in a sea of them was someone he was unfamiliar with. It was a thin woman, she almost looked like a younger Margaret Stills, back when her hair was still black. "A new face. What question can I answer?"

"Mr. President, Sherri Miles from The D.C. Chronicle. Nearly a year ago, we stepped into a new age of evolution with you. You promised that the Credit Chip would come with new abilities—the kinds you have. And a few people have been able to reach this level. Margaret Stills is the main one that comes to mind. Anyway, do you offer this same promise to those in other countries if they implement the same system?"

"Firstly, I would like to address Margaret Stills. Sadly, with what I've seen on the news, she's been missing for a while now. I can only hope she returns soon. The world needs her around. She is a fantastic teacher. And a good friend." he paused for a moment to show respect. "Now, leaping off of that, I want to be clear that the Credit Chip offers no power," he smiled smugly to make her question seem ridiculous. "All the Credit Chip does is remove financial stress, allowing your mind an environment where you can dig deep to reach your final stage. Margaret dug deep to find the ability. And once she found it, she worked it like a muscle. It was clearly a strong one. Just look at her seminars." A short pause. "To answer your question. If they work to find the ability, they will find it, because we are in a new stage of evolution. But, I have to reiterate this: let everybody's primary goal be for unity. Everything else should simply be the cherry on top. Long before I could heal with my mind, my aim was unity. And now, even with that ability readily available to me, the same truth remains. Unity heals all other wounds. And who knows, once unity is reached, you may just find that you have abilities that I haven't even tapped into. Anything is possible when you believe it is. Thank you for your questions and have a wonderful night."

The camera lenses were removed from his sight, the news anchors attached to them soon entering their boats and leaving the island. Not long after, he did the same. And when he hit the coast of North Carolina, the first thing he saw in a dark sky was the active swirls of red and blue.

### 5

Ken gathered a few jeans and a number of long sleeved shirts from the pile of garbage bags downstairs, throwing them into a much smaller plastic grocery bag. He wanted to rip into the box of photo albums to find something special to hold onto. But there was no time. He looked toward the small stack of boxes in the corner of the basement for only a moment before sprinting back up the basement stairs. Willow was in the kitchen, her clothes gathered in a bag of her own. The red and blue lights continued their rotation, now displayed across Willow's fair skin like she was a movie screen.

He looked down at the two dead bodies, Lily still standing near the open door. They would need the Credit Chip to pump gas. The idea of amputating one of their forearms to use the Chip met him with a convincing logic. But the more he thought about it, the more the holes appeared. None of their cars were legal anymore. And if they took the cop car, it was sure to be reported stolen soon enough. And if they were caught with a cop's arm—he looked at his bag of clothes and then Willow's, beginning to doubt the likelihood of safe escape. Canada was a ten and a half hour drive to the border. Why they didn't take the trip to the border days ago was a question that now haunted him. Maybe they never were going to escape. Maybe those few hours with Willow as his wife was all he was meant to have.

"Are we taking your van, Pastor John?" Ken asked, looking out toward the street, trying to push himself to run.

"We can," Pastor John was quiet, having come to a sudden conclusion he didn't think would reach him so soon. "I wonder though if it's time for me to face the trials."

Ken felt the same way, wishing someone would convince him otherwise.

"Pastor John?" Willow's eyes started to well with tears. Her only father figure, removed from her life once again. "You can come with us. You don't have to give up."

"Willow," he produced a warm smile, something genuine even as horror surrounded them. "We want more time. We always will. But our time together has come to an end. This is not how I envisioned it. I saw a revival. I saw many more souls being saved from the brink. Our plans haven't worked out the way we hoped they would—they rarely do. But, I think the writing is on the wall. Run, if you must."

"If you are ready to give up, dad, then why am I here?" Junior's words didn't sound bitter.

"There is nowhere we can run, Junior. The time has come."

Ken pulled Willow aside, Pastor John's words fading into the background. "No more running, Willow. I've run from things my whole life. We can't prolong this. We can't have a normal life together. You are a bright light in a very dark place. We can never have more than that. I love you and cherish every moment I have left with you." he bent down his long frame to kiss her. She responded with eyes that were wide and searching as she nodded her head in agreement. She closed her eyes to a falling tear.

"It isn't fair, Ken."

"It never is, sweetie." He kissed her forehead as he wrapped his arms around her. "It never is."

### *

At 2:25 a.m. Debra's eyes opened to four flashlight beams stabbing through the near-dark of the gymnasium.

"Nobody move!" the voice was low and severe, projecting through a speaker system. "Cooperate and things will go better for you!"

"It'll be okay, Charlie." she whispered to him, a mother's instinct still automatic. "I'm here."

Charlie sat up to find Debra grabbing hold of him and keeping him close.

Hiding from the law post-deadline was proving impossible. With so many eyes against them, they were at the mercy of a merciless people. And The Holy Army, despite all of its secrecy and the deep rooted system it had running across the country, simply did not have the resources needed to fully disappear. They had never promised safety from the world; they had promised they would do what they could with the time they had left. Reaching any souls they could while they still were free to speak, free to walk the streets. That time had passed. Now the most they could offer was a hot meal and a bed away from the cold. It didn't last long, a fact Debra feared would prove true sooner rather than later.

But not even she expected it to be this soon. All of this secrecy to only be found a little more than two hours after the deadline? It all seemed laughable. And she realized that it was. The body of Christ had always been laughable to the world—she sure had done her fair share of laughing in her time. Always the group asking for donations to fund their Sunday services; always the group where a good portion of the congregation drove beat up cars, praying it would just get them from point A to point B. She had joined a group with few resources trying to fight against a world that had a surplus. It was laughable. And yet, as several policemen moved in to arrest the Christians who were sitting on old cots in an old school gymnasium, she smiled. There was no group she would have rather been with.

### 6

The time has come? John looked at his son. That clearly wasn't enough. Knowing that Junior wished he had died that night instead of being healed, John now had to bring comfort to him. His boy was healed so that John could make it to this point, instead of opting out in a quite cowardly way. But now his boy would have to endure the coming trials. And even though it was clear to John that Junior was never supposed to die, he also wasn't in his boy's shoes. When at the precipice of paradise, who wouldn't rather take those final steps into the light?

It was clear to John there were no words he could say to bring comfort in the moment. All he could do was hold his boy close. And that's what he did.

### *

Lily felt like no more than a shadow standing by the front door. Other than answering how the men died with a simple reasoning, she was not acknowledged. Is this how a ghost unaware of its death would feel? She stood amongst them but she was not part of them. She didn't try to say anything. The two dead bodies were just another thing to further separate her from the rest of the group. She had seen Junior's eyes, still wide and terrified when he would glance over at her.

She did it to protect them, to move a mountain, to give them a chance to escape. What she saw now though was that her decision to move a mountain, a decision that would never not haunt her, had only afforded the group the chance to choose their fate. And it seemed they were choosing to turn into the skid. It wasn't worth the screams that now echoed through the dark hallways of her mind. Just so Willow could cry another tear over Ken? Just so Pastor John and Junior could share one more moment together? She now had the sounds of damnation sitting with her. Seeing the Spirits tethered to the lost was different than this. She had still been disconnected from the full reality. Not anymore. She knew the terror another felt; she knew the sound a soul makes when it realizes all hope is gone. It was a sound she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy.

Lily was ready to turn into the skid as well. She loved everyone in this group but she didn't belong with them. She belonged where there was truly a need for her and her gift. Clearly, if it had ever been here with this group, that time had long passed. She looked out the glass weather door, seeing the still rotating police lights come from the idling cop car, now just waiting for a second set to approach.

### 7

Linda had prepared many arguments in her day. To say they were sermons was to make them sound friendly and light hearted. Ever since coming to the enlightening conclusion that Hell was a fictitious place, she had been targeted by many different pastors. They slandered her name in public, made the ridiculous claim that she was now on her way to the very Hell she denied, and labeled her a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Every one of her sermons had the extra pressure of disputing their wild claims. She was always on the defense because she was always being attacked. Once something that nearly drove her to shutting down her church entirely, she pressed on, deciding to trust that God would see her through even the darkest valleys.

Much like David, she had spent her time fighting away the lions and bears threatening her sheep all so it could prepare her for the day she would face off against Goliath. Once a woman who was quiet and compliant, letting people feed her the words of the bible like old, lukewarm soup, she would never forget the night divine revelation struck. It changed everything. It made a timid woman bold. It was a message everyone living in fear of Hell needed to hear. She followed it fearlessly to the outskirts of her faith, losing many along the way but also gaining many more.

She could handle whatever was thrown at her because everything already had been. She was made for this moment. Only a few minutes since starting a rough draft, she already had typed out a page and a half. She was a master of swaying those who were already convinced.

She took a moment to tie up a final loose end, sending a text to her fill in Pastor:

Effective immediately:

God has called me to pastor elsewhere for a time, Eric.

I'll expound tomorrow.

The typing commenced immediately once she hit send.

### 8

A limousine met the president at the dock. The door was opened from the inside.

"Mr. President." The Head of State was already sitting in the limo, phone in hand. "I've been talking to Mexico since your announcement ended. The President would like to discuss implementing your proposed system."

He grabbed the phone that was offered. "Pummel here. What do you say we work through the necessary layers of bureaucratic tape to get this deal done tonight? The sooner we can work out a system, the sooner we can give the Mexican people a structure that benefits everyone. I'm willing to if you are."

"Exactly what I was hoping to hear, Frank."

### -Convergence-

### 1

Ken and Willow moved back downstairs together when they decided they weren't going to run, spending their last moments of freedom together in front of a dying fireplace. Once the second cop car came a little over an hour later, the scene was treated as a double homicide. One officer stayed upstairs to question the other three while the second officer met Willow and Ken downstairs. When asked what happened, Ken didn't say anything—not that he would have been believed anyway. Lily did it to keep them safe, obviously expecting the rest to run. He wouldn't drop her name despite it guaranteeing to make things easier on everyone else involved.

A blur set in over the next number of hours. He was processed at the local jail and forced to wait in a packed cell. Although he arrived with the group, they were quickly divided. Lily was the first to be taken. And though Willow tried to stop it from happening by grabbing Lily's hand, Lily simply said, "Don't worry about me, Willow. I still have things to do." It was met with Willow nodding her head to falling tears as she let her hand go.

Throughout the night, at times that seemed both random and unplanned, the cell doors would unlock and a grouping of ten people would be called by name and taken away by the guard on duty. Pastor John was among the first grouping of people to be taken, having to leave Junior behind. Ken saw him say something softly to his boy before making his way for the door. When Willow looked to Pastor John, he smiled as he gestured for her to keep her chin up, mouthing one word: trust.

Ken invited Junior to sit next to them, Pastor John having sat a few spots down the bench from them to give the newlyweds a bit more time together. Junior accepted with a slight nod of the head as he moved down to sit next to Ken. Willow was to Ken's right, her fingers laced tightly with his as her head pressed up against his shoulder. They only had these moments together, moments filled with lingering uncertainty. When the cell door opened again, only Junior's full name was called.

"It'll be okay." Ken said as he gave a strong nod of the head. "Stay strong, man." Junior looked back at him and toward Willow.

Willow ended up using the same gesture and word Pastor John had given her. Junior shook his head up and down as he left the cell.

Every time the cell doors opened and another group was taken, Ken prepared to lose her to the random selection. It was a long night that didn't seem to end even as day broke through, the barred window in the cell coloring a dim orange glow with dull gray.

"Do you think it's gonna hurt?" Willow asked quietly.

"I think you're strong enough to face whatever is ahead. You've been through worse than this." He gave her a reassuring smile. "You're strong, Willow."

They were the timely and final words he said to Willow before the cell door opened and her name was called along with nine others. Willow left with tears shallow in her eyes; Ken just sat alone, his eyes cold stone staring ahead.

"Newlyweds?" an older woman asked, her once black hair now graying. She was one of the ten that remained in the cell.

"Yeah," Ken nodded his head slightly. "Only hours ago. We were married right before the deadline."

"That's special," she gave an older generation nod of approval. "My husband and I just hit fifty years. He was taken with the second group. Honestly, it feels like I'm missing one of my arms."

He nodded his head, still contributing very little to the conversation.

"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, young man. I'm just looking for a distraction I think. Everything I'm losing for—well sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. Do you really think God would send us to Hell for getting a silly little piece of technology?"

Ken turned to her, his cold eyes softening when he saw hers trembling. "We have to face this. I know it's scary, but it's only for a time. You cannot go into this doubting your decision or you will fail."

"Fail? I'm human. I fail multiple times daily. And Jesus still loves me. He still accepts me."

"That's true. But not here. Not with this. You can't give in. If you do, you're forever lost." He thought about his brother.

"I don't know. It goes against Who I know Him to be. I've been walking with Jesus for over forty years."

"Why are you even here then? If you are convinced there is no reason to put yourself through it, why do it?"

"Harold, my husband, has always been the driving force. He feels very strongly about this. He always has had a militaristic outlook on God. 'Do this and this and He'll give you a reward' or 'stay in line if you don't want to be punished'—you know that sorta thing."

Ken nodded his head. "Nobody can make that decision for you. I guess just ask yourself one question: are you losing anything if you lose your life for Christ? Doesn't He say losing our life for His sake is to gain everything?"

She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, the tremble had steadied. "Those words hit me where they needed to, young man. They were exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you so much." she wrapped her arms around him for a moment with a grateful smile on display, Ken simply touching one of her arms with his hand as his reply.

They waited in the cell for another hour and a half or so before the guard came to take the final group away. They were handcuffed again and then led past the old brick walls of the jail and out into a bitter cold. There was a rental transport van waiting in the parking lot, something close to an airport model. It was a far cry from being an official prisoner transport vehicle. It had windows lining the sides, looking more like they were about to take a road trip than being transported to a Holding Zone. The taped together city Ken had always known it to be, Ransom was dysfunctional as usual. Some things never change, regardless of how improved everything was supposed to be.

In case anyone in the group decided to make a run for it, the guard that led them out of the jail had his weapon drawn with a second officer nearby. The group of ten entered the van one at a time, Ken ending up next to the same woman he had talked to in the cell. Once the two officers took their seats up front, the vehicle began to move...

Seven hours later, they were still in the van, now swallowed up by a starless night, making their way up a secluded and poorly plowed road. The drifts of snow were high and spilling onto the path the power-challenged vehicle was trying to find traction on.

Ken looked up ahead from his middle seat, his handcuffed hands in between his legs, seeing bright white lights permanently spotting the dark sky in the distance. It was only as they got closer that he could see the lights belonged to a large building.

"To lose is to gain," the woman next to him now gave the same reminder he had given her. It was needed as the building came into full view, now looming largely over them.

### *

For Debra and the rest of those in the school, there were no rental vehicles, no waiting for hours in a crowded cell. This wasn't the small, poorly run city of Ransom, Iowa. Once the adults were caught and arrested, they were quickly tossed into a well-oiled machine of a system. Parked outside of the school were two long prison transport buses with the letters D.C.P.D on the side in white on a striking blue background.

The children were allowed to ride with their guardians during transport. Beyond that though was still unknown. Would they be separated from them entirely at some point? Despite many asking these questions, the answers given were vague at best. Debra and Charlie sat near the far back of the bus, Mama B and her boys directly across from them. Both buses were filled to near capacity, the gymnasium having held close to one hundred and fifty people.

Two guards sat at the front of each bus, shotguns out and ready. The number of illegal citizens far outnumbered them, a preventative measure through and through. Once the buses started driving, they didn't stop. The docks were six hours and ten minutes away.

It was 8:52 a.m. when the buses stopped at the docks in North Carolina. It took another twenty minutes for everyone to be loaded onto the boat. And from there it took another twenty five minutes to pull up to the island. The structure was no different than the typical prison: a large box of a building fenced in.

"Unfortunately we have to process you as illegal citizens today." the voice was unseen, projecting through the prison's PA system, the people now standing at the sidewalk entrance. "As promised by President Pummel, you have every opportunity to reinstate your American citizenship by getting the Credit Chip. There are two rooms in the facility that are open 24/7, equipped with six Credit Chip stations each. We have plenty of signs to direct you. Now, this will be treated as an open prison. You will be locked away at night only and due to limited space you will be sharing quarters. You will definitely find tonight to be the most comfortable, because as we continue to get in illegal citizens, your rooms will fill up fast. There is only so much space available. I urge you to rethink your decision and spare yourself the discomfort."

Muttering began among the large group, people asking questions to each other that they still hadn't been given the answer to.

"What will happen to our children?!" a man screamed from somewhere among the crowd, seeming to expect an answer. Debra looked around, the children looking lost among many adults who already seemed to be questioning their decision.

"What if they take my boys, Deb?" Mama B asked. "How can I protect them?"

It was a question Debra didn't know how to answer. Mama B still hadn't dedicated her life to Jesus. She was trusting Debra to guide her. She had no allegiance to Christ. She had allegiance to her grandbabies and Deb feared that they would be the deciding factor. She feared Mama B would give in.

As she tried to think of an answer to a question that hung like an anvil over her head, her thoughts kept getting lost in the growing unease around her. Many people were asking questions now. And their questions were only overlapped with someone else's. No answers were given. And soon it was full blown panic.

A man finally stepped from the front doors. His white hair nearly matched his pale skin.

"You have questions. I'll answer what I can." His voice matched what had been projecting through the speakers.

"What will happen to the children?!" it seemed like half the people screamed it in unison, Mama B included.

The man smiled, looking toward the shoreline and scoping the area. "You have to be good in case there's cameras, everyone. It's opening day."

"Please just answer the question!" not as many followed up but the number was still high and it still included Mama B.

"The children have a designated room where they will sleep. During the day they can be with you; at night you will be separated. I apologize that it has to be this way. A safety measure. We wouldn't want a child being suffocated." he smiled as if he were giving a speech to a loving audience. "There is an easy fix. As soon as you step inside and through the metal detector, the two rooms with the Credit Chip stations are available. Wouldn't it be nice to go back on the boat that brought you here? No cramped spaces. No separation. If not for yourselves, think of the children."

Deb looked around. The fear in many parent's eyes was living. They were terrified to move, looking up to a clear blue sky, searching for the strength to let go and trust God. If it had just been about them and their discomfort, the decision was simple. But leaving their children alone, at the mercy of a place that was far from upfront about the inner workings? What if while they were locked away in their rooms, their children were being hurt? Deb looked toward Mama B, finding that her eyes were almost hollow as she looked down at her grandbabies.

"I can't do it, Deb. What kind of grandmother am I if I do?"

There was no logical argument she could give to answer Mama B. From the point of view of a parent, it was very irresponsible. This was where faith in God's protection had to come in, where His very Blood had to shield them from the dangers that surrounded them.

"I'll watch them, Mama B." Charlie, though still a small boy, stood very tall in that moment. "I'll keep them safe."

Hollowed eyes filled again as Mama B smiled. "Why would you do that for me, Charlie? You barely know me."

"I don't need to know you to care about you. Just don't get the Chip. Please. Put your faith in Jesus. We're here together for a reason. He has not left you or your boys alone. Trust Him."

Mama B nodded her head in amazement. "I think I'm starting to, Charlie."

Some of the parents put their concern for their children above everything else. Once they entered through the front doors, they immediately found their way to a Credit Chip station. It was to protect their children, their fates be damned. It was both noble and foolish and exactly what they had been warned against. As Deb was following the line through the long halls, she saw people taper off and head back for the stations. Some of them she had spoken to, their walks seeming far stronger when they were still in the safety of the gymnasium.

The line ultimately led to a small room where they exchanged their possessions and clothing for matching gray jumpsuits. Debra was a small body type who had to wear something made for a medium build. It was loose and baggy; the number printed on the left breast pocket was white. But it didn't match the number on the bracelet she had been given when first checked in. When she looked around, the same was true of everyone else. The numbers were random and looked the part but in reality they were not numbers meant to correlate or identify anyone.

She thought about what concerned the white haired man: the possibility of cameras. She had only been in the prison for a little over an hour when she realized that things were only going to get much worse. Once the news cameras stopped filming... once the world stopped caring... then the truth was going to come out.

After eating her first breakfast, which consisted of two cereal options (plain cheerios or off brand corn flakes) with 1% milk, Debra was shown to her cell. A cold 6'x8' space with a small toilet and sink still installed. Already a cramped space if alone, she was assigned four other people to share the space with. She didn't know any of them. Five people to a room that barely had the capacity for it. And tonight was said to be the most comfortable. Tonight they all could sleep on the floor. But how many people did they plan to put in one cell once all was said and done? Now an empty cell with a fresh coat of white paint, she imagined what it would be like days (or even weeks) from now: with twenty or more people packed in, they barely had the space to even sleep against the walls. And even with a clean surface shown, the smell of must lingered, meaning there was a leak somewhere. A simple sickness starting from the damp atmosphere, forced to breathe each other's air, it would spread, it would worsen, and it would take lives...

Debra was standing in her cell, now looking out at the others. Her cell was on the first floor of a two story structure. From what she could see, there were sixty cells total: thirty cells on each floor, fifteen to each side all running parallel. And though she considered it was a possibility that enough people would be brought into the prison throughout the rest of the day to warrant five people sharing a cell, she suspected it was all part of the "welcome" message. She suspected many of those cells would remain empty when curfew came at 10 p.m.

A number of hours later, Debra sat for dinner with Charlie, Mama B, and Mama B's little boys. A family created by circumstance, the moments they spent together brought something genuine to a clearly fabricated atmosphere. The hours of the day already seemed to bleed together, all natural sunlight replaced by fluorescent tube lights. The clock in the cafeteria said it was 6:34 p.m.

At random times in the day the white haired man's voice appeared over the PA system, to retouch on topics already touched on as well as reiterate points he wanted to get across. They had been told many times that an open prison didn't mean it was structure free.

"At 7 p.m. tonight we have a mandatory event. Pastor Linda Masters is passionate and ready to explain the faults in your reasoning. Open that closed mind of yours and you may get out of here before curfew. Wouldn't that be something? Get to the auditorium early to get a good seat!"

Debra shook her head as she looked at Mama B. _Shield her from the lies, Jesus. And shield me._

### 2

Still near Junior, John looked toward Lily. If he had only reached her before she decided to speak those words to the two men. He could have saved her so much heartache. If he had answered the door and dealt with the arrest the way it should have been handled—did she not understand what it would do to her? Did she not understand that having such a gift had to be handled with pinpoint spiritual discernment at all times?

John didn't look at Lily with fear, unlike Junior, he looked at her with the deepest sympathy. And yet it was one he couldn't yet find himself able to offer outside of the look he gave her. What words could he say? Did he know what it meant to carry the weight of such a gift? Who was he to tell her how it should have been handled? She was a sixteen year old girl trying to step into a divine calling she still didn't know how to handle. On top of her gift, she had the weight of John's prophetic words hanging over her. Words of protecting others. Words of purpose well beyond this house. Words he gave immediately after she used her gift to heal his boy. He was as much a reason for these deaths as Lily was.

"I've gotta check on Lily, Junior." John stepped away from him and over to Lily. Cold eyes met his as he looked down at her. "Thank you for trying to protect us, Lily. I'm the one at fault here. Not you."

Her cold eyes remained. "No, Pastor John. It's me and my stupidity. I am not worthy of this gift."

"It's just growing pains, Lily." John paused. "I always think back to Elisha. Finally given confirmation that God has granted him his request to have double Elijah's anointing on his life, he was pretty haphazard at times. I'm sure you remember him responding to some youths mocking his thinning hairline by calling on two mother bears to attack."

Lily cracked a smile. "I kind of forgot about that story."

"What do you think a justifiable reason was for that? Revenge? Teach those little troublemakers a lesson? You are not the only one to have a great gift only to misuse it. But you learn from the mistakes. Now whether or not Elisha ever considered it a mistake is another thing entirely." He tried to give her something else to ponder as they waited for the process to begin.

When the cops came, they entered with their weapons drawn. Everyone was told to lay flat on the ground with their hands on their heads as they assessed the situation.

"What happened here?" they looked for an obvious cause of death but there was none.

John was laid out on his stomach, his hands folded over the back of his head. He looked toward Lily, hoping she would say nothing. There was no evidence of anything. Two dead bodies with no weapon and no blood. Let their questions persist. Enact the right to remain silent.

"It was me." Lily spoke three words and the rest was shut. Other than prayer, there was nothing he could do for her anymore. And with it being the only thing he could do, it's what he did. From the moment Lily confessed, John began to pray fervently in the Holy Spirit.

Quiet prayer in a language far different from his own brought him through the next number of hours. Lily sat next to him on his right. Junior was on his left. Ken and Willow were a few people away down the bench.

"I don't think I'm going to see you again in this life, Pastor John." coming out of nowhere, her words had no sadness attached to them. "Thank you for taking us in after mom died. Thank you for giving me your time and your wisdom and your love. You were the best dad I could have ever asked for." a rare tear sat in Lily's eye as she smiled at him warmly.

"You, my daughter, amaze me. And it has been one of my greatest joys getting to know you and getting to love you as my own."

Only moments later, the cell door opened and the guard called Lily's name. The timing made it seem like she knew how close it was. After she offered a message of comfort to Willow, Lily disappeared out of the barred cell and down a hall where John's eyes were unable to follow.

Junior looked like he wanted to ask a question. John gave the only answer he could before anything was asked. "Prayer is the answer, son."

Junior seemed to hate the answer. A common deflection his dad gave when he didn't have the answer, he would have rather his dad said nothing at all. Of course prayer was the answer. But where was the comfort in it? He couldn't say anything beyond this? A man who had walked with The Lord for most of his life couldn't find any words of comfort beyond his default response?

When the guard came and called John's name first, followed by nine others, he saw his boy's eyes. They were scared and searching. "Never forget where your strength comes from. I love you, son."

Once John was out of the cell, the process was nearly identical to what Ken would experience. The only difference was what vehicle he found waiting in the parking lot. Not an airport rental but an official prisoner transport van, the back was closed in with no windows. A claustrophobic space equipped with ten metal seats. Other than a small barred window, it was cut off entirely from the front cab. The people were stuffed into the cramped space and taken on their way. The first transport vehicle started driving the seven hour and ten minute trip at 5:51 a.m.

"Pastor John," Hector Hernandez, a longtime member of his congregation sitting two seats from him. "Would you let us have church today?"

John looked around. He knew a couple of the people; the others seemed familiar to him but he couldn't place a name to each face. "To suffer for the name of Jesus is to be blessed. It is so easy to want to run away and hide. It is so easy to expect God to save us from hardship. In fact there were many from my congregation that left Him entirely when it was clear that they would have to walk through these times instead of being rescued from them. He is upfront in His Word from the beginning. He is not only speaking to His disciples when He is preparing them for life after His resurrection. He is speaking to us—"

"Shut up!" the words came from the cab following a loud smack against the cage. "Keep your words to yourself, Pastor."

The officers were unaware of what they housed and unaware why they felt rage immediately began to flow through them. The Spirits in them didn't like the Name being spoken. Fear hit them at the very mention.

"What harm am I doing?" John asked with his voice clear. "What will happen to us if we don't get the Chip? Have you ever cared to flip over the side Pummel is hiding?

"We are only to transport you there. You are at the mercy of the system once you arrive."

"Wash your hands of us all you'd like. But it does not absolve you. I will speak the name of Jesus to these people because it brings them comfort. And it gives them strength."

Oh how the Spirits hated the bold ones. It brought Them to an impasse. If they showed Themselves too soon it would ruin the chance They had at trapping more. It wasn't worth the fight at this time. "Fine. Just keep your voice down."

John looked to the others. "They will tell you to be quiet. They will tell you not to say the Name of Jesus Christ. But that is when you proclaim His wonderful Name all the more."

Much to the Spirits' discomfort, John gave the other nine illegals with him many teachings in the seven hours and ten minutes it took to arrive at largest of the three Holding Zones. But once they arrived, they left him to the mercy of the system. And the system didn't like teachers of The Good News.

The van was parked outside of the front doors. The officer who had been sitting in the passenger seat had left the vehicle, the driver staying behind with the idling vehicle. When the back doors finally opened and they were removed, John could see Lake Superior a frozen mass stretching out far beyond where his eye could see. The prison was a large four story block to his left. Other than the watch tower guards equipped with gunned men, there was no boundary to hold them in. When he looked to his right he saw a narrow road carved out of miles of snow. The nearest town was more than forty miles away. Once the illegals were removed from the back of the van, left standing in the path of a cold wind, the two officers made their way back down the narrow road.

A woman with thick framed glasses and bright red hair pulled into a tight bun stepped out to meet them holding a clipboard. "Welcome to the end of your world," she laughed with a light hearted tone. "Am I joking? Well, that all depends on you." she flashed her barcode. "Simple solution. Anyway, I wanted to lay down a few ground rules before we begin the registration process. You are no longer American citizens and you are no longer able to claim the freedoms of a citizen. There is no freedom of speech, no freedom to plead the fifth, and I cannot state this last one enough: there is no freedom of religion." She looked down at her clipboard. "Mr. Watcher? John Watcher, it says."

"Yes," John responded immediately.

"I've been told you might be a bit of a problem. I'm only going to give you this one warning. There will be no preaching of your religion in my Zone. Our aim here is to get stubborn people to see the error in their ways so they can rejoin society. And we want to do that as quickly as possible. A whole hell of a lot of people are going to be sent here and we only have so much room."

"With all due respect, ma'am, you cannot determine my freedoms."

She rolled her eyes with exaggeration as she sighed. "More than a bit of a problem, you are going to be a thorn in my side, aren't you?"

John gave a nod of the head. "Everybody needs to hear The Good News of Jesus Christ. You will do with me what you decide."

The woman looked past John toward the road. "We got another bus coming in. I can't deal with this right now." She pulled a small walkie-talkie from the belt loop on her black dress pants and spoke into it. "Guard could you please escort Mr. Watcher to the basement?"

A few moments later a guard broke through the front doors and over to John. He led John back through the front doors, grabbing an XL blue jumpsuit from the table and then taking a left. After opening a Chip activated steel door, concrete steps brought them down into the bowels of the building. A dark, cold space, the only source of light was the guard's flashlight. The beam would catch certain things in its cast: a low hanging pipe running the length of the room, an old water heater pinned to the corner... and then, once they reached the far back of the basement, the beam came upon a wall on the left that had a dozen narrow white doors in a line. There was a small empty square near the middle of each, only big enough for an eye to see through.

"I'm going to take your cuffs off so you can remove all of your clothing other than your underwear. I'll set your jumpsuit in the room. Once the door is closed you can put it on. Try anything and I will put two in your back, understand?"

"Yeah," John answered, trying to adjust his eyes to see something in the dark. He could see nothing at all. No daylight found its way in.

The man took off his cuffs. John removed his button up shirt first, the cold air already punishing him for it. The white t-shirt and jeans came after he kicked off his shoes.

"Can I wear the socks?"

"Nothing but your underwear."

Soon that was all he was down to. The air couldn't have been warmer than 50 degrees, immediately making his skin react in an attempt to compensate.

"How long will I be down here?" John asked, rubbing his hands together.

"You're the first, so I really don't know. There's been a few other pastors but they shut up when Warden Beacon told them to. They're upstairs with everyone else now. You can have your faith but you can't force it on others. The warden will check on you later. She'll decide when you can come out."

Once John stepped inside of a room that wasn't bigger than a personal standing shower, he put on his jumpsuit and then sat on a cold and damp ground. The door was locked from the outside and soon the only source of light disappeared.

"I will gladly suffer for Your Name my King."

The dark removed all concept of time. Even when the day sky absorbed the night, nothing changed. And although John had only been down in the dark room for a little over four hours, it seemed far longer. Despite the heavenly tongue that had been slipping from his lips from the moment he sat down on the cold ground, warmth did not come to clothe his cold skin. The dark was all consuming. Even when he closed his eyes, no other images met him to act as a light. What he didn't expect was how alone he would feel. He knew that Christ was housed within his very frame and that there was nowhere he could go that could change it. And yet, he felt a distinct separation from his Savior, as if this small cell in the dark was the one place where he couldn't be reached.

### *

Leaving Willow to be comforted by Ken, and Pastor John with a final goodbye, Lily now found herself in an interrogation room just down the hall. She sat across from a young woman, the Spirit behind her looking smug as It stared down at her.

"You confessed to killing two officers." the woman said.

Lily nodded her head.

"What weapon did you use? We couldn't find any evidence of foul play."

"Words." Lily looked around. "I have a gift given to me by Jesus Christ. In His name I can heal the sick. In His name I can move mountains. Those men were mountains. Or so I thought."

She looked at Lily with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. And yet, she couldn't dismiss what Lily said entirely. "Do you have any proof of these miracle healings?"

Lily only had two: Steph's dad and Junior. The only one nearby was Junior. She weighed the options. Would dropping his name really be worse than having him sent to The Holding Zone? Maybe she was preventing it entirely. Maybe it was why he got sick to begin with (a much bigger reason than just for Pastor John's benefit), so he could be used for God's glory now. If only he could have been there to give her permission.

_I don't want to misuse this gift again, Lord._ Her thoughts seemed magnified as the officer waited for her answer. _Is Junior meant to be a part of this?_

_Yes._ The only confirmation she needed.

"John Watcher Jr. We were just in the jail cell together. He had terminal cancer of the bowel or what they call Lynch Syndrome. After having received a full round of chemo at Ransom General it went into remission for a couple of months. And then out of nowhere it came back worse than before. Last prognosis they gave was terminal. They have the records at Ransom General. I spoke healing words to him early morning of Christmas Eve."

"Okay, I'll check into that." the woman sighed. "Let's say I was to believe you. Why did the two officers have to die?"

"I was just trying to protect my family. I thought they would try to get away with the extra time. But they didn't." a pause as she looked down. "I regretted it as soon as they dropped to the floor." she still heard their screams echoing.

"It's unfortunate. You are a minor as well as an illegal citizen now, so determining your placement isn't cut and dry. I need to make a few phone calls to determine the solution. Sit tight."

The officer left her in the room alone. She heard a grouping of people walk by only minutes after as she closed her eyes.

Your gift has not been misused, Lily. Everything is happening as it is meant to.

The words comforted her as the heavy guilt for the men's deaths lightened. It would never disappear but knowing that it was still part of the plan decreased the volumes of the screams. There would still always be a part of her that regretted the decision, regardless of it being part of the plan.

As was true of most of Lily's life, she sat alone, left to ponder the reasons for her gift. It had always put her on the fringe of everything else. When the door finally opened, Junior walked in before the officer.

"Hey, Lil." Junior said as he sat in the chair next to her. He no longer looked at her with fear filled eyes. They had calmed over the hours.

"One phone call to my superior soon led me up a high climbing chain. You and John here are going to Washington D.C. I was directed to The White House. John's medical records at Ransom General will be faxed over to them."

"Why are we going to Washington D.C.?" Lily asked.

"The President wants to meet you. If you truly did heal John here—something their doctors will confirm or deny. And if your words really did kill two men—he has taken a keen interest in you. I'm sure he's looking for a hoax, something to exploit. But that's just my assumption."

"It's not a hoax." Junior spoke up. "I'd know."

"See, the thing is healings happen now. It's been proven. Those old Margaret Stills dvds walk you through the process. I've never been able to do it, but I have a friend who healed his dog of a lung tumor. Crazy but no longer miraculous."

"So, what makes me special enough to catch his attention?"

"Probably the god thing."

Lily nodded her head. "Okay. When do we leave?"

"A private jet is already on its way. Weather permitting, they'll land in about two and half hours."

You two sit tight. I need to grab another cup of coffee. It's been a really long night."

When the officer left, Junior looked toward Lily. "It wasn't just for my dad, was it?"

Lily shook her head. "I think it's much bigger than that, Junior."

He nodded his head as he rubbed his hands together nervously. "You scare me, Lil. I love you as my sister and my friend. But, the things you can do—they're beyond me. You spoke one sentence and they died."

"I scare me too sometimes. Do you think I'm comfortable with this? Do you think I actually know how to harness this power? The bible says there is power of life and death in the tongue. For me that's not just a spiritual lesson. There are many times I wish I was normal—"

"Overrated." he smiled at her. "You are bigger than that. I really think you might be a prophet."

"If I am, it's not my choosing."

"It never is, Lil. Moses was a murderer. Peter was a fisherman. Paul persecuted and killed Christians before becoming one himself." He was counting it out on his fingers. "The list is long and full of people that didn't want it or didn't feel worthy of it. But God still did great things through them."

"You don't know how to be with _me_ at times. I wonder if, I don't know, like Peter's old fishing buddies felt the same way." she laughed. "'You're telling me you healed someone of leprosy from them just being in your personal space? You? The same guy that rarely put the net in the water without getting it tangled?'"

"Probably the exact conversation they had, too." They shared lighthearted laughter, both realizing that their purposes had always been converging toward this point. Junior didn't long for Heaven as he did before. Knowing that his purpose was beyond keeping his dad alive gave him new life. He was made for this time, just as Lily was. And their stories were tied to the other in a way they still didn't fully understand. But the picture was becoming clearer by the minute.

When the officer received the call that the plane had arrived and she led Lily and Junior out into the hall, it was at the same exact time that Willow's group were led down the same hall. The timing of it held a strong sense of divine bow tying, a way for questions to be answered before they each set off on their own paths. They met at the same spot for only a moment, just long enough for Lily to leave the message, "we're going to D.C. to meet the president," with Willow.

And then she was gone, leaving Willow with a much different expression than she had when Lily last saw her in the jail cell: relief. The officer acted as a chauffeur, bringing the two of them to the local airport outside of town. When they arrived on the property the police car was waved through a large metal gate and pulled onto the tarmac. There was a sleek and small plane already sitting there, a suited man waiting on the stairs that were now folded away from the body. It wasn't the president.

"We'll do the exchange and my jurisdiction ends. Do you understand?" the officer said as she pulled the car near the stairs.

Lily and Junior nodded as they looked toward the plane. The car stopped as the officer got out and opened the back door.

"If you kids aren't familiar with politics, my name is Marvin Peele, one of the president's advisors." the man was now at the doors to meet them. His full hair was a strange rust color with streaks of silver pushing through, his goatee matching the aging fade of his hair perfectly. His blue tie was a double windsor pulled too tight, bunching up his chin a few more layers, his fat face looking ready to pop. "The sooner we get you on this plane, the sooner you can know the full reason for it."

Junior got out first, Lily following right behind. The man and the officer said a few pleasantries and then she was relieved of her responsibility to them. Lily walked up the stairs of the plane first, Junior only a few steps behind. There was a small number of individual seats to her right. Two to each of the four rows; one to each side. They looked like cream colored reclining chairs.

"Take any seat you want to the right of the entrance. There are eight to choose from." the man said from behind them.

Lily took the first seat to her right; Junior took the first seat to his left. When the man fully stepped onto the plane, he took a left at the opening, sitting down in a seat that faced them. It was near the shut door of the cockpit.

"Any spark must be snuffed out directly and swiftly. Do I believe that you healed him? Actually, yes I do. Do I believe you killed two men without a weapon? Yes I do. If you ever watched how to heal when the president filmed some basic walkthroughs for us, he said there was danger involved. If you didn't place your rope in the right spot and squeezed, you could kill the person instantly. It only takes patience and persistence to learn. I never had the patience for it. But, you look like someone who does. A girl who learned the president's methods now trying to claim some old relic of a god? Kinda pathetic, isn't it? Not that I would expect any different. The whole movement is made up of cowards. The kinds of people that blow up hundreds of people in venues and try to murder our leaders." The Spirit above Marvin seemed to savor the words being said.

The plane was now rolling along the tarmac, gaining speed as it prepared to takeoff.

"Why didn't you lock me away then?" Lily asked, feeling her skin tingle as the plane, now successfully in the air, began to climb. "Wouldn't that have removed the spark?"

"No. That would have left room for fiction to fill in the gaps. And soon, it would have grown. The only way to put out a spark is to expose it to the air. By exploiting you, we will prove that your miraculous claims come from the president's teachings. And once we have done that, you will both be just another statistic lost to The Holding Zones."

Lily didn't reply to the long explanation Marvin gave. "What happens when we land?"

The man shook his head as he bit his lip with frustration. "Did you not hear anything I just said?"

"I did," Lily said as she glanced at Junior.

A heavy sigh as he cleared his throat. "We first need to verify the healing. John Jr. will be going to be getting a few tests done to determine that the cancer is gone."

"And after the tests come back clear?" Lily was frustratingly confident, the man's already swollen head seeming to fill up more as she continued to ignore his long monologue.

"One thing at a time,"

She gave a knowing smile to Junior before sitting back into her seat and looking out the window...

With weather conditions not being the best, the plane landed three hours later instead of the two and a half it usually took. Joining Marvin in the back of a black stretch limo, miles were driven, landmarks were passed, bouts of traffic were endured, and eventually they pulled up to a small, private hospital well outside of D.C. Once inside, a blood sample was collected from Junior.

As the hours wore on and day had faded from the sky, they sat in an empty waiting room, Marvin chairs away, typing something out on his smartphone.

"John." a female nurse was standing left of the check-in desk and right of where Junior was sitting. "The doctor has your results. Please follow me."

The three of them followed the nurse down the hall and to the second room on the right. A thin man with thin glasses was waiting with a single sheet of paper.

"Marvin, the most I can give you in one day are his blood test results. And according to his results, his red blood cell count is excellent. Not okay, not pretty good—excellent. This was not at all the case from his last reading only two months ago. His red blood cell count was dangerously low. Now I would have to run an extensive list of additional tests, plus give him another colonoscopy, if I wanted to give you a truly conclusive diagnosis. Both of these things take far more time than you are willing to spend. But nothing about his results tells me he still has cancer. I cannot give a clean bill of health today only because I don't have the time available to run the battery of tests needed."

"It's conclusive enough for what we need, Peter." Marvin said as he grabbed the results sheet the doctor folded in half and now offered to him.

### *

A girl more than familiar with life's disappointments, there was a long period in Willow's life where she came to expect it. So, when it did happen, it hit her with little impact. Even her mother's death carried a certain inevitability to it. It hurt like a lasting burn but it also didn't surprise.

Now leaving Ken behind in the cell and walking with a group of people she recognized but didn't know, disappointment hit her with full force. Since staying with Pastor John and finding a parent that far surpassed her birth mom... since being found by Ken and realizing love could happen for her... Willow came to desire things again. She came to have higher expectations for her life. It had made her a far happier person. And at the same time a far more vulnerable person.

She walked down the hall, the last in the grouping of ten. As she passed by the first closed door on her right, she saw the second door open up, Lily and Junior stepping out. Not knowing why either had been singled out, she worried that the worst had happened to them. Just to see them again—just to hear Lily's few words relaying their destination was enough to put her mind at ease. They weren't lost to the system somewhere. They were heading to D.C. to meet the president.

It left many new questions unanswered while also answering much older ones. Willow had always wondered why Lily was so different from everyone else in the Matthews family. Why did Lily have such a strong signal to God while Willow struggled with even the simplest things regarding her faith? Lily had answers when everyone else had questions; she had insights when everybody else was lost. If it had all been leading here, she considered the possibility that her sister always had been made for this moment. The more she thought about it, the more the trajectory verified it. Having only healed Junior a little over a week before, she was now able to speak death to people. The gift she had been born with was at a different level now. And it made Willow wonder if her little sister would reach even higher levels in the coming days.

The group was brought out, the transport van being the last legitimate one used before Ransom would have to scramble and find some other way to transport the next ten people up North. Once the group were secured in their metal seats, the long drive began at 9:01 a.m.

Never one to talk much when with a group she didn't know, Willow was in a similar situation now. Of those she was familiar with, there was very little common ground. All being believers in Christ didn't make them any more relatable. In fact, there were many times, apart from Pastor John and a select few others, the church had treated her as a particular kind of trash. She didn't dress appropriately; she didn't present with the demeanor of a "godly woman"; and her loose reputation was a red stain that followed her everywhere she went. A few of these people knew her as that girl. And they didn't seem to care to find out if there was more to her.

They all talked among themselves, finding common ground in even the most random places. As was usual of Willow's life, she was the peg that didn't fit, the Willow in a family of flowers. Apart from the small family she had built with Pastor John and Junior (and best she could Lily) and apart from that precious place she had with Ken, she was still the one that didn't fit. It had never been more obvious than on that long drive up North...

When the van finally stopped and the back doors opened, she was the first to step out under the dark gray sky. Nighttime would be along in only minutes, an already cold air about to be made much colder. The tall building to her left, the endless snow to her right, the vast frozen lake a flat and foreboding presence stretching on for miles out beyond her.

"This place is not meant to be pleasant or inviting," the voice coming from the front doors belonged to Warden Beacon. She was not someone to introduce herself, rather preferring to be a woman of details: the lady with the bright red hair, the lady in the black suit, the lady who made all of the holdouts nervous as to what awaited them on the other side of those doors... "My only aim is to get you out of here as soon as possible. There are many rules here and no constitutional freedoms. You forfeited all of your freedoms as of 12:01 a.m. this morning. The only way you get them back is to become a citizen again. Easy to do, too. We have Credit Chip stations inside those doors and to the right. An easy rhyme to remember: follow the sign and you'll be out of here in no time." A snicker of a laugh for a woman who only displayed a premade image.

Warden Beacon didn't cover the same things she had with John. In fact, every one of her speeches were different. She went with her current mood and let that carry her performance. A long day of relaying the same message in wildly different ways now had her on auto-pilot. She had the rules posted in the entrance and the cafeteria—she also had given the list to hundreds of other people that day. If they cared at all about protecting each other, they would relay the message. No freedoms whatsoever, especially the one pertaining to religion. If they didn't know now, they would find out soon enough.

Though she always had the dream to run a prison of her own, the opportunity didn't present itself until only months before. Initially pitched as a correctional facility, once she discovered it would make her head of the Middle Holding Zone, there was nothing she wouldn't do to be selected. She had the experience needed. She had the degrees required. But she didn't have the gender. Always reminded that she was nothing more than a woman in a man's world, she used that disadvantage to her advantage. What was her body to her but another tool? She let it be used in many strange and dirty ways, documenting the evidence and keeping it as leverage over "happily married" men.

Even with the Credit Chip, the selection process was based on a small minded system, run by men determined to keep men in power. Not anymore. She did the necessary things to get the position and now she would do the necessary things to keep her Zone running smoothly.

_If I give you this position, they will eat you alive_. The last words said to her during the interview process, words that had been said so many other times to her before. They saw an attractive woman, nothing more than a twig waiting to be snapped by a cruel and unforgiving world. But, they didn't know what she was capable of. They couldn't have even imagined...

Willow was in the middle of the group as they stepped through the doors. Their clothes and possessions were exchanged for ugly blue jumpsuits. A wristband with a number was given as they were scanned into the system. And then they were funneled into the cafeteria where hundreds of other people were sitting. The only exit Willow knew of was blocked by a guard and a now closed gate-door. She could still see the front doors from there but couldn't reach them, not that she wanted to. The cells started with four lining the edges of the cafeteria and then continuing down a long room of cells running parallel at both sides, four floors high. Altogether there were 96 cells (24 cells to each floor) in the one long room.

As Willow scanned the cafeteria, she sought out Pastor John. Among various groups of people, she saw some that resembled him at only first glance.

"Pastor John," she began to walk through the cafeteria, saying his name at a normal speaking level. She repeated it while wandering past many different groups, her eyes darting here and there as the conversations around her often sounded like constant replies.

"Willow?" she didn't recognize the voice that called her name. When she looked back it was another face she had seen before but didn't know. "That's your name, right? We went to church together. I'm Hector. I started attending around the same time your parents came to the church. You were just a little girl then."

"Hi," she had seen him at church many times before, never saying more than a few pleasantries to him when Pastor John told the congregation to love on at least five people around them.

"Pastor John is in the basement—I don't really know what that means for him. Maybe some kind of solitary confinement." he looked over at the gate-door. "They took him away as soon as we arrived."

She looked toward the same door. "Why?"

"The warden told us we have no freedoms here. Pastor John didn't agree with her." He gave a smile as he shook his head. "An old school believer through and through."

Willow gave a similar smile, but hers carried sadness with it. That was the man she knew, the man she respected, the man she loved—and it was the man she feared she would never see again.

_Please be with Pastor John, Jesus._ They were words she was scared to say out loud. She wasn't nearly ready to find out what was in the basement. _Give him strength._

Hector still sitting by her, they said little else to the other. Willow now just looked toward the gate-door, waiting for the moment she would finally see Ken come through. He helped her faith take root when it felt like the ground was crumbling away. And never had the ground felt more ready to crumble beneath her feet than now.

### 3

Linda's computer was closed and in her old blue backpack sitting on the passenger side floor. One energy drink can was nearly empty sitting in the cup holder closest to her, the remaining pack of five thrown onto the passenger seat. After completing a few pages of notes for her most important sermon to date, she packed a few outfits in her suitcase and was on her way.

Always tenacious and always passionately in pursuit of her purpose, once a trajectory was set, Linda jumped from one point to the next with fervor. It hadn't even been an hour since the Spirit gave her the vision. And already she was on her way to the docks that would bring her to the Eastern Holding Zone.

When in the body of Margaret, the Spirit had to wrestle with her willpower at every turn. Trying to convince a selfish woman to be charitable was only the beginning of the struggle It had with her. Very early on the Spirit knew It would eventually have to make a move and take the reins from her if her full potential was ever to be reached.

With Linda, It had an organic entrance. She believed she was already doing the will of God. She believed in a realm far more real than her own. At any time It could communicate with her under the guise of a God that could no longer help her. She had the Chip. She was forfeit. She was in the trap.

What was the mark of the beast in the book of Revelation? A warning to a people who didn't care to see. The people of today were no different from the Spirit long ago. Not long before the fall, a similar warning was given to the angels, the first creations: " _Be sure that the light that is in you is not darkness."_ The Maker of Light spoke this long before He walked the earth and relayed it to man. And they were words that had haunted the Spirit ever since. The warning was there for all angels to see. And many did. But, the Spirit didn't. Once named Stephen, an angel of high position and regard, once an angel welcomed into the presence of The Maker, he fell for Lucifer's lie. The light in him was darkness, meaning the understanding he had of God was false. It was a warning he only understood once falling. And when he fell from the light, his identity was lost to the darkness. The darkness was empty, leaving nothing but longing for the light. Once a Being that loved, the Spirit was now consumed by the void: an existence where It had to live separated from all of the things It once called home. It both hated The Maker and craved Him. Always living in a state of conflict, It only gathered souls for The Feast so It could revisit the light of home by taking it from the souls of the fallen. There was still light in the Spirit, buried somewhere deep inside. And it was the light that grieved for Linda. She had fallen despite a very clear warning left for her.

Although the desire to keep people in the light still beat in the deepest parts of the Spirit, the selfish desire to experience the light for itself again always seemed to overtake It. _If It could never live in the light again, It would gather as many as It could for the final Feast._ And yet, as Linda drove completely unaware It was with her, the Spirit made a decision well beyond itself. For a moment, Stephen returned.

Her radio suddenly turned on by itself, Stephen speaking through it with the only voice he had available: radio stations.

**Hell is real.** A clip of a sermon that then switched to individual words across two more stations. **Warn. Them.** The radio shut off as quickly as it turned on.

Linda went white as a sheet as her hands tightened on the wheel, her foot automatically stomping on the brake. She reached the side of the road as quickly as she could, her tires leaving behind long and distressing skid marks. She breathed heavy and fast, looking around the car with a fear she had never felt before.

"La-Lord?" tears began to gather in her eyes as she looked around. "Have I led your sheep astray? Am I—am I a wolf?" she thought about all the people she had convinced only hours before. The methods she used, the manipulations. Looking down at the barcode on the inside of her wrist now made her blood run cold.

Despite being a woman of trajectories, a woman of living passion for God, Linda could not claim ignorance. Her divine inspiration concerning Hell being a fictitious place stemmed from her own rigid upbringing. The fear of God was the only tool used. When she made a mistake (who doesn't?) and sought out comfort, her parents met her with outrageous spiritual expectations. Growing up in a home of pious modern day Pharisees ultimately led her to seek out a God who matched her own childhood needs. She needed unconditional love; judgment was the only thing offered. She needed safety; threats of damnation were always hanging over her instead. They were the catalyst for the "divine" revelation. If God was anything like them, she wanted nothing to do with Him. She had never seen the duality of God, instead choosing to focus on the extreme opposite end of the spectrum of what she had been taught.

There is a rare thing that comes from following trajectories where they lead and approaching the paths without hesitation: you come to conclusions in quick successions, jumping from point A to Z, skating over everything in between. From the moment the message came through the radio, it hit her like falling bricks. And once she accepted Hell was real, she also accepted that she was lost to it. She had the mark. But even worse, because of her, soon hundreds more people from her congregation would have it too. People who trusted her. People who followed her lead. Worse than the realization that she was damned was the realization that she was one of the teacher types she hated so much. Linda had never considered herself a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her intention had always been to help others. To now find she was no different than any other false teacher hit her the hardest. For all the souls that were now lost because of her—they were heavy weights that would only continue to weigh on her frame.

Still white as a sheet, Linda looked toward the radio. Always a woman to follow trajectories wherever they led, her destination was still the Eastern Holding Zone. The difference was the message she was meant to give. _Warn. Them._ She intended to do just that.

A quiet drive brought her through a lonely night and into an even lonelier day. She was truly alone, truly separated from the One she loved. And yet it didn't change her desire to speak His message. She could still offer hope to those on the fence. She could still warn them against the very thing she fell for. She was too far gone to be saved. But, it didn't mean her life was forfeit. She could still influence many. She could still let her life end honoring the God she loved but never truly knew...

Always in search of her purpose, the only purpose that mattered to her now was leaving behind words of truth. She would not die a wolf in sheep's clothing. She would not let her legacy be that of a stumbling block to those in pursuit of a real relationship with Jesus. All she had left was one final sermon to prepare for. There were no expectations beyond it, because even though she had the Chip, her message would speak in opposition to it.

Her mission was only possible because the Spirit in her wanted the same thing. For any other person, the realization she now sat with would have never reached them. The job of the Spirit in each vessel was to prevent anything like this from happening. They were ordered to take control of them long before. The only way the small piece of Stephen could remain unnoticed was through subtlety. All of the moves made from here on out had to be Linda's. He had to remain a passenger hidden. If any hint was caught of what he had done, his removal would be immediate and she would be taken over before she could speak one word of warning.

Stephen made this decision knowing full well that he would pay severe consequences for it. There was only one thing that he knew to be true: to be separated from The Light is to be separated from everything. He was no longer fully buried in the dark creature the void had turned him into. This was the closest he could ever come to being back home—doing something to honor The Maker he had foolishly rebelled against so long ago. It was worth whatever consequence he had to pay...

Once Linda reached the docks and parked her car, she brought her suitcase and her old blue backpack with her. The barcode on the inside of her wrist gave her access to a good sized boat that only had a few passengers. It was specifically designed to transport workers and volunteers. She didn't have to see any prisoners. There was nothing but a clear sky above choppy waters. It took thirty minutes to go ten miles. And when she arrived, she was led to the back doors of the building, away from the illegals being processed and directly to a small section that was shut away from the rest of them by two large steel doors. There were dorm rooms lining both sides of the narrow corridor, which then led to an office door with the word WARDEN the only label.

Everything she said and did now was an act. She had to be accepted if she wanted a chance to be heard. Going to the head of the Zone was the best chance she had at being given a real opportunity to reach those in need. She knocked on the door, a prompt answer telling her to come in.

Sitting behind an old wooden desk was a white haired man with skin nearly the same color.

"Can I help you?" he gave her body a once over and then met her eyes.

"I took one of the volunteer pastor openings and I wanted to make my pitch to you. What these people need is a different perspective."

"Go on."

"What if they don't have to deny their God to get the Credit Chip? I have some notes I worked out last night." Linda fished in her backpack, pulling out her little black and red USB drive and handing it to him. "It's saved under the title 'convincing as hell'."

He gave her an entertained smile as he grabbed it from her. "Please have a seat—I didn't catch your name."

"It's Linda. And yours?"

"Jim. It's nice to meet you, Linda." he did the necessary things required to pull up her document on his computer. Once he started skimming over it, his entertained smile became something else. "This is perfect. Compassionate but biting. In your face but not pushy. It makes it still sound like they don't have to make a choice between one or the other. When were you wanting to give this?"

"Tonight, if possible."

His eyes did a few runs around the room before settling back on Linda. "It might be just the thing to set the precedent. If it goes well, we can make it a regular thing. Think of tonight as a practice run."

"If it's a practice run, will I still get to preach to everyone here?"

"You'll have a packed audience, Linda. Tonight at 7." he said, giving her back the USB. "Take a load off. Feel free to take a nap in one of the dorm rooms if you'd like."

"Thanks, Jim. I might have to take you up on that." she offered a fake smile along with her hand to shake. Once he shook her hand, she walked out of his office, started back down the corridor, and took the first room available.

Now sitting on the bed, Linda took out her computer. She had no intention of sleeping. Despite being exhausted and drained and left with very little will to live, the only fuel that remained in her was the need to leave behind words of truth. She knew once the sermon started and once she deviated from the notes the warden approved, she would be shut down quickly. Her message needed to be short but impactful.

She stared at the empty document, the cursor blinking at her impatiently. Every time she would type out a thought, she would quickly delete it. It soon became clear that she couldn't put into words the truth because she was no longer familiar with it. Her life had been lived on the ends of spectrums. And though she knew The Good News, the context of it had always been different than it was now. It had always been a way to mine a familiar telling so she could defend her stance against those attacking her.

It was clear to her that with these next several hours, she needed to mine the familiar words for only the truths they held. And that's what she did. Heartbreaking hours brought her from truth to truth and across the path of a Savior she would always love but had already lost. Nighttime came. The cursor blinked at the end of only one small paragraph. It was everything she needed to say, already memorized and waiting on the tip of her tongue.

She covered an exhausted face with makeup, ran a brush through her dark hair, and put on tight jeans with a well fitted sky-blue button up shirt. She looked at the camera on her phone as a mirror and then looked toward the corridor. It was almost time. If these were to be her final words, they were going to be her very best...

### 4

Although all other Spirits fed into the Head Spirit, the information was not met by something all-knowing. The leader of the fallen, It was still The Maker's creation. The Maker was all-knowing; the Head Spirit was far from it. When distracted, things slipped by. When preoccupied, other plans were allowed to form right under It's watch. It wasn't only Mexico that wanted assistance in implementing the Credit Chip system. Canada and Switzerland called in quick succession throughout the night, both able to reach tentative agreements. The paperwork was to be sent and signed later that day.

These conversations distracted It just long enough for Stephen's message of warning to Linda to pass by without detection. No matter how much It claimed to be equal to The Maker, It was still a poor counterfeit. And It always would be.

As the sun began to push up on the D.C. horizon, a fourth leader called: the president of Germany.

"Frank here." a common way he answered the phone with leaders. It was never good to be impersonal with other leaders. Approaching them as old friends broke the ice so that the real conversation could move ahead. That was the secret to negotiation: common ground.

"Hi, Frank. It's Werner." outside of the introductions, a translator was used for both men. "I just have a few concerns around these Holding Zones. As you know we have a permanent stain on our country because of the horrendous things Hitler did with the concentration camps and I'm seeing some of the warning signs here. I like what you are doing with the system but how you are doing it worries me. Maybe give me some reassurances?"

"As the saying goes, 'Rome wasn't built in a day.'" Frank gave a lighthearted laugh. "As time passes I will definitely be able to expand The Zones to more than the three I currently have operating. I was only able to get the bill passed a couple months ago. In order to have three ready for our deadline with such little notice is something of a miracle itself. We are on day one. You have my word that all of the wrinkles will be ironed out in the coming weeks." a pause as he prepared to change the direction the conversation was going in. "Werner, I don't want you to get bogged down in The Holding Zones. What we're building is revolutionary and I would love to see your people, unfairly stained by history, be able to erase your past and step into a better tomorrow."

"I'm not bogged down, Frank. I'm definitely interested in implementing your system. I wouldn't have called if I wasn't. In order for me to join in with you though, there needs to be accountability for the Zones. Once you start allocating these people in a way that provides them comfort and safety, I would be more than happy to further discuss implementing your Credit Chip system. Give me a call in a few weeks and we'll see where you're at."

"Before you go. Do you have any suggestions for me, Werner? I'd welcome any new ideas. Two heads are always better than one.

"I think a Zone for each state, Frank."

"If it can be done, it will be. Thanks for the call, Werner." When the conversation ended, the Head Spirit was left with an unfortunate choice. Only three Zones were in play for the exact reasons that concerned Werner. And it was clear that Werner was a man that wouldn't make a move until he could ensure that Germany would not repeat the same mistakes of the past. Germany did not only represent another big piece to the world vision, it represented peace of mind to any other leaders worried about the same thing. An all-clear from Germany would lead to several more leaders jumping at the opportunity. It was clear what needed to be done.

Gone was the vision It had of severe overcrowding leading to horrible infections. Gone were the unofficial Holding Zones meant to kill in slow and excruciating ways. Everything had to be above board from here on out. If It wanted the world to fall into the trap, It had to focus on the bigger picture. And to do that, It needed to appease to Werner's suggestion.

Just as a busy night of phone calls seemed to be over, his phone rang again. He picked it up without saying a word, waiting for the person on the other end to identify who they were.

"Mr. President? It's Marvin Peele. I just got a phone call passed up to me from Ransom, Iowa. A young girl claims to have killed two officers by speaking the Name of Jes—um, the Name of the Christian god." Marvin didn't even ask himself why he couldn't say the Name. "She also claims to have healed a boy of colon cancer in the same way."

An ugly smile was on the president's face as the Head Spirit began to plot something of Its own. "Bring her to me. I'd like to see what she can do."

"I won't bring her to you if the healing can't be verified. I don't want to waste your time."

"Always thinking ahead, Marvin. I appreciate it."

"I'll leave soon, Mr. President." The conversation ended.

The Head Spirit had no doubt the girl from Ransom, Iowa was legitimate. It knew of Lily Matthews. She had been a thorn in Its side long before now. And what a strike of that thing called fate that she was now about to be in Its grasp. Regardless of what she was able to do, It planned on exploiting her. If she performed miracles beyond those the president had shown the world, it would only go to show that people were capable of anything; if she performed none whatsoever, it would embarrass the Christians all the more. Either option still put the cause for unity ahead.

_If even Christians can learn my methods without the Credit Chip to free their minds, just think what you can do._ Yes, only a little twist and everybody would focus on themselves instead of the proof being given of The Messiah's existence. The Head Spirit was not concerned in the least. If Jesus could publicly die on the cross and publicly raise again only for the Head Spirit to convince most of the people otherwise, dealing with Lily was going to be a far easier task.

When it seemed the phones had stopped, they started up again. The hours of the day brought another five country leaders into the fold. And though all touched on the same concerns the president of Germany had, the Head Spirit now was able to use the talk It had with Werner to a full advantage: "I've already discussed this with Germany. And I am working out a plan for there to be a Holding Zone for each state." It was all they needed to hear to sign along with the vision.

Nothing passes the hours faster than long phone calls. What had been a sunrise not long before was now a sunset. The only thing that changed throughout the day was the president's locations. A few calls took place in the oval office; a few took place in a comfortable den off of his new, bloodstain-free-bedroom.

The final words of the final phone call were said and finally the quiet allowed the Head Spirit time to listen in on a tormented Francis. He was reliving the day his little brother died.

"I didn't mean to, Freddy." he whispered deep in the dark of his own mind. "It should have been me. It should have been me." The Head Spirit savored the torment, closing the eyes of the vessel It controlled and relaxing in Francis' deepest regrets.

### -Trials-

### 1

The airport rental van stopped behind a much bigger vehicle already parked near the front doors of the large building. A grouping of at least fifty people stood outside in the cold. When the doors to the airport rental were opened by the officer, the yelling was loud.

"Freedoms, Warden?! You are not in control of my freedoms! I will not only speak the name of Jesus, I will yell it down your every hall and let it fill every prison cell!" Ken couldn't see who was yelling from where he sat inside the van.

"Religion is a parasite." with a bright white floodlight glowing directly behind her, Ken only saw the warden as a needle headed figure. "And it has you all caught! Do not listen to this man. This place can either be a temporary visit or a permanent stay." she paused. "I've already gone over the rules with everyone here, relay them to this next grouping of people. I have a problem to take care of."

"What is it Jesus said?! They will hate us because they hated Him first! Endure, my friends! Endure until the very end!"

"Guard, get him out of here before he does even more damage." a man was pulled from the grouping by a guard, still preaching loudly as he was led to the warden. Still handcuffed they led him through the front doors and to the left.

"Once you get inside, I'll take off your cuffs." the Ransom officer stood at the sliding door of the van. "They'll process you from there. One at a time."

The ten in the airport rental did what they were instructed to, soon being met by a few people from the much bigger group.

"We have no freedoms unless we become citizens again. We cannot offer words meant to convince people to refuse the Chip, whether that is through religious views or anti-government conspiracies." a young man said, his full brown hair leading into a fuller beard. "So, you have only one question to ask yourself: 'will I keep my mouth shut?'"

Ken looked at him and then toward the front doors to find they were still open. Another guard had replaced the one that took the man away, now outside directing the large grouping through the front doors, his gun drawn just as a precaution. Once Ken finally reached the doors and had his handcuffs removed, he went through the same process everybody else had. When picking up a large jumpsuit on the registration table, he saw a sign pointing down the hall to his right, a sloppy hand drawn arrow added for good measure: **FOLLOW FOR** **FREEDOM!**

He kept quiet, his eyes wandering to the left as the line moved along at a snail's pace. The man had been taken down the same hall without hesitation, leaving what happened next to be filled in by the imagination. Ken tried not to think about it. But the passing minutes brought the click-clack of heels from his left, a red haired woman stepping toward the line of people with authority. Behind her a heavy smoke crawled along the hallway floor, rolling toward everyone else. And with the smoke came a smell that was like a piece of metal being dipped in something sweet and then set on fire. It was a smell Ken had never before experienced. And it made his imagination run wild.

"Open the front doors." she commanded to no one in particular. "Stupid electrical system caught fire. We got it under control but there is going to be smoke for a while."

The doors behind him were opened again by two guards who then stood in front of the openings. The cold air spilling into the entrance was immediate. Even with the door open, the smoke was heavy and thick, burning Ken's eyes as it brought on short fits of coughing in him and many of the people around him.

It took another ten minutes or so for Ken to be processed. He turned in all of his clothes and stepped into the dark blue jumpsuit. The registration process complete, he was led toward the cafeteria gate-door. Before he even reached it, Willow was on the other side waiting to greet him. As soon as she heard the sounds that came from the next group's arrival, she sat near the gate-door to wait.

The door opened and the first sight he saw was Willow, her smile and eyes the only bright things on an otherwise exhausted display.

### *

The grouping of five sat near the back of the auditorium, the order from the edge of the row in was as follows: Deb, Charlie, Terrance, Mama B, and Michael. It was unlike any auditorium Deb had ever been in. Cheap chairs formed shallow rows on a flat ground. The stage was made of old wood and raised no more than two feet off the ground, a large pull down screen a dirty white canvas at the back of a stone wall painted white. Overhead the lights were large fluorescent tubes.

Once everyone was directed in, the lights above the audience shut off, leaving only the large ones above the stage to act as a spotlight. The white haired warden took the stage behind the podium, talking into a secured microphone at the top of the podium.

"You are only the first wave of illegals that will be brought here. Tonight's speaker has a very specific message she wants to offer." he looked to the front row, nodding his head. "Approach this message with an open mind. That's all I ask. It is my privilege to introduce Pastor Linda Masters."

A dark haired woman stood up from the first row, stepping onto the stage as the warden stepped off and took his own seat. She approached the podium. Deb took a deep breath as she looked over to Mama B.

"Thank you for the introduction, Jim." Linda now positioned herself behind the podium. "Before I start could I get the person working the projector to use the image I gave?" the white screen was suddenly painted with a grotesque image. The image of a body burned from head to foot. She held up her right arm to show her barcode. "I received the Credit Chip out of love, to prove to my congregation that it was nothing more than the technology of the times, to save them from where you all sit now." She paused as she took a breath, turning slightly toward the image. "I used this image to help paint the picture of a cruel God. What kind of God would ever send his children here? Not my God. My God is love and love only." she paused to a long blink. "But, my god is not the true God. Jesus took sin upon himself on the cross to save us from this. I know I am damned to Hell because of this Chip. But, you can still be save—"

The speakers cut out suddenly and then the rest of the lights were cut, leaving everyone in a dark room with nothing but sounds to surround them. Something that sounded like a loud growl shot through the auditorium, followed by the sound of spread out shuffling as the metal feet of several chairs scraped against the floor before falling. And then the sound of a single gunshot capped off the rest, leaving a moment of dead silence before panic broke out.

Deb grabbed hold of Charlie and held him close as many of the other people tried to scatter. Mama B grabbed for Deb's hand as the small grouping of them huddled together in their seats, chaos spreading around them.

The sound of loud feedback suddenly appeared in the speakers. "This was an unfortunate turn of events." The warden's voice sounded different than before, being disconnected while still completely in control. "I'm going to call out five random chair numbers. There are 162 in this auditorium. Each is marked with a number on the front. If your number is called, the time to make your choice has arrived for you. The Credit Chip or death." The lights came back on to a crowd now suffocated by the reality. At least a dozen guards now surrounded the seats, their guns drawn. Linda was lying in the center of the stage, bright red blood pooling underneath her.

Deb looked to her right, the guard's eyes looking like they were filled with reflective ink. Whatever was in them was now controlling them. But this was different than with Kyle. His eyes were still his when he looked at her after killing Keith, but they were cold and removed from the situation. With these men the human was gone completely. She looked down at her seat. A laminated piece of paper stapled to the front. Her number was 141, Charlie's 142, and so on...

"Numbers 18, 43, 84, 96, and 144. The time has come to make your choice."

Mama B kissed Terrance's head first. And then she kissed Michael's, keeping her lips on his head for longer than she had with Terrance. She looked at Deb with a mother's eyes as she stood. "Take care of my babies, Deb. Promise me."

"I promise." Tears immediately filled Deb's eyes as the guard grabbed hold of Mama B's arm and put her to her knees in the aisle.

"No, Mama!" Michael yelled, Terrance stopping his little brother from running after her. "Stay, Mama!"

"Boys." She looked at them with her eyes steady and calm. "Eyes. Ears. Now."

Michael shook his head, tears pouring out of his little eyes. "No, Ma-Mama."

"Michael." she gave him a stern look before facing the stage, the gun placed to the back of her head. Michael covered both, his older brother standing in front of him as a shield, already doing what Mama B told him to.

"What do you choose, 144?" the warden asked from the stage.

"Jesus." she said with a smile as she looked up. The trigger was pulled and Mama B's life was over. But her story was only starting. When her eyes opened again, she was standing barefoot in a field of grass, high hills carrying on above her. As she started walking forward, she saw her wonderful Bo walking toward her. And soon a second person came into view. It was Brielle. Her broken daughter fully restored.

"It's been too long, Mama." Brielle ran into her arms, beating Bo by more than a few steps.

"I'm so sorry, Brie. I tried to be good with you."

"All is forgiven, Mama. He has made all things new. Come with us to The City."

Bo soon met her, offering his hand. Her fingers were home when laced with his. Together they started to walk up the first steep hill of many.

"What's it like?"

"There are no words I can find to describe the Indescribable." Bo said. "You'll see Him soon enough and then you'll understand."

Mama B looked at Bo, his eyes filled with childlike wonder.

"I'm ready."

"Not yet, B." he said. "The climb won't end until you are." She looked up, unable to see the top.

"You still have a lot to learn about Him, Mama. This is only where you start. We'll teach you what you don't know—what you need to know to reach the top."

### 2

Fear was the only thing sitting with John. To die in the dark, silenced, never to speak another word of God to those desperate for Him... there was no worse way he could think for his life to end. He had always imagined his life ending in much the way his father's had: murdered for the cause of Christ. Instead he was down in the dark, left to fade aw—

"I am a speaker of the truth! You can't shut me up!" the words echoed as they came into the dark. "Jesus is with me. Greater is He that is in me than he that is in this world. The Light lives in me! I will never hide it! I will never tuck it away!"

"That's your decision," John recognized Warden Beacon's voice immediately. With only an eyehole to look through, he only saw a hint of the flashlight beam in the distance. "You were told you have no freedoms here. Why do you think the rules don't apply to you?"

"You th—" his reply was cut off.

"You need to learn when to shut your mouth." Beacon's voice was tight and annoyed. The man tried to speak again following what she said, but it now sounded muffled, his mouth probably clogged.

"John. I like you. You don't talk as much as this one. You respect me, in your own quiet, refined way." He heard the click of her short heels approaching. "I am a very visual person. I never could learn in school without some kind of visual aid. No matter how many times I was told something, it didn't really click with me until I was given a picture to drive home the reality." she came into full view as she turned on a flashlight of her own, her red hair looking dark brown with the light pointed at John. She had a bright smile to welcome him with. "If I were to let you rejoin the rest upstairs right now, would you obey the rules? Would you keep your preaching to yourself? That's really all I ask, you know. This place is depressing enough without trying to keep people here longer. I need it to go smoothly, John. You can understand that, right? If people come and don't leave, I'll have to pack the cells with people, all because words you believe have caused them to dig their feet in. Will that happen if I let you go upstairs?"

The hours in the dark hadn't broken him. "Warden, the hope of The Good News must reach those in need."

She shook her head as she looked back. "Not a good answer, John. I'm afraid a visual aid is going to be the only thing to help everything click." she paused. "Bring him over here, guard."

The two light beams, though many feet from the other, revealed enough of the basement for John to see what both the guard and Beacon were doing. While the man, both thin and young, was being pulled out from the dark and toward him, to his left Beacon wandered out of his sight. And when she came back, she was dragging a heavy metal chair.

"Guard. Uncuff one arm, sit him down, and recuff him once his arms are threaded through the back."

"Yes, Warden." as he proceeded to do what she directed him to, John looked at the man. Their eyes met for a moment, the young man nodding his head in solidarity. He didn't say a word, the thick rag tied across his mouth.

"Why are you doing this, Warden?" John was quiet as he stared ahead. "You aren't a bad person."

She clicked her tongue as she stepped over to him again. "No, John. I'm not a bad person. I'm a person willing to do the necessary things—the sometimes dirty things. I gave you a warning today. You decided you'd rather be down here alone, standing on principle. I'm giving you this final warning now. A visual warning, something to help you understand where you are and what the consequences will be. Next time you won't be the one watching. Also, if you look away from my visual warning at any time, I will bring someone else down here and do it all over again. Do we understand each other, John?"

"Yes," a deep grunt of a reply, John squeezing his hands together as hard as he could. His whole body shook violently in anticipation, his eye pressing against the opening tightly. Shock was already finding him before anything even happened. He saw the man now in the chair, his arms cuffed behind him.

Beacon stepped somewhere far into the dark, the beam of her flashlight out of John's eyesight. When the click-clack of her short heels brought her back into his view, she was holding an old metal can of paint thinner. Without saying a word, she sloshed the liquid around in front of him and then offered it behind her. The guard, being an obedient pet, took it from her.

John's body began to tremble as the guard poured it on the man's head first, letting it run down. The strong chemical smell met him immediately.

"You don't have to do this." John tried to reason with her as he looked toward the man now soaked in paint thinner. He looked back at John, his eyes unmoved. If it had to happen, he was ready for it.

"It's going to happen, John. To him, to you, if you don't heed this warning, and to anyone else who claims freedoms they no longer have."

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath. "Then let him have his final words. At least untie the rag from his mouth."

She scoffed as she shook her head. "Why do you think I put it there to begin with?"

"Let me say one final thing to him then. Please."

She looked at John and nodded, her obvious annoyance being restrained. "Say what you need to."

"I don't know you, my brother. But find comfort in the words you will soon hear: 'You have done well, My good and faithful servant.'"

He saw the man's eyes widen with awe as he looked up. And even with a rag tied around his mouth, something of a smile rested on his face.

"Light a piece of paper and set it in his lap. The paint thinner will do the rest." She kneeled down to John's eye level. "Remember what I said, John. Look away and it happens again to someone else."

"I know," there was a slight tremor in his voice as the rest of his body shivered with shock. His eye pressed tightly against the hole, he watched a small fire on bunched up paper quickly spread to consume the man's body entirely. He saw the body flex all at once as a muffled scream came from him.

"Today! Today, you will be with Him in paradise!" John screamed. The smell of chemical was becoming something far worse as the fire began to peel at his skin. "Today, my brother, you will be with Him!"

The screams grew louder and more desperate until they stopped entirely, soon leaving behind only the loud crackles of a still hungry flame. Billows of smoke now rolled out from the source, making even the flashlight beams get lost in a heavy cloud.

"I've read the body can only handle about a minute before it passes out from the pain." Beacon said matter-of-factly. "He's still alive. He's still in pain. In fact, according to what I read, the accelerant makes the fire hot enough that it cooks his lungs. To put out the fire now would leave him alive and in excruciating pain for hours. It is merciful to let him burn for another few minutes."

"Merciful? Ha-how can you speak of mercy?"

"Oh, don't be that way, John. Am I not a woman of my word? This is the fate of anyone who tries to bring rebellion to my Zone. I told you from the very beginning, there are rules. Now you know what happens if you break those rules. My warnings are not empty." she stepped in front of his view, blocking the roaring fire. "So, what do we say, John? Can you tell me what I need to hear?"

He wanted to lie to her. It would have been easy enough. Lie so he could get upstairs and spread the message. But after having seen such a scarring thing, the smell and smoke now filling his small space, he truly didn't know what kind of man was left. Could he offer the words of comfort they needed? Would they see his fear? Would they see his uncertainty? Never had he felt more alone. He had always told his congregation that Jesus shined brightest in the dark. But this was far from what he had experienced since being brought into it.

"Keep me down here." he said despondently, the roaring flame behind now pouring out smoke.

He saw her shake her head as she turned back toward the fire, beginning to cough. "Do you have the fire extinguisher, guard?"

"Right here, Warden."

"Put him out." as the guard began to spray the roaring flame, she followed her flashlight beam away from John. And with the sound of a loud click, freezing cold air began to pour into an already cold basement. "Once you put the fire out, let the smoke clear and then shut the door. I need to get back upstairs." She approached John one more time. "I'll check on you in the morning. See if a cold night changes your mind."

The click-clack of her heels soon faded, leaving only the smoke from a once roaring fire and the smell from a brother in Christ burned to death to fill his cell.

The guard remained down in the dark with him. When the smoke had cleared enough, he closed the door to the outside and began to walk away. The cold air had dropped the temperature in the basement at least another five degrees.

When the guard left the basement, John could only scream. He screamed for all the things he couldn't say. And he screamed for the man in him who wasn't nearly ready to endure such a painful end.

### *

The test results, though ultimately inconclusive, gave Marvin the answer he needed. As soon as he had the test results in hand, the three of them were back in the limo, on their way to The White House. The night had cleared out a good deal of traffic, making the trip back to D.C. much faster than when they passed through it earlier that same day. It was a few minutes before 7 p.m. when the limo pulled through the gates and onto the long driveway.

"President Pummel is going to meet us in here. Give you the chance to talk. He'll decide what happens next." Marvin said, his thin lips forming a thin smile.

When the door opened a few minutes later and the president entered the limo, Lily only saw the Head Spirit on the man, the features of Pummel's face gone completely. Unlike the other Spirits, It had no features. No long, upturned smile. No ink dot eyes. Just a blank and blurred display that adjusted and twitched as It sorted through options. When It found a face, it presented something familiar, something disarming.

"Hello, Lily." she saw her father, a man she only had ever really seen in pictures, a man who died when she was barely three. "It's so good to see you again." It immediately made her need him. It immediately made her miss him. And it immediately made her forget why she was even there. She was just a little girl again, longing to be embraced by her father.

_Protect yourself._ The direction dropped into her mind from above. It was harder to close her eyes than she expected. When she finally did, she kept them closed tight.

I plead the Blood of Jesus over my mind, body, soul, and spirit.

When she opened them again, President Pummel was sitting across from her. Junior and Marvin both looked at her with questions in their eyes.

"I'm told you can work miracles." The president said. "I'm not going to question it. I want you to demonstrate it." a pause. "Marvin, could you contact the news networks tonight? We're going to reveal something tomorrow at 8 a.m. Her power for the whole world to see."

"To exploit her, Mr. President?" Marvin asked looking toward Lily.

"No, Marvin. To prove a theory. She's special. I can see it just by looking at her. She may be even more special than me."

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"You'll see tomorrow. Until then, let her and her friend have a stay in one of the guest rooms."

Lily was still taken aback by what she had seen. So much so that the president's words barely reached her. Even with the Blood of Jesus protecting her, she still thought about her father. It had been her dream just to see him again, just to hear the voice her mother used to talk about. And though she knew what she had seen wasn't real, it still struck all the right chords to confuse and disorient.

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she was sitting on a bed alone, Junior standing near a large armoire looking at her. Even more questions sat in his eyes. Lily had none of the answers he wanted. But she had plenty questions of her own...

### 3

Linda sat in the front row of the auditorium, the people still filling in the seats behind her. She looked up at the stage, threading her fingers together and twisting them anxiously. The only thing that mattered was getting the message out. One deep breath led into another. The words she had memorized, once at the tip of her tongue, were now gone. She hadn't written them down in fear that Jim would want to check her notes. She had memorized far longer speeches before without an issue, always able to deliver them as if they were spur-the-moment. But this was different. This was foreign. The message. The environment. The stakes. She had never experienced it before. And the need to leave behind truth was pulling at her from all sides.

Jim stood behind the podium to introduce her but she no longer had the message. She stood not knowing what she was going to say. The only point of reference she had was the slide she left with the person operating the projector. The image of a full body third degree burn. It had been the perfect backdrop for her perfectly worded message. Now she only had a backdrop. For the first time in many years, Linda Masters was taking the stage unprepared. Always one to seem spontaneous with her messages, she now would have to be.

It only took a few steps for her to reach the podium. And as she took her place, looking out at the people, she realized the only message of truth she needed to say was her story. A pastor who preached a god of her own making, a pastor that was blinded by her own perception, a pastor who foolishly ignored the warnings and was damned because of it.

When the lights cut out suddenly, her skin ran cold. Just like everyone else, she was left with nothing but sounds to surround her. The only difference from the rest of the people was that the sounds were building up against her. A deep growl from somewhere nearby revealed something else as she began to snarl like a rabid canine, immediately feeling herself fade somewhere far into her own body. And then, without warning, whatever was in her was pulled free. And she was left with nothing but the sequence of sounds to build. When the gun was fired, the sound reached her at the same time the bullet hit her stomach. It cut through just the right organs to be fatal if left untreated. And nobody would treat her. She was the one that lied about the message she wanted to give. They would gladly let her slowly drain of life for everyone to see.

An immediate and pulsing pain, she fell to the stage. She heard the speakers come back on as Jim spoke, but the words were muffled as the blood left her body. Fading in and out of consciousness, reality became a scratched disc trying to play video. It skipped from moment to moment, leaving context to be something now well out of her grasp.

A loud pop of sound sent another shot of adrenaline into her fading system. She opened her eyes and looked around for only a moment, seeing the bright lights overhead; from her left, her ears filled with the terrified screams of many.

_I failed._ It was the last thing she thought before passing out, never to wake up again. It was always going to be her last living thought. Besides doing her best to leave behind truth in the end, the sum of her life was still that of an unintentional wolf leading her sheep to the slaughter...

### 4

The president walked through the halls of The White House, making his way to the limo Lily and the other two were in. A few minutes later, now outside with the vehicle in sight, the betrayal from one of the Head Spirit's higher ranking Spirits was witnessed. The vessel of the woman pastor speaking the Name, warning others of the trap. It wasn't the first time. Back when the Nazarene walked the earth, the same Spirit in possession of a dirty leper, tasked to poison the minds of the colony, instead spoke of the coming Savior. It spoke of hope and restoration. It spoke of old things being made new. Did the Spirit not remember what the consequences were from it? The light that the other Spirits meticulously ate from It until none remained? Afterwards being left in the Void for a millennium, unable to gather light from the fallen? The consequences weren't nearly as severe then as they would be now. It would be cut off from The Feast, cut off from the final taste of light, never to eat of it again.

The Head Spirit didn't expect another betrayal from this Spirit. After a long and grueling punishment, the Spirit entered back into the world determined to gather as much light as It could, using heartless and deplorable methods to deceive and kill. It looked to be more than happy to get a second chance. But the weakness It once showed was back again. Ultimately it was a small setback the Head Spirit would have to deal with another time. It had the bigger picture to worry about.

The Head Spirit knew Lily Matthews. Just a baby girl when she lost her father to cancer, it was the base for her displacement. It now sat across from Lily, the president saying nothing for the boy and Marvin to hear. But in the spirit realm, in the realm she could see clear as day, It was doing many things to her; pulling her apart thread by thread, exposing the weak spots of a girl far outmatched.

Even when she hid herself behind The Blood, the process of unraveling her defenses had already been accomplished. She needed to enter tomorrow missing sections of time. She needed to enter tomorrow feeling like an unwanted guest in a place that could devour her at any time. The same girl that spoke life to the boy and death to the two officers was not the same girl that entered a guest room in The White House. Usually sharp and prepared, the Head Spirit left Lily back at square one, back at the most basic base of any child: the need for a father.

### -Endings-

### 1

Curfew came. People were put into the cells in groups of four. It was entirely unnecessary considering that two full floors of cells were left unoccupied. All beds had been removed in preparation for high numbers. One blanket available to each cell, strangers had to huddle together to stay warm. They were separated by gender for obvious reasons.

Ken and Willow had a few hours together before they were separated again, most of the time spent just sitting together. Cameras watching from up high and all around, they were careful what they said. The smoke from the hall dissipated but the smell remained. Ken didn't want to say what he thought. And when Willow told him that Pastor John was probably in the same place, silence seemed the best course of action.

The floor was cold stone. The blanket was green and barely big enough to cover the other three men he had to sleep with. He was easily the youngest of the four, laying at the back of the grouping. When Ken closed his eyes to sleep, he found deep sleep for only a short time—

It was the middle of the night, cold air passing through the cells like a troubled ghost, when the speakers came to life with two loud taps and a considerable amount of feedback.

"Do not be silent." Ken recognized the voice immediately. The warmth, the authority—it was Pastor John. "Do not hide your light. Strengthen everyone around you by giving them hope. To hide your light is to deny you have any in you. What if hiding your light leads others to fall? Proclaim the Name of Jesus Christ. You are a messenger of the goodness of God. We are not here to live under fear of death. We are here to die for the only cause that truly matters: the saving of the eternal soul. If you are here, God has given you the strength to endure. Do not waver. Do not fear. Do not be sil—"

The speaker cut off to leave a cold and empty silence. But, the silence was soon broken by people shouting from their cells. They now stood at the locked doors.

"Worthy is the Lamb!"

"Holy!"

"King of kings!"

"The Name above all other names!"

Ken simply shouted, "Hope!" It was where his walk with Jesus had begun.

The speaker came back on. "How nice that you all feel inspired. John made his decision and will suffer for it. He will be burned alive tomorrow night. Are you ready to suffer the same fate?"

The shouts tapered off until it was quiet again, a cloud of real and heavy fear settling over the prison. How was this even allowed? Ken looked out toward the guard to find a man standing still as a statue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was a world that no longer belonged to him. Even Willow, someone he loved dearly, was nothing more than a light in the darkness. They couldn't have a future together. They only had little moments. But those moments were fading. Her little smiles. His offers of comfort in a cold and suffocating place. It was time to let go. Whatever pain it required was something he was ready to endure.

One of the quietest when the shouting began, he was now ready to spark the fire.

"Savior!" his scream made the guard immediately turn toward him, his eyes black and soulless. The men behind Ken began to shout just the same. And soon it spread once again. There were still those that kept quiet; the fear of the fire just too much.

All who continued to shout were swiftly removed from their cells. Both men and women. And once again, Ken and Willow were together, still several people from one another but both being brought to the same place. She had learned to let go too, cherishing the moments with Ken as just that. What was she holding onto? There was no place safe to go. No place safe to find. It was like Pastor John had said: 'We are not here to live under the fear of death; we are here to die for the only cause that matters: the saving of the eternal soul.' She loved Ken for the strength he had helped unearth in her; she loved him for helping her finally find an identity that she could be proud to attach to her name; she loved him for being her protector and her best friend. It was a sad but necessary realization she had as she looked toward the front of the line, seeing Ken towering over many of the others. Whatever they had been to each other was now over. Their union had always been in place as beams of support to get them to this point, to keep them strong when so many other things were trying to break them.

Pastor John, yet again, was the catalyst for a decision that led somewhere Ken never imagined he'd be. To think not even a year ago, he laughed at the idea of a God. Now he was near the front of a line that promised to lead to the end of his life because of his belief in God. It all started with a bible and the few words written inside: _there's still hope for you—_ a bible he nearly didn't accept when offered to him.

Where the line led was into the same dark basement smoke had come from only hours before. 'A fire in the electrical system,' quickly revealed itself to be a lie as two intersecting flashlight beams revealed a man burned to death in a metal chair. Ken wanted to cover his nose to block a smell that was both sweet and sickly, both charred and rotten, but his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Following the guards into the dark was nothing compared to the haunting sound of Warden Beacon's short heels as they descended the stairs. She was far more a monster than the guards, even in their current state.

"So, here's the deal. We only have twenty four holding cells down here." She directed her flashlight at the white doors with the small eyeholes as she stepped among the grouping, twelve doors lining one wall of the basement, twelve lining the other. "I am generous. And I am going to give you the option. You can either take one of the holding cells and be executed periodically throughout the day tomorrow—it may be fast, it may be slow. It could be by gunshot, it could be a fire much like your little friend over there. Or... you can volunteer to be cuffed behind the building tonight. I read. I like to do my research. I like to know how painful these deaths are—how long they last, what's involved in the process, you know, things like that. The windshield tonight is just under 30 degrees below zero. Frostbite can happen in minutes when fully clothed; you will only be in your jumpsuits. Is it faster than burning to death? No. Is it less painful? Debatable."

"Is Pastor John down here?" Ken knew Willow's voice anywhere.

"Why does that matter?" Beacon dismissed the question, not even looking for who asked it.

"If he is, I'll take a holding cell." she wasn't going to leave Pastor John to be alone. No matter what. There was a loud slam and something muffled coming from one of the doors.

"Congratulations!" the warden faked exuberance. "A holding cell it is. But you won't be doing much talking with him. He said more than enough tonight. Isn't that right, John?!" she yelled toward the cells on the left, shining her flashlight on the first door.

Ken looked toward the door the beam from her flashlight presented. It was because of Pastor John and because of Willow that he would do just the same.

"I'll take a holding cell."

Warden Beacon wasn't able to fill the holding cells. Ken and Willow were the only two of a total forty eight people who decided they wanted this unhinged woman deciding how they would die. The rest chose the cold. With how flippantly she talked about the killings, it was clear that she liked to watch them burn and it was going to be her go-to punishment for anyone that gave the option.

Only three were in the holding cells. If Pastor John hadn't been there, both Ken and Willow would have chosen the cold. They were there for him only, to bring him company and comfort as he awaited an excruciating death—and now as they awaited the same.

### *

Deb was now a mother figure to three children she was unable to protect. A sad and sickening pattern that she never seemed able to rewrite. First Kyle. Now Charlie and Mama B's little boys. As soon as the executions left the air cold and smelling of metal in the auditorium, the children were immediately taken away by still possessed guards and to a separate area of the prison.

After witnessing the horror, there was an endless list of things that forced parents to rethink their decisions to remain there on faith. Five people had been chosen at random and given the choice. All being ready to die for their God, they were now just blood splatter patterns that told a terrible story. Would it continue with the children? Would there be more blood in the morning? Would little lives be cut short in horrifying ways?

Deb thought about the boys that had now been placed in her life. The feeling of helplessness on all fronts was too familiar. It always brought her back to when she had control but decided not to act, back when Kyle called for her and she turned away from him. It was the last time she had truly been needed as a mother. She was needed then and she failed. Tonight she felt a similar need from Charlie, Terrance, and Michael. Locked behind the bars of a jail cell, she did the only thing a mother could in this situation: she prayed.

### 2

Sudden sleep found John at the end of a long scream. A transition that was effortless—a reprieve from a terrible and exhausting ordeal. His body was exposed to a process that had depleted all of his strength. Forced to watch a man burn to death, trying to comfort him in the midst of the fire. A man known to bear the weight for others, attempting to do so while the man burned, had proved too heavy.

He wasn't aware of anything for hours. His skin didn't register the cold. His body didn't register the still heavy smell. What woke him up was something far different:

"John," the voice was quiet but powerful. His eyes shot open to see a bright light, far different from the flashlight beams. It was white and full and all consuming, the dark of the basement pressed to the farthest edges of the room. He saw the form of a large man standing amidst the light. "You will be heard."

All at once his cuffs broke off his hands as the old door he was pressed up against swung open with a creak, the light disappearing as quickly as it appeared. A sudden and needed sleep had given him back his resolve and his drive. There were people silenced up stairs, people afraid to speak a word because of Warden Beacon. His calling had always been that of a voice in the wilderness, a voice to direct, a voice to guide those wandering or lost. Never able to see his dream of following in his father's footsteps in Africa, it was only now as the old body of a door, once latched and locked, now swung freely, that John realized his purpose had always been to end up in this cell. His purpose had always been to speak a message against silence to a people now forced to be silent. To inspire, to give boldness in place of avoidance. In an environment that was meant to strong arm the weak into breaking, silence was death. If the Name of Jesus couldn't bring iron to the brittle boned, if His message couldn't be there to inspire even the weakest to stand strong, all hope was lost. You only have to look at the story of Peter to see the result of a human's good intentions. He said he would gladly die for Jesus, that he would suffer for His Name. But when the questions came, he shriveled away and denied Him three times.

The people upstairs were made up of good intentions. But without the ability to speak, they would end up just like Peter after hearing the rooster crow. And worse yet, without a reminder to fuel their faith, John feared many would give into the pressure and be broken irreparably.

He took the first steps out of his cell, the cold air having no effect on his hardened skin. And even though the cold air hadn't warmed, there was a warmth now on him. The warmth of purpose. John's father had been appointed a task of building the foundation for a body of believers to thrive in; John's task was ensuring the faithful made it to the finish line. There was no greater calling he could think of. Finishing the race was the only thing that mattered. And he had been given the responsibility. In many ways his purpose and his father's were tied together intrinsically. One meant for the beginning of a thing and one for the end.

He took the needed steps to bring him through the basement and up the stone stairs to find that the large steel door was propped open, the guard on the other side of it now passed out on the floor.

_Clear me a path, Holy Spirit, and You can speak through me._ A quiet conversation in his mind, fueling his steps down an uncertain hallway. There were many guards up ahead. How he could reach the speaker system, located in a room he had never been in and a room he didn't know, was beyond him. But, that is the defining quality of God. He is beyond human understanding.

John didn't doubt that he would get where he needed to go. He hadn't been broken free just to be caught before he could speak words of power, words of life, to those in need. He took one step after the next. When he came to where the main hallway and the one he was walking down intersected, he took the needed left, immediately seeing another two guards laid out on the floor of the hallway.

His next number of steps brought him down a familiar place. This was the hall that ran along the front doors, the only area of the prison he had actually seen beyond a momentary glance. As he approached the front doors, a glimmer of light from his left caught his eye. He saw a plain paper sign with a sloppy arrow pointing straight ahead: FOLLOW FOR FREEDOM! It was highlighted by the same kind of light he saw in the basement, a clear direction. He paid no attention to the foldout tables continuing down the left, toward a high number of guards standing watch at the gate-door to the cafeteria. He took steps of certainty, knowing that he would make it where he needed to go.

And he did. Just beyond the sign, the same white light was present on the door of a small white room on the right. As he approached, it opened. Sitting on an L shaped desk was an intercom system. He locked the door from the inside, walked over to the desk, held the red button down with one finger and tapped the receiver twice with another...

Now pinned against the desk and cuffed by a guard, his message cut short, John wondered if it had been enough. With his eyes closed, he began to hear faint shouts of exaltation that only continued to grow. A smile came at the end of a deep breath, Warden Beacon stepping behind him.

"How did he get out? And how did he get past you?" they were questions her guards couldn't answer, remembering nothing of the last ten minutes. "Do you want to shine any light on this, John?"

"No, Ma'am." John had said all he needed to, still hearing the waves of praise for The Savior sustained and joyous.

An exasperated sigh. "Everyone back to their posts. I've got it from here." She rubbed her eyes with the tips of her thumb and pointer finger. "Leave John with me." The guards did as she ordered, soon only John and Warden Beacon in the room.

When the warden addressed the wave of people over speaker, John heard it dissipate until gone. He closed his eyes to a heavy air. To die for Christ is to show His worth. To die for Christ is to inspire others to be willing to do the same. If his words could so quickly be forgotten, he had fail—

A faint but loud scream was heard. And then it grew into a wave again. Not as full as before. Not as loud as it had been but still a spark for a people in desperate need of a spiritual fire to spread amongst them.

"I can't believe it but you annoy me more than smoky did. I wanted order; you bring dissension. I wanted these people to see the error in their ways; you lead them to their deaths instead. I'll be sure to tally the total number and give it to you before I light you on fire for everyone to see. How many will die because of you? How high will the number go?"

"Do what you will, Warden."

She looked at him with disgust as she shook her head. "What kind of a man are you?"

He now stood up fully, standing at least a head above her. But this woman who was short on him was in no way small. She was more than capable of meeting him eye to eye in every other way but her physical stature. "You choose not to speak now. I will take your freedom away entirely." she pulled a blue rag from her pocket, clogging his mouth and tying it around his head tight. "You will be given no final words." she began to lead him out of the room and down the same hall he had come from. When she passed by one of the guards, she handed the duty off, the click-clack of her heels taking her back the opposite way. The guards were nothing but pets to her. If she had given the man any dignified attention, she would have noticed how his eyes were different than before. Now black and piercing.

John noticed immediately, pleading The Blood over himself. The first time actually seeing evidence of the evil attached to the Chip, it left his blood cold. Soon he was back down in the basement, back down in the darkness, locked away again in the same cell.

When he heard the group descend, he soon saw Willow volunteer herself. He slammed against the door and screamed to warn her, but without a voice it was ineffective in changing her mind. And only a moment later he saw the same thing happen with Ken. Two people he felt a responsibility to were now willing to die in the same way as him so he wouldn't have to be alone. Neither of them understood the horror he had witnessed. Neither of them truly understood what they had agreed to.

_Father, deliver them from this. Take them home. They are willing to die for you; let that be enough. I will burn for Your Name. I will take on the pain. But not them. They have dealt with enough pain in their lives already. Let their homecoming be pain free._ A prayer of petition as both were locked away in their own cells, the warden keeping them as far from each other as possible.

### *

Never a place Lily expected to be, she and Junior were now bedded down in separate beds in one of the many guestrooms in The White House. She was unable to sleep, unlike Junior who was already passed out and turned away from her. This was one of the first times in her life where she felt truly vulnerable. It had taken nothing to pick her apart, nothing to reduce her to feeling like a little girl who had no spiritual strength. Once like a tightly knitted scarf ready to withstand even the harshest winters, Lily was now a pile of threading on the ground. What she had built across years was gone. She had no confidence approaching tomorrow. And the idea of seeing the president again was terrifying. It was nothing like seeing the Spirits tethered to the damned. They knew how to taunt her. But, They didn't know how to break through her defenses—

Stay close to Me, Lily, and nothing can reach you. Remember, I have not given you a spirit of fear—

"But one of power, love, and a sound mind." she finished it as she closed her eyes. And soon sleep found her, bringing no dreams or nightmares, bringing no thoughts or heavy anxiety. It brought what she so desperately needed: a sound mind to a girl who was rarely given one.

### 3

The feeling of failure followed Linda from the last moments of her life into her eternity. Her eyes opened to find she was standing on stairs leading down into the dark. They were much like the stairs Kyle had descended; and much like the stairs Margaret was forced onto. The difference was found in the details: a line of people appeared behind Linda. One at a time they sprinted down the stairs without hesitation. It only took moments for one to disappear into the endless black. She heard their footsteps fading as the next set drowned out the last.

"Don't!" she tried to warn them, but her warnings couldn't reach them. "I was wrong! Turn back before it's too late!" she stepped in front of the line to stop the descent from continuing, but the next person reached her and became like fog, a heavy mist around her then reforming behind her, all to continue the descent. They were people she recognized, people she had pastored. Now a constant reminder of where she led them.

Linda stopped trying to warn them. The regret would always be hers to carry and there was nothing she could do to change it. Being reserved to this sad fate, she began to walk down the stairs, the people sprinting past her at a faster rate than before. The steps brought her into an empty cold.

"Linda," a sudden warmth from behind. She turned to find a bright shaft of light, her smile unexpected and immediate.

"La-Lord?"

"The lost are not your legacy." The voice fills the entire space, the dark drawing back like a curtain. She sees five people standing in the light, the people that died for Christ because of her warning. "They are home because of you."

Before she could speak another word, the warm light was gone, the cold stairs waiting for her to descend. The closest she would ever get to Heaven was this. And she held onto it tightly as she began to walk down the stairs. Always a pastor wanting to lead her sheep into the light, it was her final legacy, even as she was damned to the dark.

### 4

Marvin, given the task of informing the news outlets, had also been given simple direction: "Tell them nothing other than to have their cameras ready to run LIVE at 8 a.m." He did what he was told and soon the announcement simply titled A SPECIAL EVENT spread far and wide. On social media it was shared by hundreds of thousands of people, causing immediate speculations to begin; on 24 hour news networks, it became an appetizer for them to chew on before the main course was delivered in the morning; on every TV in every house, BREAKING NEWS banners ran across the bottom; and in every cell phone, the sound of a text notification brought the phone to life with the announcement waiting for those who were already sleeping. Even though it was last minute, news spread fast and far. Over the next number of hours, it spread well beyond America. Come 8 a.m. the world would be watching.

Never one to do things like those who came before him, President Pummel was known for the unorthodox manner in which he ran things. Using this pattern, the Head Spirit took advantage. There was a power in anticipation, in making the country wait for the normal time of 7 p.m. But there was also power in surprise. And surprise hadn't been used nearly enough from President Pummel. That was about to change.

### 5

Even with Willow and Pastor John sharing the same large space as Ken, the dark was all consuming. Ken was in the farthest cell on the opposite wall. Willow was somewhere in the middle. From where Ken was he saw the tail end of the large grouping of people disappear, the cold air of an open door soon being closed off again.

Nobody said a thing. When Ken tried to speak to bring comfort to his quiet wife, he never found words. What could he say? Simply being a presence for her was all he could offer. A cold and quiet dark was their only reality. Thoughts formed only to wander off until they were lost all the same. The only thing that gave any semblance of time was when reality would interject.

Sometime later, the familiar click-clack of the warden's heels appeared as she descended the stairs, sending an immediate chill down Ken's spine.

"No need to worry, you three" the sound of her heels brought her closer to them but with no light beams to reveal her, it still left her nothing but a voice to haunt the dark. "It has nothing to do with you right now. That's for later today."

When the flashlights finally came on, the intersecting beams revealed four other guards standing with her.

"We'll store them down here for right now. Don't need anybody asking questions." The warden spoke quietly. "Time is of the essence, gentleman."

The beams began to move toward the same area and then a loud click brought a freezing cold air rushing in. From where Ken was he could barely see the blue light of early winter morning color the corner to his right. One by one, the people who had stepped out into the cold were brought back in. The cold air had done the job. Forty six hardened bodies were gathered on the basement floor...

And then, as before, they were left in the same darkness. Ken had to say something to Willow. Even though he couldn't hear her, he knew she was terrified.

"You are stronger than you think, Wi—" The final words he would ever say, his heart stopping suddenly never to start up again.

### *

The cell doors were unlocked at 8 a.m. And it was at this time that parents, left with nothing to do throughout the night but pray for protection for their children, would now find out if their prayers had reached deaf ears. The sound of small voices reached them before the grouping of children did. Deb saw Charlie near the front, Terrance and Michael looking small and lost next to him. When Deb saw them, she ran forward. She wanted to bring them comfort as quickly as she could. Though they hadn't seen Mama B die; they knew what the pop of sound meant. They knew she was gone.

The two little boys met her with hesitation. Battered by life, they looked at her eyes and then away.

"Boys. You will see her again. Where your Mama went there is no more pain, no more crying."

Michael looked at her, the questions in his eyes seeming to build at the same time as his tears; Terrance was a hard shell despite only being a seven year old boy.

She looked at Charlie who was standing as tall as he could under the circumstances.

"Are you okay, Charlie?" she brought her palm up to his face, lightly caressing his cheek.

"Not really. There's just pain everywhere."

"There is" she gave a motherly smile. "But just know that I am so happy that God brought you into my life. You've given me new things to hope for."

A small smile crawled onto his face. "I'm glad I met you too."

They made their way to a small corner in the cafeteria. An adopted mother to three boys that she didn't know how to comfort, Deb could only do her best. The boys were huddled in the corner as she kneeled in front of them, shielding them from everything else.

_Bring comfort to them, Lord. I am at a loss—_ A prayer she was never able to finish, her dead body slumping over onto now three lifeless boys.

### 6

John was witness as the grouping stepped out into the cold, Warden Beacon sure to tally up the deaths. They were on him, ' _because he couldn't keep his mouth shut, because he felt the need to spread his poison_.' Each person that stepped out into the cold was a victory, one that saddened him but also one that gave an overwhelming sense of joy. Soon they would be safe from this hell. Soon they would be home. If this hadn't been the end, things would be different. But the truth had always been that The Holding Zones would bring death to those who resisted. To avoid it, to toe the line longer, was to leave room for lies to push their way in and become truths. Nothing was more spiritually dangerous than this. The doors soon shut, the cold air left to hang in the air, the people left to die in the cold.

He could offer nothing to Willow and Ken, other than praying for their deaths so they wouldn't have to endure the pain. Knowing they were down there with him brought comfort that he didn't want to accept. For a man who always tried to bear the weight of others, the idea that others would willingly do the same for him was both welcome and rejected.

The darkness in the basement wasn't the same as before. Although Willow and Ken were placed nowhere near him, their presence made the experience different. He wasn't alone. And though he would have rather they not decided to stay there on his behalf, the simple fact that they had, brought company to him. They didn't speak to one another, all preparing for the pain to come, but they still were in it together. Words weren't always needed, the connection between their spirits palpable.

John was reduced to nothing but a man gagged, a man silenced, now awaiting his death. And yet, this was the kind of ending he had always envisioned for himself. He always wanted to die a martyr like his father. He always wanted to be put through the fire of trial and be tested for his King. To end strong. To face death and not back away. To endure the pain for a time for a much bigger reason.

Though now silenced, he had been heard. It was the only thing that mattered. Those words that reached the people. The spark that inspired and hopefully would continue to inspire as the days passed. After he was long gone from this world, he could only hope his words would burn in others. _Do not be silent._

When the click-clack came, John immediately closed his eyes to search for words of prayer. Beacon was the kind of person that would have taken Willow out first simply because they knew each other; she was the kind of person who would have burnt her alive in the middle of the basement, John and Ken forced to be the helpless and horrified audience. He couldn't find words to pray, instead letting a holy tongue roll off his lips.

She soon revealed her reason for being there. She was there to cover up her tracks. Sadness cut into him when the door opened and he saw frozen bodies brought in and left on the floor, the morning light painting the scene in a lifeless and harsh color. They were safe but it didn't change the reality. They had suffered a terrible fate, some brought in with no clothes on at all. Their souls were safe but their bodies were there to act as a constant reminder: the worst was still to come.

Once the door was closed again, Warden Beacon stepped over to John's cell and whispered, "forty-six," before stepping away, leaving the three of them in a cold and suffocating dark once again. The number sat with him. Forty six souls saved. He looked up, a tear falling free.

He thought about when he was only a six year old boy, when his mother told him his father had been killed. He only remembered one thing from the conversation: "Your father was a man with great purpose. And so are you, my son. I can already see it on you."

It had fueled him ever since. And it wasn't until this moment that he felt his mother's words finally fit.

He took a deep breath. It was his last.

### *

Willow was placed in the same row of doors as Ken but on the opposite end. She was closest to the outside door. She watched only a few people walk out into the cold and then closed her eyes. She was here for Pastor John but she didn't have to face the full reality. Her body shivered for many reasons as she curled up in her space, her eyes closed tight. To just return to the night she and Ken laid in front of the fire on the pullout bed in Pastor John's basement. To just rest on Ken's chest again. To just be safe again. What their union had been was over but it didn't mean she couldn't climb back into the memories and live there. And that's exactly what she did.

The hours of the night passed but she wouldn't let herself experience it like Pastor John or Ken. She was back in bed with her husband on their wedding night, watching the fireplace as he rubbed her back lightly. She was back where she felt safe and secure, back in a memory she never imagined would belong to her. If she could only live here.

There was no moment throughout the night Willow slept through. There was still a part of her aware of everything. This was nothing more than a simple haven removed from the reality that she had climbed inside of. She was detached from her body, because her body was a shivering shell, her body was a broken, terrified thing that left her feeling alone and fully vulnerable to the monsters waiting to kill her.

As she rested on his chest, time seeming to have stopped entirely, she heard the vows he promised to hold play over in her mind: 'To protect her when danger abounds.' He was doing that even now. By being a place of safety for her before, he had given her an escape now.

When Warden Beacon came back down, Willow's body registered the sound of her heels with frightful anticipation. She heard the varying sounds as soft echoes appearing all around her. She felt the frigid air spill in, the blanket she was lying under with Ken doing nothing to warm her. Her hiding place was fading. She no longer felt Ken's body close to hers. She no longer felt the warmth of the fireplace. She only felt the cold ground her body was shivering on, the air from outside hitting her worse than the rest.

There was no escape available anymore. She heard the bodies scrape against the ground in the same way ice would. Once her eyes opened, she looked up toward the small eyehole, the light of early morning bright above her. She processed it and then closed them again. The scraping of dead bodies being brought in continued for an extended period of time. When it finally ended and the cold air was closed off, she opened them to find the dark was all around her again, the sound of the warden's heels fading with every passing moment.

When she finally heard Ken's voice break the quiet air, a smile found its way onto her face. And it was this smile that remained as the life left her body.

### *

Well before 8 a.m. Marvin knocked on the guest bedroom to wake both Lily and Junior up. She slept soundly. And when she woke up, her strength was with her again. She didn't feel unraveled. She didn't feel pulled apart. The Thing in the president had only been able to dismantle her because she wasn't covered in the moment. But, the One that lived in her was far greater. And as long as she remained in Him, there was nothing It could do to her.

"Are you ready for this, Lil?" Junior asked as he stretched out his long arms.

"I think I am." she stood up, looking toward the door...

A number of little, mundane things led her from the guest bedroom to the stage on the front lawn of The White House. She was dressed warm for a cold morning, the news anchors in the crowd looking confused: _Who was this girl? And what was she doing on the other end of their cameras?_

"Thank you for being here on such short notice," the president stood behind his podium on the center of the stage, Lily only feet away from him on his right. Junior was sitting in a chair behind them, keeping his head down. "Yesterday I received word that there was a Christian girl in a small Iowa city that claimed to have killed two men simply by speaking the Name of her "god". She also healed this boy behind me of a terminal bowel cancer, doctors verified it last night." He paused, the news anchors in the crowd still seeming unconvinced. "Now, you know I have a colored past with people from this religion. But, it doesn't mean I don't have an open mind." a smile of reassurance offered to Lily for the cameras to capture. "Having said that, in order for me to believe she has done anything more than rebrand abilities I've already made apparent to you, she'll have to do something a bit bigger. Is there validity to what she has done? Absolutely. But what is the source?"

Lily swallowed hard as she looked out at the news people and their prying cameras, the Spirits bent down toward the lenses

_What should I do, Lord?_ a quiet thought in a burdened mind. _I will not let them test You._

Speak in My Name, Lily. You will know what to say. You were made for this moment.

Lily thought about Who God was—

"The stage is yours." The president used his hands to direct the crowd's attention to her. "Convince us."

A girl who was always told to be quiet, always dismissed because people couldn't understand her—she now had a worldwide platform. And as she prepared to speak, she felt electricity lay over her skin.

"The Name of Jesus Christ has been made small and irrelevant. I will change that. You will see the power of God today." She thought about the qualities of God, a smile now on her face as she looked toward the gray sky. "Fire come in the name of Jesus Christ."

An immediate sound of thunder filled the sky as clouds appeared in a growing swell high above the stage. And then, descending from the swell, a tight swirl of bright orange quickly moving toward the ground. It brought with it warm wind and a furious heat. Lily looked out at the audience, the news people and their cameras now looking up, while the Spirits just looked at her with those lifeless smiles.

The fire was now a thick pillar, steady and contained as the heat within seared everything around it. Still many feet from touching down on the ground, the thin layer of snow was gone, the grass beneath already singed. Lily's dark brown hair blew around wildly as she looked toward the president. "Try to explain this away."

There was no response. She just saw the faceless Thing twitch with frustration above a president who was trying to save face. Once the pillar touched down, an immediate wave pulsed out from it, causing the ground to shake, leaving Lily just a dead body on the stage; Junior the same.

### 7

Pulled free from Linda's body and left in the darkness, the Spirit knew the consequences to come. To never taste the light of home again—there was no fate worse. No matter how much It had tried to embrace the dark, something pulsed with need on the inside. It wasn't just simple remnants of the days It lived as Stephen—those had been removed long before, eaten away when punished the first time. All memories of home had been taken... only to return amidst the darkness. And amidst the hate bred in It toward The Maker, there was an undying love for Him. They could lock the Spirit away in The Void for eternity, and the love for The Maker would always remain. Though It lived among Those in the dark, though It was cast from the light just the same, the Spirit was not like the Others.

To never taste of the light again... to never walk in the warmth of His presence again... A prodigal child that would have given anything to be invited back into The Father's arms, anything to be welcomed back into His fullness.

_I cannot give you, eternity_. It recognized the Voice immediately speaking into the deepest parts of It. _I can only give you a memory._

Still in the dark, It remembered the first moment It was created, carved from a slab of iron, looking upon The Maker. The green hills high behind Him, the warmth of His presence a constant and full atmosphere. It had longed to feel this again, a piece of the home It could never return to. Whether the memory would remain was something It didn't know; the Others would probably eat it away again. But for the moment It had pure light. For the moment, It was home again.

### 8

No matter what happened today, it was about telling a new story, about forming a lie from a very clear truth. If the act was great, if The Maker dug into his Old Testament bag of tricks and pulled out something truly convincing, It was prepared. Lily Matthews had always been someone different, someone made for these times. It expected something big today.

She spoke the Name but the cameras didn't pick up the Name clearly. Whenever the Name was said, it reached the cameras as a distorted sound, something close to when a finger slides across a playing record. The point was to remove the source of the power while keeping the power on display. If people wanted to see The Maker in it, they would. But if they weren't looking for The Maker, they were going to see something far different.

She spoke the Name and fire formed in the sky. It was only the news anchors who heard the Name as the source. And all of them already with the Chip, It could distort their memory to whatever It wanted. They would remember the fire but they wouldn't remember the source. They wouldn't remember the Name. And the cameras had already delivered tampered footage to a watching world.

As the pillar descended, she looked back toward the president, issuing a challenge. It said nothing in reply, making sure to display the president in a way that wouldn't cause suspicion. Just like the rest of the people seeing it, he looked toward the fire, eyes filled with awe.

The fire touched down, sending an immediate and powerful pulse. And when It looked to the edge of the stage, It saw Lily on the ground, finding the same with Junior when It turned around.

Was this the moment It had prepared for? The followers of the Name gone and the story of how now fully in the Head Spirit's control?

### -The New World-

### 1

Ken's eyes opened. The first thing he saw was a vast city on the horizon; the first thing he felt was wholeness. The pain was gone. All of it. When he looked to his left, his mom was next to him. They shared a warm smile as he looked down the line. When he looked to his right, Willow was there, her fingers now lacing with his. They looked down the line together. Lily was close by, Pastor John and Junior the same. It stretched on endlessly, a grouping of millions all having arrived at this point at once, all to see a city that couldn't be described, all to taste of a world where pain was but a memory, all to live in the presence of The Savior.

A hill of green grass descended beneath the point where everyone was gathered, leading to a lake of crystal. And beyond that, the entrance to the city. A city that was built at heights far beyond those of skyscrapers, a city that stretched across endlessly, a city that held the very Source of life. The city was made of light, just like the One that it was built around. And the light filled the sky, and the valleys, and everywhere the eye could see... and even beyond that. Even when Ken looked behind him, to find they were standing at the top of a very long climb, the light was the same. No shadow rested. No darkness existed. The light from the city was on everything.

"I'm gonna go down and find the rest of my family." Willow said softly as she prepared to take her first step. "Do you wanna come with?"

"I'll find you." he smiled as he let go of her hand, his eyes still in awe of the city. Unlike many of the people there, Ken wasn't stepping down to find family waiting for him. His mom was already by his side. There wasn't sadness to this reality—though it was sad. He was in no rush to reach the city, this point a perfect suture to a wound that hadn't stopped bleeding for nearly a year. To finally be whole, to finally have no pain, and to know that soon he would meet The Savior face to face—it was more than enough.

### *

Debra had known terrible loss; and now she knew what it meant to gain. Ken to her right and Charlie to her left, she didn't think about Kyle. She no longer thought about what had been lost; she only thought about what had been gained. In the last days of her life, God had given her a new family. She looked over at Charlie. Michael and Terrance were next to him, energy dancing through Michael like a living current.

"Can we go and find her, Deb?" Michael asked, eager as ever.

Deb gave a nod of the head, Michael sprinting forward immediately. Terrance followed close behind. They would find much more than Mama B waiting for them. They would find the family they lost made whole.

Charlie looked up at Deb and gave a smile. "Truth is truth."

She nodded her head as she looked toward the city. She was only at the beginning, eager to start a whole new journey.

### *

Though they all arrived at the same spot together, people began to walk down the hill at different times. John and Junior were among the first grouping to take the first steps, immediately finding that step one brought them through a clear film. And on the other side of this film, the air was different. The air was thicker with the presence of God and the light coming from the city was far brighter than what it had been, as if the starting point was outside of a dimming lens.

The brightness from the city acted as a curtain, each step revealing what the last one couldn't. Cara was waiting for them at step two. Her smile was the one John fell in love with. And still different. Still lighter. Still warmer. She opened her arms, John and Junior both embracing her, knowing they would never have to say goodbye again.

"Oh, my handsome men." She smiled as she let them go. "Every step reveals something new. "My third step brought me to the feet of Jesus. I never wanted to stand. I never wanted to take another st-step." Tears were in her eyes but they weren't sad. "Your father isn't far away from here, John. Any step now and you'll see him."

"Right now, I'm just happy being here with you." John brushed Cara's long black curls from her face with one hand, looking into her eyes. Oh, to see them again without the sickness... "Each step is a gift. There's no need to rush."

### *

When Willow let go of Ken's hand and took her first step through the clear film, she found her dad and Rosy waiting there together. Nothing needed to be said. The pain of her displacement, the pulsing need to find where she fit, the shame she carried like a terrible mark for all to see. It was finally gone.

She closed her eyes to bask in the light of this new world. To finally feel clean after living in the dirt for so long...

### *

Unlike Willow, Lily didn't think about her family. They were still a great point of importance in her life but they weren't her first thought, and they weren't her first love. She longed to look upon her Savior, to lay at His scarred feet in breathless worship. The only Friend that had been with her through every moment of a hard life, she knew Him better than most and still had only scratched the surface. To know Him until she could hold no more knowledge. It was her only desire.

She took her first step well after Willow, the clear film bringing her into a familiar presence that was immediately all consuming. It brought her to her knees, her desire to be at His feet now reality.

### 2

The pillar of fire was now gone. It didn't retreat back into the sky from where it came; it dissipated not long after the pulse, soon becoming nothing but a warm wind to meet a cold January air.

The clicking of cameras and varying pitches of conversation from a hungry audience of news anchors was almost deafening, the fire having disappeared only moments before.

"You have questions. I have answers." The president said. The first hand to go up was good old reliable Lidia Johnson

"Mr. President? What do you make of this _act of god_? I've already received multiple reports through text and social media that millions of people are dead worldwide—obviously it will take some time to get an accurate count. But, it seems to be at the exact same time the fire touched the ground."

"I'm willing to admit when I'm wrong," the president said following a deep breath. "I was wrong, Lidia. I told you from day one that god is nothing more than an idea. I have always been a man who needs verifiable proof. We were witness to just that today. Lily Matthews, a small, unassuming girl—in fact a deity. Housing a power far beyond our comprehension." He looked to her body on the stage. "I'm going to answer the question before it is asked. Her dead body is not proof that she wasn't divine. Even in nature we see the process of stages. A caterpillar to a butterfly, for example. It is a certain death the creature goes through before transforming. The old has to die for the new to live. Shouldn't this be the lesson we take from today? The old dying so the new can live? There is no coincidence that when the fire she called from the sky touched the ground that millions of people died worldwide. She was getting rid of the old so we could step into something new. Let me back up this claim. What does fire represent in religions across the world? Wrath and purification." He counted it out on his fingers. "The dead were unworthy to step into the final stage with us." he looked out among the news anchors and their cameras. "We, who remain, have been tested by the fire and have come out the other side pure. She considered us worthy to stay. We are here for one reason. To make something new now that the old has died. Join with me and we will build a new world together."

To make her an idol to people. To turn a prophet of the Name into a false god people would follow. It was a lie that had just enough truth around it to grow. And even if it didn't grow, it left far more questions than answers. This had always been the trick the Head Spirit used to great effect: keep people questioning everything and they will never believe anything.

With the Christians gone, The Great Harvest was nearly complete. Just a time longer of peace to set the trap. And once the remaining countries joined in, The Feast would finally begin. It wasn't far away at all anymore...

## Author's Note

Thank you for your patience in letting this one come to me. Once The Lord gave me direction, everything started to click. I was unable to write a word for over a year and then it all came together. I started it February 4th, 2019 and wrote the final word on March 22nd, 2019.

Everything is to be taken as fictional. A fictional biblical future written by a man who loves The Savior dearly. All decisions made, even the controversial ones, are meant to be speculative and nothing more.

Stick around for a little bonus story, titled IRON. Written just for you, my wonderful readers.

Thank you for taking the time,

### IRON

Stephen, an angel of great importance, high in both position and regard, now found himself in a free fall. The light was bright and warm above him. But, it was fading fast. The only home he had ever known was disappearing from his sight. And what he soon discovered was a sensation he had never experienced before: need. Where he had been full and without void, he now understood the reality of separation from true fullness.

It had just been one small moment of disagreement, one small moment of doubt. Lucifer had made some valid points about equality and position. He had always been a gifted speaker. Understandable why The Maker had given him such a position of leadership. Charisma came from him in waves. As did the music. Pure, clean, victorious notes that once sprang from his every step had now become a deafening, deep throated sound. Horrific and hopeless, it was the perfect soundtrack to the growing darkness beneath him.

Stephen's large body began to spin out of control, his wings paralyzed. He looked down to the sound to find the face of Lucifer. A joyous grin was on full display. He didn't miss the light; Stephen already starved for it.

"It was only a moment of doubt, my Lord!" Stephen screamed. "Don't cast me from Your light!" Another new reality was the silence that followed his pleas. Up until now The Maker had answered every one of his questions, no matter how small they seemed to him. In fact, Stephen's first conscious moment was standing on a pillar, The Maker in front of him with a thick chisel and an old wooden hammer.

"I have sculpted you from iron, Stephen. For you will challenge and sharpen everyone around you." These were the first words spoken to him, words of position and purpose. He looked past The Maker to find statues as far as his eye could see. They all appeared to be given the same dimension in form but not all were made from the same material. Some shone. Others reflected. And others still were made of stone, which would later reflect their characters to a Tee.

Lucifer was the first angel to be brought to life. A living instrument of worship, The Maker gave him a form of brass. Stephen was the fifth. When all was said and done the number of angels created was beyond count. He was there early, aware and subject to the creation of the first stage. Beyond The Maker's own company of three, there was nothing. Nothing but flat land and blank canvass. He was witness as each angel was given a name and a definition. And he was witness as the first stage came to an end.

To be considered such a high priority in The Maker's mind, the fifth created out of an innumerable grouping—the growing cold of the separation was even worse for it. To think he had held such a high place of importance in The Maker's mind... only to throw it all away.

Stephen could no longer see the light of home. The number of angels still falling was incalculable. Their large bodies dropped heavy, tumbling out of control as their massive wings were nothing more than limp and lifeless excess. They quickly blotted out any form of light, leaving Stephen in the cold and empty reality of a mistake he would never not regret.

He had no allegiance to Lucifer beyond his initial belief that Lucifer's words held more weight because he was the first created being. This was his first mistake: pairing the creation with The Creator. For a time, this first created being was passionate and glorified The Maker at all levels. But somewhere along the way, a parasite of an idea crawled into his mind. Stephen's first mistake had been reverence for Lucifer's position.

And now it had left him in the dark...

Lucifer was just beneath Stephen, his fall a controlled plummet. He didn't reach to the heavens in desperation, trying to make his broken wings fly again. What he did instead sent a sharp chill into Stephen's core. He not only accepted his fate. He seemed to welcome it as he crisscrossed his arms, keeping his body motionless.

"You made a mistake, Stephen." Lucifer's smile was simple and deranged, his words drowning out the haunting sounds coming from him. "You fell for the lie." He laughed as he closed his eyes.

It was the laugh of this deceptive creature that accompanied Stephen's fall. The laugh and the sounds of pointless struggle. Though Stephen was far from the only one to regret this decision, there was a clear understanding within him that he saw something in Lucifer that those above him hadn't. This highly appointed leader, the greatest of The Maker's creation, was different from the rest of them. He wasn't interested in a coup. He was interested in disorder, infatuated with disarray; all opposite attributes of The Maker. Lucifer had led them to doubt The Maker for one simple reason: to have them cast from His presence. It was never about loyalty, never about choosing sides. He had set a trap, using his effective words and his undying charisma to poison their minds, to paint a false picture of The Maker, a flawed picture. And in doing so, he was able to grow seedlings of doubt. Small, fleeting thoughts questioning the sovereign nature of the very one that chiseled their forms from slabs and spoke life into them.

There was a black Void growing beneath Lucifer, billows of smoke rising from its depth: a creature aching to receive those that were falling from the light. It seemed made for the very one that caused the fall. Stephen was, regrettably, damned to the same fate, but he was not of the same kind as Lucifer. Darkness wasn't his home; confusion wasn't his domain. There was a hole in him now that he was severed from The Maker. And it was only growing wider the longer he was apart.

Fear, an emotion that came to exist at this moment, struck Stephen with a sharp jolt. The darkness beneath him was cold and empty. And within its thick atmosphere, he felt a new and draining sensation. There was a presence that belonged to the darkness. Whereas The Maker was full this was empty. Whereas He was peace this was fear. It was an all-consuming reality, something that belonged to the dark, something made specifically for it, much like the same way Stephen's limbs belonged to his form.

But the fear Stephen felt wasn't from the dark or even the emptiness it held; the fear came from the realization that this place had been created specifically for the fallen. As he was calling out to his Creator, his Father, the only response given to his pleas was this place being spoken into existence. It was a place void of The Maker in every way, a place to house those cast from the light.

Never having experienced rejection, this moment was stark and bare, a naked realization that there was no hope of returning to his home. There would be no moment of leniency, no moment of grace extended to where the gates would open and The Light would envelop him again. As one new emotion met him, a second came up alongside it: sadness. Though not the begotten Son, not one and the same with the triune Creator, Stephen still considered himself a child cast out from his Father's presence.

He fell into the black. Even in trying to turn his head back to see the light one more time, he found that the darkness was everywhere. There was no more hint of light, no more hint of love, no more hint of God. All he could see was that deceptive creature just feet beneath him, his eyes reacting to the dark with life. It was Lucifer's environment, his true home. His eyes took on the appearance of burnished stone. And when he smiled, a red glow came from within, outlining the rest of his features in haunting display.

"There's nothing quite like the cold of separation is there, Stephen?" As the dark began to bring new aspects of Lucifer to life, the music that once flowed from him effortlessly ended abruptly. With the music gone, all that was left was the quiet of the dark.

When the music ended, the final hint of Heaven went with it. Once alive with worship and exaltation for his Creator, Stephen now closed his eyes, reserved to his fate. The fall continued. And it would continue for a long time...

His body finally hit ground. The jolts of pain were severe, but his iron form didn't break. He landed only moments after Lucifer, the two of them leaving a crater greater than twice their size. Though earthly systems of measurement hadn't yet been conceived of, the dimensions of the first created beings were fifty feet in height with a wingspan that measured the same.

When Stephen stood up, the darkness blinded him entirely to his surroundings, except he could see the red glow of Lucifer nearby. Stephen's body was still reacting to the sudden shock of impact. All of his senses, alien as they were to him, were learning to adapt to the new environment. He was still a creature made of iron, still an unbreakable form. But, what he saw when he looked at Lucifer was that his form of brass had already broken off of him like a loose and crumbling shell. And what remained now was a translucent skin, a tight plastic packaging to house the haunting red glow that emanated from him. Lucifer seemed to command the dark. Whereas it swallowed Stephen up, Lucifer was able to tame it, to teach it, to control it. It was clear that Lucifer had never been more at home.

"Your skin will shed too, Stephen. It's only a matter of time. You don't belong to the light anymore." A slug of a smile was on display. Why did he find such satisfaction in this severing? Why did he find such euphoria in the emptiness? The last angel Stephen wanted to be near was Lucifer. And yet that was the consequence of his position. Being one of the first brought to life, he was also the second to fall. The others made before him hadn't fallen for the lie. They were still in the light, still loved and welcomed by their Maker. How could he have been so foolish?

The sound of more fallen finally hitting ground appeared all around him. It was an explosive and persistent sound, muffled by the thick, relentless Void. There were many others nearby, but the atmosphere removed the feeling of their presence. They were there and yet it felt like they weren't. He could hear them close but he was disconnected from them. He was completely alone even though he was surrounded by his fellow fallen.

An empty darkness would have been preferable to his current state. Only feet from Lucifer, he was the first to witness what would later be referred to as evil. When he looked at the red glow again, he saw a flash of an image. It was simple and violent. When they still lived in the light, and when Lucifer conducted a symphony of praise for the Creator, flowers grew tall and bright with color, swaying as they danced before the sovereign One. The image Stephen saw was this living field ripped apart, their bodies nothing but spread out pieces, their color drained of all life.

Lucifer was in control of this dark world and was already creating something new, something depraved and never before conceived of. And by doing so, he was in the position he had always wanted. He was god-like, in control of all the attributes opposite of the triune God. He had always felt an itch for leadership. And the simple fact that he had been built to worship his Creator was something that poisoned within him over time. He wanted something of his own, a dominion that belonged to him and him alone.

"We are only the first stage. He has plans for much more. He aims to replace his first stage of creation with the second, to nullify our importance, to erase us from relevancy. He wants children not statues." Lucifer spoke in a tone meant to convince. But, Stephen still remembered when he admitted to the great deception. "Will that work, Stephen? Will that convince them to embrace the dark?" a short laugh before continuing. "You know things about me that they don't. You know that I don't care about any of them. They are just excess. It will bring me great elation to convince them that their purpose is found in me."

"Why are you telling me this?"

A long shrug. "You are made of iron, Stephen. 'You will sharpen and challenge those around you.' And yet you won't be able to convince them of anything." He laughed again, as light and free as he had ever been.

Stephen turned away from Lucifer, choosing to instead wander into the Void.

### *

What is now known as time began suddenly and without warning. When The Maker spoke, a new system was put into place. The second stage, for all of its complexity, ultimately came down to one very simple fact: everything had been put into place (both night and day, both plant and animal, both earth and sky) all as a home for The Maker's true masterpiece of creation. Once everything was set in its place, man was given life through a single breath. Similar to how the angels had been made and yet entirely different.

It didn't take long for the innumerable grouping to unite under Lucifer's leadership. Even in the Void, the empty dark that was now their domain, he brought a sense of purpose and direction. "He wants children because we were never good enough for Him. We were carved from slabs. They come from His breath. They are far more important to Him than we ever were. But we can take them away." Lucifer's speeches always started with a base of truth, because the greatest lies rely on truth. "A choice must be offered if they are ever going to truly be His children. Will they love Him or will they walk away? He can breathe life into the dust but He cannot force them to love Him. If He truly wants children, He has to offer them the choice to leave His presence. And if they do..." yet another image appeared from the red glow. The created being named _man_ was split open at the middle and screaming in agony. This was how Lucifer had poisoned the fallen: vivid images to convey new levels of depravity. They had been in the dark long enough that the image count had become incalculable. The fallen were poisoned and now lusted after the images as if they were food. They craved the content just as they once had craved the light. Their forms, once great and towering, had withered. Beneath the forms given to them by The Maker was a clear skin. Only Lucifer had a red glow; the rest were a made up of a sickly black interior.

Stephen had tried to distance himself from Lucifer, but he was always present. No matter how far into the Void he went, the haunting red glow always seemed to be right behind him. The glow had become an entity that was both separate from Lucifer and tied to him. Stephen hadn't been physically near Lucifer since their last conversation when he was witness to the first violent image. It had been eons since then. And yet no moment existed where he had been free from the red glow and the images it gave. He had seen every single one. And he hated that most of him came alive when they appeared. He still loved the light, still longed for it, but was damned to an existence where depravity was the only food available...

Though in a place separated entirely from The Maker's garden, and with it His newest stage of creation, there was an understanding in the Void: Lucifer knew how to reach it. When the second stage of creation began, he trafficked to and from, passing his red glow from vessel to vessel. Not sovereign like The Maker, Lucifer had to evolve in his understanding. He first saw the depths of the waters when his red glow found its way into a small fish; after some time his red glow found its way into the air and set upon a bird. When high above it all, he saw a garden, lush and alive with all the markings of The Maker's hand. He even saw the light that he hoped to never see again. It was the third time when he came upon the perfect creature, something close to the ground, something already in the garden. It moved along the surface with ease, hidden in plain sight. When the glow first came to rest on this creature, the garden was not yet home to man. Man was still dirt on the ground. But, it was from this creature that he witnessed the Maker breathe life into a dirty form. And it was from this creature that he watched The Maker make a woman from the rib of the man. And it was from this creature that he heard The Maker give them both a choice...

## About the Author

Wonderfully outnumbered by women. A husband to a beautiful wife, a father to two amazing little girls, and a writer dedicated to spreading the life changing message of Jesus Christ in unique and compelling ways. He lives in La Crosse, WI.

Books now available on ebook:

  * CLOUDS

  * Death is Not the End, Daddy

  * The Counterfeit

  * A New Beginning (Book 1 of The Faceless Future Trilogy)

  * Better Things Ahead (Book 2 of The Faceless Future Trilogy)

Like and follow me on Facebook to keep up with further projects.

## Acknowledgments

My Savior: Oh, to one day lay at your feet in breathless worship. Oh, to one day be truly clean after living in the dirt of this life. You are the only Hope. And I wait for that day with great anticipation.

My wife: For listening to all the little snippets and giving me your ears despite the busy schedule. This one came together fast and you helped me steer it where it ended up with your suggestions and creative inputs. It is what it is because you were my sounding board. Thank you, beautiful!

Evarie-girl and Ivy-Bird: I'm still finding my way through the enormous privilege and responsibility of being your dad. When I don't know where to go next, you both inspire me to be better. You are two bright lights given by The Creator. And you are loved endlessly.

Mom: Believe it or not, the deadline I gave myself to complete the book before the end of March was so that you could read it on the reader. Personal goal reached. Thanks, mom!

Dad: You experience things I can only imagine. There is nothing I desire more than to be in the presence of the One Who made me, Who knows me completely. I'll meet you there someday soon.

