The Cell

Twilight’s Last Gleaming

Chris Hambleton

The Cell – Twilight’s Last Gleaming

Copyright © 2010, 2012 by Chris Hambleton

To learn more about Chris Hambleton and his other books and writing, please visit his website at http://www.cwhambleton.com.

“Endeavor in Time – Race Against Disaster” (2008)

“The Cell – Twilight’s Last Gleaming” (2010)

"The Last Aliyah – Book 1 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)

"The Son of Shinar – Book 2 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)

"The Siege of Zion – Book 3 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)

"On the Precipice – Hosea Speaks to America" (2011)

"Ezekiel Watch – Then They Shall Know..." (2012)

"The Castors of Giza – Building the Great Pyramid" (2012)

Connect with Me Online:

Website: http://www.cwhambleton.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/cwhambleton

Twitter: http://twitter.com/chris_hambleton

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/chrishambleton

My blog: http://fictionsoftware.wordpress.com

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Accidents

Chapter 2 - Introductions

Chapter 3 - Patrols

Chapter 4 - The Seeker

Chapter 5 - Decisions

Chapter 6 - The Cell

Chapter 7 - New Beginnings

Chapter 8 - Revelations

Chapter 9 - Courage

Chapter 10 - Farewell

Chapter 11 - Continuity

Chapter 12 - Reprisals

Chapter 13 - Trials

Chapter 14 - Rulings

Afterword

Appendices

The Missing Constitutional Amendment

America’s Spiritual Tides

Our Founding Fathers

Our Appeal and Declaration

The West’s New Foundation

References and Recommended Reading

Other Recommended Reading

About the Author

Chapter 1 - Accidents

"If we will not be governed by God, then we will be ruled by tyrants." – William Penn

"If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?" – Psalm 11:3

The alarm clock buzzed loudly and stirred Terrell Evans from his morning prayers. He rose from the floor and quickly turned it off. The hour for final preparations had arrived.

He immediately changed into the black clothes which had been carefully pressed and delivered to his room the night before. They were heavily starched and felt foreign as they slid over his clean-shaven chest, arms, and legs. The full body-shaving was just one of the rites he had undergone over the last several days.

He wasn't used to wearing much jewelry, but today it was necessary. He dug through his duffle-bag and removed the thick-chained, twenty-four carat necklace and crucifix and slipped it over his neck and under his shirt.

Once he was fully dressed, he went to the mirror and carefully inserted the white clerical collar into his shirt's collar. He looked himself over and made certain his appearance was perfect. That too was necessary.

Evans noted the time on his alarm clock once again and checked over the room. He had discarded the used razors in another trashcan two floors down late the night before, and had removed all traces of his hair from the bathroom. The only evidence the authorities would find would be that which he intended to be found.

He retrieved a tattered Bible from the bottom of the duffle-bag, placed it on the bed, and opened it to the exact page to which he'd been instructed by his handler. He checked his appearance in the mirror one final time and then left the room.

In complete silence, he exited the hotel and headed directly to the subway. He looked no one in the eye, and he certainly did not speak to anyone. He could feel several people eyeing him curiously on the train, but he refused to let their glances distract him. After all, he intended to be seen, though not draw too much unwarranted attention to himself.

He stepped off the subway at Constitution Avenue and made his way towards the Green Zone that surrounded the Capitol Complex. As he approached the security entrance, he saw that the lines were slightly longer than he had anticipated, but not enough to affect his schedule. Less than twenty minutes later, he passed through the checkpoint and continued walking east towards the Capitol.

At the 12th Street Post Office, he retrieved the package from the post-office box he'd been given and discarded the plain-brown wrapping. It was a new Bible, just as he had expected. He checked it over to make sure it had not been damaged, and then continued on his way eastward.

He arrived at the Visitation Area in front of the U.S. Capitol Building a few minutes earlier than scheduled and found a large crowd already gathered at the temporary fence set up to contain the tourists. The elaborate U.S. Capitol Visitor Center had been closed to the public several years ago over rising security concerns, at the same time the Green Zone had been made permanent.

He maneuvered his way through the group, which by reason of his attire, politely parted to let him pass. He noticed several other clean-shaven priests dressed like himself scattered along the fence-line and drew a deep breath. Today was the day they had been preparing for.

Ten minutes passed, and the crowd continued to grow though it was quite peaceful. A handful of protestors were nearby, but they seemed to lack enthusiasm. The security guards at the perimeter watched them carefully.

Today was a monumental day for the United States Capitol – it was the tenth anniversary of the passage of the Tolerance In Religion and Media Acts. The day would be filled with speeches and celebrations from esteemed Representatives and Senators from both political parties. The President would be giving several speeches later that day from the White House, and the other presidential candidates would be speaking on the landmark legislation as well.

A high-school band emerged from the north side of the Capitol Building and began to play as they marched towards the front steps. It wouldn't be long now. When the band began playing "America the Beautiful", the array of security officials immediately spread out onto the steps of the Capitol and looked over the crowd.

After assessing the scene for another several minutes, the security team moved closer to the fence-line and took their positions. As the band began playing the next song, the members of Congress began to emerge from the marble building and descended the steps towards the crowds. While smiling and waving to the visitors, they began moving along the waist-high fence near the security guards, shaking hands and briefly greeting the tourists as they passed by.

His heart began pounding as Congressman McDaniels walked towards him. This was the moment he had been waiting for. This was the moment he had trained for. He forced himself to smile and pressed forward against the fence, and then waved enthusiastically to get the representative's attention.

"Hello, Father – thank you for your support today," the Congressman said as he extended his hand in greeting.

He smiled in return and leaned in close as their hands clasped together. As he did so, Evans yanked his hand back hard and pulled the Bible up to his chest between them.

Before McDaniels could react to the abrupt movement, the priest's Bible exploded, scattering the bodies of both the priest and the Congressman (and several other tourists) over the crowd.

The section of the fence that had been standing between them buckled violently and contorted into haphazard, jagged ribbons of metal. In an instant, blood, bone, and flesh littered the polished stone steps of the Capitol.

Seconds after the first bomb had detonated, several others erupted along the fence-line, killing dozens more and wounding any within their proximity. When the explosions finally ceased, the handful of guards who were still alive had their weapons drawn and were shouting for the crowd to lie down on the pavement. But in the midst of the chaos, no one listened to their orders.

Moments later, sirens began to wail all throughout the Green Zone, drowning out the nightmare in front of the Capitol. Squadrons of security and life-flight helicopters swarmed the Capitol grounds, but most of those uninjured in the crowd had long since fled.

By the end of the day, the lives of eight Congressmen had been claimed, the worst attack at the Capitol in the history of the country.

Suicide bombers had finally breached the impenetrable security of the Green Zone.

The doorbell rang again, and John Carver set down his beer to answer the door.

"Hey guys, come on in! The kegs are over in there," he said, pointing towards the kitchen to his right. The handful of college friends from Emory University standing outside the door began to file in, shaking his hand or bumping his fist.

Loud music pounded from the stereo in the living room, where a large group was already standing around the television watching the pre-game show. John took a long drink from his plastic cup and closed the door. With football on for the rest of the afternoon and plenty of beer on-tap, this was going to be a great party.

"Dude, did you set up the beer-pong table yet?" he said to Justin, his roommate who was in the kitchen manning the keg. It was getting loud now with all the people in the apartment. Hopefully the neighbors wouldn't complain. Again.

"Yeah, I'll get to it later, if we have room. What do we have now, about twenty people in here?" he replied.

"Close – twenty-three, and more should be coming soon."

"Sweet! Did you see that girl that came in after Asheed? She's hot!"

John nodded with a grin and took another drink.

"Don't tell me you didn't notice. You're not married yet! Speaking of that, where's Chelsea?"

"She said she had some errands to take care of this afternoon. We're getting together later tonight at a nice restaurant," John replied.

"How romantic. You're an inspiration to us all!" he said, giving him a mock toast with his cup. "You'd better not drink too much or she'll be ticked."

John grinned and responded by draining the rest of his beer, and then passed it to him. "Here, can you fill it up? The kickoff's almost starting."

"I'll be right there," Justin said as he refilled the cup and handed it back to him.

John's phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen – it was his mother. He rolled his eyes and put the phone back in his pocket, ignoring her call. What did she want now?

Someone in the living room turned up the volume of the television but hadn't bothered turning down the stereo, and now it was louder than ever. A cheer went up as the opening kickoff was returned to the thirty-sixth yard-line.

Suddenly, the cheers turned to loud boos as the game was interrupted by a news-update just after the next play began, but then everyone stopped their conversations to watch and hear the bulletin.

John stepped into the living room to see what was going on. There had been another bombing in Washington, but this time it had been deep inside the Green Zone. From the video footage of the suspects and the debris left behind, it was clear that a bombing by Christian extremists had taken place. The news-camera panned the scene and stopped to focus on a small gold cross that had evidently been worn by one of the terrorists.

Stupid Christians, John thought to himself. The world would be so much better off without any of those worthless religious fanatics around.

Ninety seconds later, the news bulletin ended and the game resumed.

William Bradford pulled into the gravel driveway of the old, rundown church and parked under the huge oak tree. He got out of the car, but stopped when he saw the building. Though it was located twenty-five miles northeast of Atlanta, it still hadn't escaped the looters. He hadn't been back here in years, and the sight of the heavily-damaged church made his heart sink.

The once-gleaming white exterior of the building was heavily chipped and filthy. Rusty water-stains streamed down the sides in many places. Most of the tall steeple still remained, though from the numerous cracks and pock-marks, it appeared that vandals had tried to knock it down. Nearly all the windows had been knocked out, and many of the shingles had been either deliberately torn off or badly weather-damaged. Along the sides of the church, overgrown weeds and wild ivy flourished where neatly-trimmed shrubs and flowerbeds had once thrived.

He drew a deep breath and slowly walked up to the front of Grace Baptist Church, only to find the heavy front doors still locked. That was something, he supposed, even though they were covered with dents and scratches. He moved around to the back and found those doors locked as well.

The church had been abandoned late in the Dispersion, when the Southern Baptist Convention – one of the last of the denominations to do so – had finally caved to government pressure and required their member churches to register. Some had complied, but many others had simply closed their doors, not wanting to resign themselves to the encroaching government oversight.

He followed the wall along to the east side of the building and carefully climbed through one of the smashed windows. He half-held his breath as he made his way to the sanctuary, knowing what he'd likely find from the appearance of the outside. His stomach tightened as fragments of drywall and glass crunched under his feet.

The condition of the church's interior was even worse than he had feared. The grand piano that had once filled the country church with glorious melodies had been flattened; all the piano legs had been knocked out from under it. Most of the pews were in decent shape, though much of the upholstery had been ripped off and scattered all over the floor. Shards of glass from the windows sparkled along the baseboards of the walls. The cool autumn breeze outside blew in freely through the smashed windows.

As he walked up to the front of the sanctuary, he noticed that the thick wooden pulpit had also been knocked over. He hopped up onto the stage and carefully lifted it back to the place where it had once stood. To his surprise, the wooden cross mounted on the front wall of the church still proudly looked out over the desolate sanctuary. Evidently the vandals hadn't quite been able to rip it down.

His heart was as heavy as it had ever been as he sat down on the front pew and gazed up at the old rugged cross. At least that still stood, he thought to himself. But the sight of everything else around him made him felt numb and empty. Inside, he felt just as shattered and broken as this church. He had nothing left. This place had lost so much. He had lost so much.

This was the church he had grown up in; his parents had attended it for most of their lives as well. As a young boy, he had heard about Jesus Christ and the Bible week-in and week-out just a few rows back from where he now sat. He had been baptized there in the small baptismal pool at the rear of the stage, just under that stained cross. If only he had been saved back then – how much different would his life be today?

William closed his eyes and tried to remember what it had been like when the church was still alive and vibrant. He imagined that he could almost hear the people singing as the grand piano played. He could almost hear the old pastor confidently preaching his sermon to the flock, as he had done so week after week, month after month, and year after year. He could almost see the choir singing the familiar hymns he hadn't heard in ages.

He was as burned out and dead as this old church. But there was still the cross. And in the end, that was all that seemed to be left for both him and this sanctuary. Wasn't that really all that had ever been important? When all the chaff of this life was finally burned away, what else would remain?

A surge of anger suddenly swept over him and for a moment – just a moment – he allowed it to overwhelm him. He wanted to hunt down whoever had done this and hurt them the way they had hurt this old church that he loved so much. He wanted to find those who had violated this sacred place. His hands balled into fists and he smashed them against the pew. And with the accompanying pain, his anger soon diminished.

But as the moment passed, he knew that giving into his rage would only confirm what the media said about Christians these days: that they were all violent religious extremists. The suicide bombings on the Capitol steps earlier that day had only confirmed their accusations. Some in the media now brazenly declared that Christians were worse than the Islamic terrorists who had destroyed the Twin Towers decades before.

As his anger subsided, the crushing sadness flooded back in. He eased off the pew onto his knees, as he had done so many times before in that very church. But the difference was that praying actually meant something to him now. And with tears filling his eyes, he bowed his head and let them freely fall.

And then he began to pray.

Sometime later – he didn't know exactly how long – his phone-alarm began to chime, announcing it was time for him to leave. A large shipment was coming in and he couldn't be late.

John took a drink of ice-water and looked up at Chelsea. She was a beautiful brunette, and she knew it. He was still buzzing from all the beer he'd drank earlier that afternoon, but it was starting to wear off. Dakota's was one of her favorite restaurants, and it was packed with the usual crowd of wealthy twenty- and thirty-somethings that night.

He felt strangely nervous – she wasn't usually this quiet, and conversation between them usually wasn't this difficult. They had been dating for most of the summer, and it had been awhile since he had taken interest in someone else. He smiled at her and tried to think of something to say.

"How'd your test go yesterday?" he asked, managing to utter something halfway intelligent. He didn't really want to talk about school, but it was better than the uncomfortable silence.

"Okay, I guess. I'll find out on Wednesday," Chelsea replied. She brushed her dark-brown hair from her eyes and looked around, avoiding his gaze.

"That's cool," he nodded. "Do you think you did well on it?" She wasn't making it easy.

"I don't know." She looked over at him and fidgeted with her napkin on the table. "John, I've been doing some thinking –", she began. And then she hesitated.

"I think that we should see other people," she said. Her voice had lowered, but she sounded resolute.

John blinked in surprise and sat back in his chair. He felt like he'd just been slapped in the face. Whatever buzz he had left from the beer abruptly vanished.

"I don't understand – what happened?"

Chelsea shook her head, but then almost seemed irritated at him. He couldn't recall ever seeing that look from her before, and especially not towards him.

"I'm sorry, John, it's over."

"But why? Did I do something wrong?" he asked, half-pleadingly.

She shook her head again. "It – it just is. Goodbye."

And without another word, she stood up, grabbed her purse, and hurried out of the restaurant.

John fumbled as he tried to stand up from his seat, and then stopped only to watch her walk out the lobby doors. There was no point – she was already gone. It was over.

He slumped back down and stared at her empty seat. What had happened? Was there someone else? Why hadn't he been able to see it coming?

For what seemed like an eternity, he sat and stared at their water glasses on the table. His was half-empty, but hers was completely full.

Between the buzz wearing off and the fresh wound of the breakup, he felt as if he was in the midst of a waking dream. He almost didn't even see the waiter approach until he stopped next to the table. When he finally noticed him, he shook his head and waved him away.

Of course there'd be other girls, he told himself. He was certain of that. But he had really liked Chelsea. Maybe he had even started to fall in love with her. But it didn't matter now.

Later that night after he had picked up the shipment, William flipped on the television to watch the ten o'clock-evening news for a few minutes. It was his habit to check the news to find out where the latest 'hotspots' were in the city. But the local news was uneventful and it soon changed to one of the national outlets, where today's terrible events at the Capitol were being replayed.

He watched as explosions ripped through crowd standing along the fence on the Capitol steps, and then turned up the volume. People fled the scene as best they could while the area had erupted in flames and chaos and smoke. After a moment, the footage ended and a journalist at the scene began to explain what had happened.

"What was supposed to be a public 'meet and greet' event with several members of Congress turned to horror this morning when six suicide bombers detonated themselves near the steps of the U.S. Capitol Building. Eight Congressmen have been confirmed dead, making this the worst attack at the Capitol since the Senate Shootings nearly ten years ago. Thirty-three other people were killed as well, including the terrorists, with at least fifty more wounded or injured."

The reporter paused and another clip of the carnage appeared on the screen, showing the Capitol steps covered with dried blood and body-bags. After a moment, she continued her grim report.

"While no terrorist group has claimed responsibility for this horrific attack, a number of Christian leaders are now being questioned by the authorities. Counter-terrorist experts are certain that this coordinated attack was timed specifically to coincide with today's tenth anniversary of TIRMA, the federal legislation that rendered many radical fundamentalist churches to be illegal across the nation."

William shook his head and put down the remote. He was so tired of Christians being blamed for all the problems, especially the acts of terrorism that continued to erupt all over the country for the last decade. A lot can change in ten years, he thought to himself. Riots had become more and more frequent in cities of all sizes, and they were usually blamed on either conservatives (which the media typically labeled as right-wing extremists) or religious extremists (usually disgruntled Christians demanding their First Amendment rights).

The news soon switched to a commercial, which was a Public Service Announcement for the Department of Health and Human Services, the massive federal agency that managed the United States healthcare system. William's frustration quickly turned to cynical amusement as the familiar HHS slogan flashed upon the screen: "America's Never Been Healthier!" He lowered the volume and continued watching, but without paying much attention.

Healthcare, Social Security and entitlement reforms were the primary election issues these days, but today's bombings might interrupt that. A decade ago, immigration reform, healthcare reform, foreign policy, and the Great Recession had been the hot topics. Now that the healthcare system had been nationalized, amnesty had been granted to the (formerly) illegal immigrants, and most of the nation's industries had been unionized, entitlements were all that were left to campaign about. Broad foreign policies were mentioned every now and then, but were rarely given much coverage. The majority of voters by-and-large were more concerned with their public benefits than international events.

The election was just over two months away, but he wasn't sure he would even vote. What was the point? After today's bombings, the President would most likely be re-elected, especially with the massive emigration to Alaska and Texas recently. All three branches of the federal government (not to mention most of the state governments) had been under single-party control of the Statists for the last three presidential elections – over twelve years.

The PSA ended with clips of young mothers hugging their babies, giggling toddlers, children in classrooms, barely-clad teens and young adults dancing, and lastly a token image of an elderly woman smiling in a rocking chair on a sunny front porch. The ending catch-phrase was "Serving your healthcare needs in every phase of life."

The last several images of the announcement made him blanch. The negligence and grim realities of socialized medicine were now well-known but still largely left unsaid – it just wasn't politically correct. Unless you were deathly sick or critically injured, you stood a far better chance of recovery if you stayed away from the hospitals. And if you were elderly or had a terminal illness, the typical treatment from the HHS was a heavy prescription of pain-killers and mandatory end-of-life counseling.

After another few commercials, the news came back on and gave a brief rundown of the candidates running for office or seeking re-election. Most politicians were re-elected since the numerous campaign-finance reforms had all but ensured that very outcome. In fact, unless the media really had it out for an incumbent, they often were able to stay in office indefinitely. In his opinion, the political system was corrupt from top to bottom, and reforms usually only made it worse. He doubted that most politicians even read the legislation they passed these days.

The United States had stumbled from one crisis to another ever since the 2008 financial meltdown, but the deep, lasting transformation of America had really begun soon after the Presidential inauguration in 2009. Through massive deficit-spending to pay for a repeated series of failed stimulus packages, budget increases, and entitlements, the national debt had ballooned to $35 trillion, and there was no end in sight. Neither political party mentioned tax reform nor tax cuts these days, since the government needed the money so desperately and the thought of the public having to do with reduced services was unthinkable.

A Bible verse came to mind that he had read in his devotions the previous week: Proverbs 14:34 - "Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people." And at the root of all the nation's problems (and all nations, in fact) was the sin of its people. America's problems had been insignificant when most people had self-governed themselves and had maintained a healthy reverence for the Ten Commandments. But for most of the last generation, those same Ten Commandments weren't even allowed to be displayed in the public square, whether the majority of the people wanted them to be or not.

Any form of perversion was now accepted in the public square or broadcast media, yet the Proverbs or the Ten Commandments or other traditional types of moral-teaching was not tolerated nor allowed. The Tolerance In Religion and Media Acts (TIRMA) legislation and reforms of the last ten years had made it practically illegal to be a genuine-practicing Christian. Bibles and religious-literature in general had been removed from all university and public libraries years ago. And with the recent classification of the Bible (or at least certain sections of it) as 'hate literature', most of the Christian publishers had been driven out of business. The few that had chosen to stay in business often watered down the message in their publications and literature, while those who refused to follow the regulations were sued or forced out of business.

As William turned off the television, he recalled a verse from 2 Chronicles: "If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land." He doubted he would ever see that in the United States, at least not within his lifetime – secularism was just too deeply entrenched now.

Most days, he felt like a sojourner in his own country – a stranger in a strange land. There was no question that America was reaping the harvest from the decades of careless moral and financial behavior it had sown. For too long, the public stewards had left bigger and bigger problems for those who followed after them to solve. The answer had always been to create a new department or agency, but never reduce or consolidate them. Hard, painful choices were seldom made, though they should have been. He had seen a bumper sticker the other day that read, "America: Land of the Taxed, Home of the Slaves". He couldn't have said it better himself.

He checked his watch and sighed. It was time to go to work. But he had to make a delivery from today's shipment first.

The Blackhorse Tavern was dimly lit, and that suited John's mood just fine. He glanced around slowly, looking at some of the other patrons who more or less ignored him. Fortunately, the bartender did not.

"Another one?" the bartender asked as he removed the empty mug from the bar.

"Yeah, thanks," John mumbled. A few moments later, a full mug of beer slid over in front of him and he took a long drink. He was sloppy and he wondered what time it was. He vaguely recalled a handful of rednecks cursing and downing a round of shots when the late evening adhan – the last of the five daily Muslim calls to prayer – rang out, which had even penetrated the acoustics of the bar.

The buses had probably already stopped running for the night, and he was certainly in no condition to drive. For a moment, he wondered how he would ever get back to his apartment.

And then he realized he didn't care. He stared up at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and saw that he appeared thinner than normal, though he was nearly six-feet tall anyway. He had dark circles under his eyes tonight, which almost matched his dark brown hair.

He didn't get drunk very often, but he was determined to after being dumped. A thought came to him and he took out his wallet. After a moment of fumbling around with it, he pulled out Chelsea's picture and set it down in front of him. And then he stared at it for a long time.

Maybe it was just from all the beer he'd had that day, but he had come to the conclusion that he had real feelings for her. But now it was obvious that she didn't feel the same. Even after three months together. Maybe she never had. Could he have known how she felt before tonight?

But it didn't matter now, he thought. He took one last look at her photo and slowly, methodically tore it into tiny pieces and piled the fragments in front of his beer mug. He took another drink and then tore them into even smaller pieces. By the time he was finished, he realized that his mug was nearly empty again.

The bartender noticed his glass and came over to him when he had finished with his other patrons.

"You okay, brother?" he asked as he began wiping the bar with a small towel.

John looked up but didn't say anything.

"Girl troubles, huh? I hear you," he said, pointing to the pile of scraps.

The bartender stopped and leaned over to him, and then spoke in a low voice. "You'd better lay off the tap now and head home, before the Curfew starts. Things have been getting rough around here after-hours."

John blinked for a moment and then dismissed the friendly warning with a grimace. He hoisted the mug and motioned for another one. He thought briefly about switching to something stronger, but beer was more his style.

The bartender shrugged. "Have it your way, then. Don't say I didn't warn you. Closing time's at midnight, sharp." Another full beer was placed in front of him a moment later, and that time the bartender didn't come back.

He knew that under normal circumstances, the warning of the approaching Curfew would have made him leave the bar right then and there and immediately go home. He had heard rumors around campus recently – hard-to-believe rumors – that the consequences of staying out too late were harsh, to say the least.

He looked around for a clock, but of course couldn't find one in the dimly-lit bar. He slowly checked his phone and noticed that his mother had called again. There was a game on the big-screen plasma display in front of him, and that captured his meager attention for awhile. Besides, he wasn't sure how well he could walk anyway, even if he really wanted to leave the bar and get a taxi.

Fifteen minutes later, he began to feel terribly sleepy and could barely keep his eyes open. He laid his head down with his arms folded on the bar and let his eyelids sink closed. As he drifted off to sleep, he once again briefly wondered how he would get back to his apartment.

But then again, he simply didn't care.

While he slept, he had the strange sensation of his body being lifted in the air like he was floating, and then abruptly coming to rest on a hard, cold surface. The sounds were oddly different too and the light around him had grown darker. But he wasn't in any pain or discomfort, at least not enough to really wake him.

He continued to sleep, though he was subconsciously aware that his surroundings had changed. Perhaps when he awoke, he would forget all about the events of the evening.

Maybe he had been asleep the entire night. Maybe the whole evening had just been a bad dream.

A sharp snap to John's neck jolted him awake. His eyes shot open first but all he could see was red. The back of his head felt like it had exploded. His vision swam and shifted quickly from red to spotty flashes and then to black. He saw what appeared to be heavy boots in front of him, and then he realized that he was no longer in the bar. Nor was he alone.

He was still groggy, but was quickly growing more aware of his surroundings. Hard cement was underneath him and a bright neon sign glared above. It was then that he realized he was lying on the sidewalk, just outside the bar he had been in earlier.

Another terrible pain shot though John's spine and he screamed and writhed, turning over onto his back. And it was at that moment that he saw he was surrounded by several black-clad men. Their heads were wrapped in dark masks or scarves, with only their eyes showing. But even in the dim light, he could see their eyes blazing with anger.

Adrenaline rushed through him and he instinctively curled up and shielded his face with his forearms in anticipation of the next blow. He tried to roll away from the gang, but they had completely surrounded him. His futile attempt to protect himself was greeted with an onslaught of kicks. No matter which way he rolled, he was immediately met with more kicks and blows to his arms, legs, and body. He screamed and begged them to stop, but his attackers refused to relent.

As the beating continued, he could faintly hear them chanting something he couldn't quite make out, though it sounded familiar. In a brief moment of clarity, he realized he was being attacked by a vigilante gang of some sort. When that realization hit, he knew he would not likely survive if he didn't somehow escape soon. He made an attempt to climb to his feet, but was immediately knocked back down, and another flurry of kicks rained down upon him.

A horrendous blow to his head made his vision blur and he felt himself losing consciousness. He had a fleeting thought that if he hadn't been so drunk, he would have been in much more pain than he was experiencing.

As he began slipping away, an oncoming pair of bright headlights blinded him and he heard the voices change from ruthless chanting to screams of fear. Someone fell next to him and he was dimly aware that he was no longer being beaten. He heard something hard striking flesh and bone and then more screaming, followed by another, deeper voice shouting very close to him.

John perceived that he was out of immediate danger and tried to crawl away. But a moment later, he felt thick hands grab him roughly and lift him from the ground. He wanted to be free, but the adrenaline rush had passed and he was too weak to struggle any more. His head was throbbing and his hair felt strangely hot and sticky. The harsh voice he had heard moments before sounded gentler now, yet he couldn't quite understand what was being said.

The headlights were still terribly bright, but all was silent now around him except for the voice of the stranger. The man dragged him to his feet and led him past the lights, and then hastily pushed him into the passenger’s seat. The door slammed and John realized he was now in a car. And soon it was moving, and moving very fast.

He heard the driver's voice several times, but he could only mumble in response. He slipped in and out of consciousness in spurts and was able to open his eyes several times. But each time he did, his head throbbed even more. The streetlights outside looked like streamers of waving light, and the sight of them rushing past only made him feel dizzy and disoriented.

The car turned a hard left, and he suddenly felt sick. By sheer instinct, he sat up and leaned forward, feeling more and more nauseous.

"Hey pal, are you going to make it?" the driver asked.

John nodded with a moan and put his head between his knees. A moment later, his stomach erupted and he threw up all over the floor.

"I'm sorry," John mumbled, and then promptly vomited again.

"Don't worry about it – you're having a rough night," the driver replied.

John managed to look over at him and he was surprised to see an older, middle-aged man with a moderate build. The driver grinned at him, which he found quite peculiar considering all that had just happened. But it was a kind, gracious grin, not a malicious one.

"You took quite a beating back there. Where are you hurt the most?"

"My head and ribs. I think something's broken," John slurred, putting his hand to his side. "I want to go home. Is that where we're going?"

"No – your buddies back there messed you up pretty badly. I'm taking you to the hospital."

"I'll be okay – just take me home," John protested weakly.

"Sorry, but that's not going to happen. You need help, and fast. Go back to sleep – we'll be there soon."

John didn't want to go to a hospital, though he realized that he was in no condition to do anything about it. But he knew he was in bad shape, given how much pain he was in.

Sometimes when the car hit a bump or a pothole, John would curse and writhe in agony, but for the most part he kept his eyes shut and was quiet. The driver said nothing but continued to drive.

Minutes later, he felt the car stop and he saw bright lights outside, but not like the streetlamps or stoplights. And more importantly, they weren't moving in strange, dreamy motions. He heard the driver get out and shout for someone nearby, and he soon felt himself being pulled from the passenger's seat and placed carefully on what felt like a bed.

As the bed began moving quickly, the lights changed again and he realized he was on a stretcher. He wanted to protest about going to a hospital once more, but there was no more fight left in him. And for the moment, he felt relatively safe.

He felt tubes being pushed into his nose while someone restrained him. He heard other voices and struggled to open his eyes, but could no longer do so. He wanted to escape, but now that he was out of immediate danger, the pain began to set in.

As he was wheeled into the Emergency Room, he finally stopped fighting and let himself slip away.

The next day, John awoke with a start and sat up in the bed. Instantly the pain in his head erupted and struck him hard, making him catch his breath. His sides and chest ached, and he could feel the numerous bruises and scrapes on his arms, legs, and back. A thick bandage covered most of his forehead and there was another one on the back of his skull.

His head began pounding and he felt nauseous again. He was still groggy and slightly hung-over, but whatever painkillers he had been given had dulled most of the after-effects. An IV stood next to his bed with a long tube that was attached to his forearm. He still had oxygen tubes in his nose, which he immediately disliked and wanted to remove, but then he decided not to.

He slowly looked around the room, taking in his surroundings. It was a typical hospital room with two beds and an old television that hung between them from the ceiling. The bathroom was off to the side near his bed. The paint on the walls was peach-colored and badly faded, and he could see several cracks along the walls. It wasn't the best room, but decent for a modern hospital.

The door creaked open and a nurse walked in. He slowly turned his stiff neck to look at her.

"Good afternoon," she said, turning on the lights. Dim fluorescent lights immediately flickered on overhead, but it took a few moments for them to reach their full intensity.

He tried to say 'hello', but his throat was dry and his greeting came out with a hoarse crack. She went to his side and adjusted the pillows behind him, and then handed him a small paper glass of water. He carefully took a sip and cleared his throat.

"Hello," he finally replied, sitting back and looking up at the ceiling. Her greeting sank in – he must have been asleep for a long time. He noticed that the sunlight was bright against the single shaded window on the far side of the room.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Carver?" she asked.

"Terrible. I feel like I was run over by a truck," he smirked, which was quickly followed by a wince. It even hurt to smile.

She smiled back. "It sounds like you almost were. The man who brought you in last night said you were in a bad hit-and-run. Whoever he was must have seen you or the accident."

He blinked, somewhat confused. "Are you sure?" he asked. That wasn't what he remembered, but now he wasn't certain. He gave her a puzzled look, but she was reading his chart and hadn't noticed his reaction.

"Well, your blood-alcohol level was very high, and your injuries are consistent with being struck by a car. You're lucky to be alive." She finished looking over his chart and then began checking his IV.

"How bad is it?" he asked, resting his head back on the pillow.

She smiled and turned one of the tiny dials on the IV, and then went back to his chart.

"I've seen worse," she replied with a slight grin. "You have four bruised ribs and a minor concussion. And then there's all the other scrapes and bruises, but no broken bones. You may have some internal bruising, but we'll have to wait and see. Again, you were very fortunate."

He nodded slightly and stared up at the ceiling. He began feeling sleepy again, and realized that the adjustment she had made to the IV was probably beginning to take effect. As his thinking became cloudy, there was one more question he wanted to ask before he fell asleep again.

"The man who brought me here – did anyone get his name?" John asked.

She shook her head. "I can ask around, but there's nothing about him in your chart."

"Okay," he replied, letting his eyelids sink closed. His tongue felt very thick and heavy. He wanted to ask her more about the stranger, but now he was unable to speak coherently.

"Get some rest, John; you need your strength. You'll feel better in a day or two."

He wanted to respond, but felt himself slipping away again. He stopped fighting it and sank back completely into the bed.

The nurse smiled and turned off the lights as she left the room.

Governor Mitch Davidson walked back into the office and sat down behind his desk. For a long moment, he stared blankly at the stack of papers in front of him. He hadn't slept much last night, given the terrible events at the Capitol. Yesterday had been a long day, and one he would remember for the rest of his life.

Alaska's only Congressman to the House of Representatives had been one of the victims in the Green Zone Bombings (as they were now being called). The Congress would have their own memorial in two days, and then the body of Anthony McDaniels would be flown back to Alaska. Next week, he would finally be laid to rest near his home on the shores of Mendenhall Lake.

He glanced down and picked up the latest internal polling results from the stack. He didn't really need to look them over to know what the results were, but he figured he should review them anyway, in case there had been a change in public sentiment over the last seven days.

Just as he surmised, the polls indicated that 92.4% of all Alaskans favored their state leaving the Union, with 78.9% strongly favoring immediate secession. With yesterday's bombings, next week's numbers would likely be even higher. His constituents were clearly speaking, and he was listening. These days, the residents of Alaska were making their wishes known, and their public servants knew better than to not listen to them.

His people were upset, and rightly so. Their nation's seat of government over three-thousand miles away no longer even acknowledged their wishes or demands, so the state government was feeling their wrath. The people of Alaska were declaring that they no longer wanted to be a part of the United States of America as it was being currently run from Washington D.C. Their hard-work, self-sufficiency, and entrepreneurialism were continually punished by increasing taxes and senseless, crippling regulation. By fiat from Washington, vast amounts of the state's land and mineral resources had been declared off-limits for development and commercialization, even though it was their land. His people wanted their freedom.

In spite of those hindrances, the economy of Alaska was booming, one of the few states to have consistent positive-growth in both the public and private sectors. The state's population was rapidly increasing, businesses were cropping up all over the place, and zoning departments could barely keep up with the influx of requests. Alaska's financial obligations to the federal government for the bailouts had been repaid four years ago and the state treasury was bursting with new revenue. Soon Washington would be asking them for money – or more likely, demanding it.

He wanted time to think – he needed time to think. He reached over and set the 'busy' indicator on his phone so he wouldn't be interrupted for awhile. The previous day had been emotionally taxing, and since today was a Sunday, this afternoon (after church) would be the ideal time to consider the next steps that he and the other leaders of Alaska would be taking.

Alaskans wanted out of the declining Union and that's all there was to it. They had passed the point of compromise two years ago when several more offshore-drilling sites had been outlawed by the EPA. The people were still smarting from that decree, and he couldn't remember the last time he had heard an Alaskan speak favorably of Washington. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had spoken favorably of the capital either.

Like most Alaskans, he deeply loved his country, but more and more, he loathed the heavy hand of the government that ruled it. The bureaucracy was simply too vast and too unaccountable now. Eventually, the government would collapse under its own weight and take the rest of the country with it. He was even beginning to fear that if he and the other elected officials didn't start listening to the people soon, they could have a revolution on their hands.

And after yesterday, not even the Green Zone was safe! He had always found it both absurd and depressing that the nation's capital needed a secure 'green-zone' anyway. Those types of security zones had always been reserved for unstable, collapsing cities.

Like his constituents, he too was now feeling as though he'd had enough – the Green Zone Bombings had been the proverbial 'last straw'. More and more, he had the sense that it was time to abide by the people's wishes.

The time had come for him to recall the state's Senators from Washington, if not for their own safety than anything else. The funeral next week would be a plausible excuse.

The time had come for Alaska to make history.

Chapter 2 - Introductions

"When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation." – The Declaration of Independence

"Let every soul be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and the authorities that exist are appointed by God." – Romans 13:1

William checked his pockets for his keys and then stepped outside with the small bucket of cleaners and disinfectants. He wasn't looking forward to cleaning up the floor of his car, but he had dealt with worse messes before.

When he walked out to his car, he grimaced as he realized that he could smell the putrid odor from at least ten feet away. He was glad he had rolled down the car windows the night before. The previous night had been exciting, to say the least, but it was all part of the job. He put the dust filter mask on and opened the passenger-side door. The filter helped a little, but the stench was still overwhelming. He leaned down and sprayed the cleaner all over the floor-mat and the upholstery, and then began scrubbing.

After a few minutes, the smell began to lessen and he slowed his scrubbing. When he had finished cleaning the inside of the car, he checked the front bumper and hood and then thoroughly washed it down to remove any blood or fingerprints. There was a small dent on the hood where he had struck one of the thugs, but it wasn't significant enough to need pounding out. In fact, it would fit right in with the dozens of other scratches and dents in the older car.

He left the windows open to let it continue to air out, and then went back inside. It was nearly eleven o'clock – normally he would be waking up soon, but today was his day off. He put away his cleaning bucket under the kitchen sink and then slumped down on the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment. At least the couch was clean, he grimaced to himself.

His two-bedroom apartment wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. And it was certainly better than most of the other housing he could afford. One room served as his bedroom, in which was a double-sized bed, a dresser, and several bookshelves full of books and pictures that occupied most of the wall-space. But the other bedroom was padlocked and completely soundproofed – it was his recording-studio. He had constructed it himself soon after he had moved in, though he hadn't started recording until over a year later. Though he sometimes let his bedroom and other living areas go, his studio was always spotless and tidy. Just like it had been at the station.

The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the battery-bank against the far wall of the kitchen; it was still charging. Ever since he could remember, the predominant energy policy of the country had been one of conservation rather than growth and generation to keep up with the ever-increasing demand. Most homes now had battery-banks to maintain a steady residential supply during the winter and summer months because of the frequent brownouts and blackouts at the peak-usage times.

Because of the studio equipment, his battery-bank was much larger than those in most other homes, and was probably illegal. He had learned years ago that any abnormal electricity usage was red-flagged at the FCC or the Department of Energy, so he primarily used the battery-bank to power his studio, making his extra consumption nearly impossible to track. But then again, his studio was illegal too. He had always figured that if he was arrested for having one, he might as well have the other as well. The trouble one had to go through to fool the FCC and the smart-energy monitors these days.

William rubbed his eyes and then stared up at the ceiling, thinking about what had happened the night before. The young man was fortunate to be alive, though he had been badly beaten. He knew that the gang – most likely the Husam – would have killed him if he had arrived only a few minutes later. He regretted hitting at least two of them with his car, but he'd done what was necessary to save the young man's life. He pulled out a notebook from the bookshelf to record in detail what had occurred, which was what he always did the morning after one of his 'patrols' (as he liked to call them).

As he began writing, he mentally reviewed last night's events. He had just started his usual route near the bars around Emory when he had seen the Husam begin their sweeps. They had been out earlier than usual – even before the Curfew took effect at midnight. He couldn't cover all the bars around campus of course, but he did his best to help the drunks, drug-users, and prostitutes get off the streets. Sometimes he took them to a homeless shelter, other times to a temporary safe-house, and sometimes even to the hospital like he'd done last night. Whatever it took to get them off the streets before the Husam began their own 'patrols'.

But last night's encounter had been much too close for comfort, and he feared they would recognize his car the next time he went out. The Husam were growing bolder and more violent; recently, he'd even heard rumors of them killing several homeless people they'd found still out late at night, though that had been near one of the numerous projects downtown. After he'd heard about that, he'd started keeping a loaded handgun under his seat. But last night, he hadn't had the time to get it out. More discomforting to him than that though, was that it hadn't even crossed his mind to grab it before he had confronted the gang.

The Husam needed to be stopped, but no one had the power nor the will to do so. The vigilante gangs should have been squelched in their infancy before they had merged into a network, but no one had lifted a finger against them. The city's police organizations were intimidated and hamstrung (some even said out-manned) and usually looked the other way. After all, some argued that the Husam were keeping the neighborhoods safer than the police had been able to in recent years. Rumors sometimes circulated that even some of the police were Husam members, or at least Husam trainers. Deep, widespread corruption in the police force had become all too common over the last decade.

He thought about the young man again and replayed that part of the evening in his mind. Driving straight into the midst of the gang had scattered most of them, and the rest had been too shocked and scared to put up much of a fight after he'd hit two of them. Normally, they probably would have fought back, which was why he also kept an aluminum baseball-bat in the car (which he had managed to grab). The Husam would be more wary of cars next time, and he was sure that word of his counterattack would spread quickly through their network.

He had found their victim just in time, though he had been beaten to the point of losing consciousness. He had been somewhat irritated when he had thrown up in the car, but he felt more pity and compassion for him than annoyance. It was only a car, after all, and a clunker at that. The young man was likely still at the hospital, where he was hopefully in good hands. Perhaps he should pay him a visit in a day or so.

As he thought about what the Husam had done, he once again began to feel the same fears and rage as he had the night before. He set the notebook aside and then closed his eyes to pray until the dark feelings passed. Giving into his anger and depression never ended well, and he tried his best to not dwell on the current circumstances of the world and all the injustices he saw around him.

After a few moments, he opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He picked up the pen and continued writing in the notebook.

Sometimes each day was a struggle to maintain his sanity – and his sobriety. Day by day, he often told himself. Day by day. And sometimes, moment by moment.

Najeev Essam was visibly upset, which was unusual for him most mornings. Part of it came from having to fight his way through traffic, but most of it was from what he now had to deal with. Several in his cell had been beaten up the previous night – two had even been struck by a car!

He exited the freeway and began maneuvering along the surface streets in a southeasterly direction. Soon he arrived at his destination and parked the car behind the abandoned factory building.

He had received the call in the middle of the night, waking him soon after he had fallen asleep. That had also contributed to his sour mood. And for that inconvenience, he had ignored their pleas for him to immediately meet with them. He could have, of course, but he had chosen not too. For their mistakes and ineptitude, they would have to wait for him until late the next morning.

As he approached the rear entrance of the rundown factory, he quickly scanned the area to make sure it was safe. He knew it was deserted (except for his people), but one could never be too careful in his line of work. Once he reached the steel door, he knocked in the prescribed manner and it promptly opened for him.

"Where are they?" Najeev inquired of the large, burly man standing on the other side of the door.

"In the room next to the office, with the doctor," Ted replied, pointing towards the front of the building.

Najeev nodded without saying anything further, and then calmly strode to the room that the guard had indicated. When he walked into the room, he found two of his men lying on makeshift gurneys. The doctor noticed his entrance and gave him a worried look before stepping forward to meet him. He knew the doctor feared him; he would have it no other way.

"How are they?" he asked.

"These men – Rashan and Darrell – have been badly injured. They were struck by a car! I have stopped most of the bleeding and have them heavily sedated," the doctor said. He didn't give his name and Najeev didn't care to ask.

"What about the other two?" Najeev asked, without looking at him.

"Orlando and Jefferson were beaten with a baseball bat, but they have no broken bones, just deep bruises. They're resting in the room down the hall."

"Good. I will visit them next."

"What are you going to do with Rashan and Darrell? They need to be taken to a hospital as soon as possible. Their injuries are quite extensive and I have done all I can for them here. The morphine won't last forever."

"I'll have them taken to an emergency room as soon as I'm finished. Your services are no longer needed today," Najeev stated, and then walked away from the doctor without speaking another word.

The doctor almost uttered a protest to stay with them, but knew better and gathered his small bag of medical instruments and pharmaceuticals.

Najeev found the other two men – Orlando and Jefferson – speaking quietly, but they stopped as soon as he entered the room.

"What happened last night?" he asked. But from his tone, it was more of a demand of accountability than a polite question.

Jefferson shot a glance over at Orlando and took the initiative to speak first. He was the older (and stronger) of the two.

"We found this drunk kid outside a bar down in Emory Village just after Curfew, and we started in on him, just like you taught us. Then this car just flew out of nowhere and slammed into us. Orlando and me were lucky – we were standing on the other side of him and got out of the way just in time. But Darrell and Rashan – well, I guess you saw them, huh?"

Najeev nodded that he had. "Then what?"

"Well, then this guy jumps out of the car and starts wailing on us with a baseball bat like he was crazy or something! I swear he was old enough to be my grandpa, but he beat us good!" Orlando chimed in.

"Did you get a good look at him?" Najeev asked.

"No, but it was like Orlando said. He seemed to be on the older side. But he was quick!" Jefferson answered.

"So you four street toughs got beat up by one old man?" Najeev stated, raising his voice to match his irritation level. "I expect more out of you. You should have been more careful, with one of you being a lookout while the others enforced the Curfew."

The two men were silent; they had never seen him upset before.

"Are Darrell and Rashan going to be alright?" Orlando asked, in a rather sheepish tone.

"Yes, I'll make sure they're taken care of. Go home and spend the next few days resting and thinking about your mistakes. Report back here on Friday night. There will be no more surprises or mistakes – is that understood?"

The two young men quickly nodded their heads and then left the room. He stayed behind and listened carefully as the guard opened the backdoor for them.

Najeev sighed and then hardened his face. He hated losing men that he had spent valuable time and money training. But as their de-facto leader, he had to do whatever was necessary to protect his cell – as well as the other immediate cells in the network.

He walked back into the room where the other men were and pulled two small syringes from his pocket. Both contained a bright pink, clear liquid.

He went over to Rashan, placed his hand on his shoulder, bowed his head, and then uttered the Shahaadah over him. A moment later, he uncapped the syringe and injected the liquid into Rashan's neck without hesitation nor regret. And then he repeated the same procedure on Darrell.

He left the room without bothering to check their breathing or pulse; they would be dead before he left the building. The guard at the back near the door stood up as he approached.

"Take Darrell and Rashan to the southwest side of the city. Make it look gang-related – like last time," Najeev ordered the guard, who immediately nodded and then opened the door for him.

Najeev strode out into the late-morning sunshine and put his sunglasses on. His mood was starting to improve now. He always felt better after an ugly mess was cleaned up.

John heard a knock on the doorframe and he looked up with a smile. He'd been half-expecting his mother, but so far the nurses had been his only visitors. Besides, his mother lived on the other side of the country and they didn't speak very regularly (if he could help it). In fact, he was doubtful she even knew he was in the hospital. He wondered if she was still listed as his 'next of kin' in the government databases.

But this visitor was someone other than a nurse. He was a middle-aged man with graying hair and a medium build, and more-or-less average-looking. The man wore a white doctor's coat and was dressed in dark slacks. But he had a nice smile and a pleasant demeanor about him, which was more than he could say for most of the other doctors he'd encountered there. The visitor entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"Good morning. How are you feeling today?" the doctor asked, as he walked up to the front of the bed and began reviewing John's chart.

"Okay – I'm still sore, but my head doesn't hurt as much," John replied.

"Excellent. No roommates yet?" Usually in the larger hospitals like this, very few beds were empty. And sometimes there was only room to sit.

"Nope, it's just been me so far. It would be nice to have some company, but at least I have the TV all to myself."

"That's something, I suppose," the doctor quipped.

He placed the clipboard on the end of the bed, and then gently began feeling John's ribs, who promptly grimaced and winced several times. Then he checked his head and pupils and several of the larger bruises and marks on his body.

"You're a lucky young man," he said, retrieving the chart. "Your swelling has decreased significantly, and you no longer have a concussion."

"Great – when can I get out of here?"

"Probably in a day or two, depending on how you feel and how your balance is."

The doctor clipped the chart back onto the bed and then pulled up a chair to sit down, evidently wanting to talk with him further. His normal doctor had barely said two words to him before. John didn't really feel like talking to a physician, but at least he seemed friendly enough.

"Do you remember anything about what happened the other night?" he asked. His tone seemed softer now, and slightly more personal.

"Not really – just bits and pieces, mostly. Which parts do you want to hear?"

"Start from the beginning. Your chart says you were in a hit-and-run, is that right?"

John nodded and looked towards the closed door.

"Do we have doctor-patient privileges in here?" he asked.

"Of course. Why?"

"Because I don't think it was a hit-and-run. I think I was attacked by a gang or something. Maybe the Husam," John admitted quietly.

"The Husam? Are you certain?" the doctor said with a questioning look.

John nodded and gently touched his forehead, where there was still a large, oddly-shaped bruise.

"Why do you think it was them?"

"Because they were chanting something that sounded Arabic or something. I know it wasn't English or Spanish." The doctor motioned for him to continue. "I remember falling asleep at the bar and then the next thing I know, I'm lying on the sidewalk and surrounded by these guys dressed in all-black and one of them kicked me in the back. Then they all joined in and I couldn't get away."

"What happened next? How did you escape?"

"I have no idea," John replied. "But right before I started to pass out, there were these headlights, some more shouting, and then the gang ran away. Then the next thing I know, I'm sitting in this guy's car and he's driving really fast. I think I threw up too, but I can't remember. Then I woke up in here."

The doctor smiled, which suddenly seemed to be quite odd, given the nature of their conversation. John had expected to see a furrowed brow or at least a look of disbelief, but not a smile.

"Have you told anyone else about this?" the doctor asked.

John shook his head. "No. People are too afraid of them. I never really was, until the other night. Besides, I don't think anyone would believe me."

"Well, you're lucky that Good Samaritan found you when he did, huh?"

John nodded and thought for a moment, and then spoke up again. "Can I ask you something, doctor?"

"Sure."

"Did anyone get the man's name – you know, the one who helped me and brought me here? I know they would've killed me if it wasn't for him. I asked the nurses but they couldn't help me."

"Do you know what he looked like?"

"No, not really."

The doctor nodded and leaned forward. "Can you keep a secret?" John promptly nodded that he could. "It was me – and to be honest, I'm not really a doctor."

"You're joking!" John exclaimed, sitting up in the bed. Unfortunately, he sat up too fast and it made him wince. He stared at the man sitting next to him, feeling both shock and gratitude simultaneously.

"Nope. My name's William, and you did throw up in my car," he said, but he still had a big smile on his face. He put out his hand and John shook it in stunned amazement, still surprised at the revelation.

"Why did you help me? I mean, thanks and everything, but why did you risk your life for me? Especially with that gang! One against four or five isn't very good odds, believe me."

William shrugged his shoulders. "It's what I do – I try to get people out of their way when I can. You were fortunate that I saw them when I did. These days, when you see a group of men in dark clothes late at night, you can be certain they're up to no good."

"You can say that again!" John replied with a smirk. "So – was it the Husam that did this to me?"

"Yeah, if it wasn't them, then they were copy-cats or something." William paused and checked the door. It was still closed.

"John, make sure you don't mention to anyone that it was the Husam who may have done this to you, or they may try to finish the job. I would just keep quiet and tell everyone it was a hit-and-run. That's the story I came up with, and it's best to stick with it."

William took out a business card and handed it to him. "Here – my phone number is on the back. Give me a call when you're released. I've been documenting what the Husam have been doing so maybe someday they can be stopped." He checked the clock on the wall and frowned. "I need to go."

"Okay. Hey, thanks again for helping me. I'll call you in a few days or something," John said.

William nodded. "Be careful – and don't tell anyone I was here," he said, giving him a serious look.

John promised he wouldn't, and then William left the room in a hurry.

After he was alone again, John picked up the business card and stared at it. He didn't know what he was getting involved in, but he felt good about the stranger he had just met. Since he'd been in the hospital, he had been doing a great deal of thinking.

As he looked at the card, he decided to help William as soon as he was well enough. After all, if it hadn't been for him – well, it was the least he could do.

In fact, John thought, he almost owed him his life. And if that meant taking a few risks to go after the Husam, then it would be worth it.

William looked out over the huge Coliseum and gulped in fear and confusion. Where was he? How had he gotten there?

He glanced down and saw that his hands were chained tightly together and a huge, smelly guard held the other end of the chain. A thick wrought-iron gate opened in front of him and the crowd outside roared with anticipation.

The guard snarled something to William that he couldn't understand and then roughly pulled him forward. He complied and was led out into the dazzling sunlight of the arena. There was a slight breeze that kicked up dust from the arena grounds outside. The crowd booed and hurled epithets at him, and he felt a cold, terrible fear run through his entire body. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

The guard walked him out to the center of the stadium and threatened him (he assumed) before he unlocked the chains from his wrists. They fell away and the guard left them lying at his feet. William swallowed hard again and rubbed his sore wrists, which were already red and blistered from the rough metal. How long he'd been in the shackles, he had no idea.

The Coliseum appeared to be completely full, and the spectators began stomping with their feet and shouting loudly. The noise rose to a clamor until it sounded like thunder all around him, further amplified by the enclosed arena.

Suddenly, the tumult changed to an even greater roar as a number of other gates along the walls parted to reveal several tall, black-clad masked men, astride terrible wild beasts. Four were riding on blood-red lions, another was on a pale brown horse, another was on a black horse, and still others were on tigers and even bulls. All the riders were arrayed in thick black armor and carried an assortment of deadly, barbaric weapons such as maces, spiked clubs, ball-and-chains, and several others he had never seen before.

The Riders came out slowly towards him at first and then their pace quickened until they were running. William trembled and looked around for a weapon or anything with which he could defend himself, but all that was available were the chains at his feet.

As he bent down to pick them up, a gentle voice spoke directly into his mind and told him to leave them there, and to kneel instead. At that moment, he realized Who was speaking to him.

He hesitated for a moment, and the Voice spoke to him again and said, "Be faithful unto death, and great shall be your reward." He looked up at the squad of gladiators rushing towards him one last time and then obediently dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

As he closed his eyes, William thought of all those who had gone before him in this very same manner and squeezed his eyes shut, praying for strength and courage.

The thunder of the approaching hoofs and the roar of the beasts was now nearly as loud as the shouting crowds. They were almost upon him and he could hear the stirrups and chains rattling against their mounts. It wouldn't be long now, and he closed his eyes as tight as he could and prayed even more fervently.

He heard the horrible screams of their war-cries and felt the rush of air against his face as a weapon swept towards his head. He knew he would be dead in a split-second. But instead of the deafening sound of the death-blow, he heard the soft chime of a familiar clock.

William opened his eyes with a gasp and sat up quite startled and out of breath, only to find himself in his apartment. He was lying on the sofa with an open book on his lap. It had only been a dream, but it was more vivid and frightening than any he'd had in a long time. He was sweating and breathing hard, and it took him a few minutes to calm down.

Once he had regained his breath, he picked up the book and stared at it for a long moment. It was one of his favorites – "The Light and the Glory" – one of the few personal treasures he owned. This one was heavily scribbled in, as were many of his books. It was a habit he had picked up from his grandfather long ago. At times, he felt as if he were having a personal conversation with the writer, not to mention that making his own notes in the book helped him remember important passages.

He looked over to the wall clock and checked the time; it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. He chided himself for falling asleep with the lights on again. He would have to begin the broadcast soon, and that often required a good share of the battery-bank's power. It wasn't just the recording action itself that drained the power, but the processing time.

He got up from the couch and went back to his bedroom to put the book away. The particular book he had been reading was no longer in print and copies were very difficult to buy. He could have it replaced if he tried hard enough, but the risks to purchase illegal books had become too great recently, and secure bandwidth on the Internet was too precious to be spent on mere shopping. In addition to power usage, secure bandwidth use was also monitored, though not as precisely. How the FCC did that, he had no idea.

As he put the book back in its place on the shelf, one of the pictures caught his eye, and he stopped to gaze at it. The photo was of his wife (or rather, ex-wife) and his daughter. He remembered taking that picture years before in the southern Appalachians. As he looked at it, he could almost hear the rushing river and smell the fragrant pines in the background. He closed his eyes, dwelling on the scene and the moment when he had taken the photograph.

Sadness rose within him and along with it, the crushing melancholy that made him thirsty. But he kept no alcohol of any sort in his apartment; he knew he would never be strong enough to have any around. His hands began to tremble, and he balled them into tight fists to stop the shaking. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength and grace, and the moment slowly passed. When he finally opened his eyes, he immediately looked away from the picture and left the room.

He unlocked the studio door and powered up the computer and the other studio equipment. While he waited, he pushed the stacked boxes of contraband from his last shipment against the back wall of the room and draped a thick sound-absorbing cover over them. After he logged into the computer and gathered his notes, he sat down and made sure he was comfortable. He pulled the desk-microphone towards him, configured the recording application, and began recording the broadcast. Nearly an hour later, he finished his recording and took a break.

He had been broadcasting over the Internet for nearly three years now, and had yet to be caught by the FCC (at least as far as he knew). He had been in talk-radio long before that, until it had been shutdown over ten years ago. He looked over the notes he had scribbled while recording and made a few corrections to the audio segments. Next he spliced in the promos and commercials, and then spot-checked the finished track.

William took another short break and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took it back to the studio and setup the secure Internet connection, checked that his IP address was properly masked, and then began uploading the broadcast. Secure uploads took significantly longer than normal ones and while he waited, he updated his blog and specified the link to the new broadcast. Usually, the upload only took a half-hour, but the ISP's filters and blocking mechanisms (all required by the FCC) were becoming more difficult to bypass. He would need to upgrade his security software soon.

Forty minutes later it was finished, and then he ran the scripts that began distributing it to hundreds of other websites and RSS feeds, along with the AM-radio broadcasting service he used. He had no idea how much longer he could keep broadcasting, but he'd continue as long as he could get away with it.

A short time later, he checked several sites to make sure the links were working correctly, and then locked up the studio and headed off to bed.

Janet Price sighed and looked over the form. Sometimes she genuinely despised her job, but rules were rules. She had only eleven years left before retirement. And then she would be free.

Most politely referred to her position at the hospital as a 'gatekeeper', but she felt just as trapped as the poor patients in the waiting room. At least it wasn't flu season yet, and today only a few were forced to stand. Most of those waiting appeared to have minor colds or other slight ailments, like the case she was dealing with now. Forty-seven minutes until her next break.

She pushed the form back across the counter and looked up at the irritated woman standing before her.

"I'm very sorry, Ms. Perry, but we cannot admit your father at this time," she said with a forced look of regret, in the hopes it would diffuse the reaction she knew would be coming next. She experienced it countless times every day.

"What do you mean you can't admit him? Just look at him!" the woman said, raising her voice as she pointed to the elderly man slumped in the wheelchair next to her. "He sleeps all the time now and barely has enough energy to leave his chair. His heart medication obviously isn't working, and he needs to be put on oxygen. If he could see a doctor –"

"Again, I'm sorry, but unless it's an emergency, we simply do not have the available medical resources for him at this time. Maybe you can try one of the other hospitals in the area," she suggested.

"I have! This is the third hospital I've been to today, and I've gotten the same response each time!" Sandra Perry exclaimed. She took a deep breath and looked down the long counter. There were at least a dozen other clerks working today, but the waiting room was still quite full. "Is there anyone else who can help me?"

"I'm afraid not. Perhaps one of the private clinics can see him."

Sandra shook her head. "Who can afford them? And their waits are even longer than yours! What am I supposed to do with my father – wait until he has a heart attack? Will you admit him then?"

Janet paused for a moment, knowing how this customer would react, but by now she had to say it. She almost gritted her teeth as she began the rehearsed line.

"We have a number of excellent EOL counselors, if you would like to request one."

"He doesn't need an end-of-life counselor! I want my father treated!"

Janet sighed again. In her mind, the conversation had ended. In fact, it had ended five minutes ago.

"I'm sorry. Now if you don't mind, there are other patients waiting," she said firmly, nudging the form forward once again.

Sandra snatched the paper off the counter and waved it in her face.

"How do you people sleep at night?"

Janet glared back at her and checked the number-display on her screen, and then called out, "Number 287."

When Sandra saw that would be the clerk's only response, she shook her head and spun around, still clutching the form. "C'mon Dad, let's take you home," Sandra muttered loudly as she wheeled him around back towards the exit doors. "We'll try again next week. Maybe we'll get someone with an ounce of compassion!"

Janet glanced up as the woman and her father passed the security guard and went out through the doors, and a stray thought crossed her mind. How did she sleep at night? Why, usually with sleeping pills, of course!

William watched the woman storm out of the waiting room area, pushing an old man in the wheelchair a little too fast for his own safety. He wheeled his cart out of their way as they approached. She appeared to be quite upset.

"Excuse me, is everything alright?" he offered as she was about to pass by.

She stopped and turned to him, just as he figured she would. He smiled kindly at her and leaned slightly against the floor broom.

"No, but I don't know what you could do about it," she replied. "I'm sorry, I'm just really frustrated."

"That's okay – you might be surprised," he said. "What's wrong with him?"

She sighed tiredly, but continued anyway. "His heart medication isn't working for him anymore. He can barely get out of bed without help now. And these gatekeepers won't let him through until he gets worse, which means not until he's about dead!"

William looked down the hall and motioned for her to follow him to a smaller hallway off to the side. When they were away from the main corridor, he pulled out a business card and quickly jotted down something on the back of it.

"My name is William and here's my contact information," he said, handing it to her. "The number on the back is to a friend of mine who can get you the necessary paperwork to bypass the gatekeepers. He does good work, but I'm afraid he's not cheap."

"Thanks, but we don't have much money, which is why we had to come here in the first place," she replied. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"I understand. Listen, if he gets worse or you have an emergency, give me a call and I'll see what I can do."

"Alright. Are you a doctor?"

"Nope, just a janitor today," he said with a grin. "Remember, give me a call if you need help – anytime, day or night."

He nodded goodbye to her and returned to pushing his broom down the hall.

It had been four days since John had first awoke in the hospital, and he was extremely bored and anxious to be released. The day before, he had asked nearly every nurse who had come into his room when he could leave, but none of them had given him a definitive answer. At least he wasn't footing the bill, he thought with some chagrin.

Fortunately, his doctor briefly stopped by once or twice a day to check up on him, and he just had to wait until his daily visit. According to the nurses, his doctor supposedly did rounds on this floor mid-mornings. Late in the afternoon, the doctor finally came into the room and gave John the good news.

"Well, it appears that you've recovered enough to be released. How are you feeling today?" the doctor asked, without even bothering to look up from the chart. From his lack of attention, it was apparent that he had asked the question more out of routine than from any real concern.

"Pretty well, my ribs and back aren't quite as sore now. My legs still feel weak, but better than yesterday. When exactly can I get out of here?"

"Whenever you're ready, I suppose. I've signed your release forms here. Just take them up to the front desk after you've changed out of your hospital gown." He held up the forms for John to see, and then put them down next to the chart.

"Thanks, I was starting to go stir-crazy in here," John said.

The doctor gave him a slight nod and quickly left the room. A few minutes later, one of the nurses who had regularly tended him stopped by and delivered his clothes and other belongings he had arrived with. He knew her name by now: Natalie.

"Well, it looks like I get to go home today," he said. "I'm going to miss you and Jill – thanks for taking care of me."

Natalie smiled and replied, "You were one of the nicer patients we've had lately. That, and you didn't throw anything at us, like unemptied bedpans."

He started to laugh, but quickly stopped. His ribs were still sore, and it hurt to laugh too much. She helped him out of the bed and over to the bathroom, and then set out his clothes on the bed.

She left the room and returned a few minutes later, surprised to find John fully dressed and attempting to put on his shoes. When he nearly toppled over, she steadied him and then helped him finish tying his shoes. He thanked her again and slowly stood up. His balance was still a little shaky at times.

He gathered his wallet, keys, and phone, and then left the room. He signed out at the front desk and several minutes later, finally left the hospital. Though his stay hadn't been as bad as some he'd heard about, he hoped he wouldn't have to set foot in a hospital again any time soon.

John unlocked the front door to the apartment and went inside. Justin, his roommate, was sitting on the living room couch watching a football game. As soon as he saw him, he muted the game and stood up.

"John! Where have you been?" he exclaimed.

"Hey Justin – I've been at the hospital since Saturday. Didn't they call you?"

"No, not at all. Those morons – what happened?"

"I was crossing the street and got hit by a car," John lied. "Someone saw me and took me to the hospital."

"Why didn't they just call an ambulance?" Justin asked.

John shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe they thought there wasn't enough time," he replied.

"Wow – a bona-fide Good Samaritan! I haven't heard about any of those in a while."

"What's a Good Samaritan? Somebody at the hospital made the same comment."

"You don't know? Seriously? In church, there was a story about a man who was beaten up and left on the side of the road. A couple of priests saw him but didn't help him. Then a Samaritan (who Jews didn't associate with) passed by and helped him. Jeez, didn't you go to Sunday school when you were little?"

John shook his head. "Did Chelsea call or anything?"

"No, why?"

"Well, she broke up with me on Saturday night. That was how it all started – I went to a bar and started drinking. The next thing I know, I get hit by a car and I'm waking up in the hospital."

Justin shook his head in disbelief. "Man, you've had a tough couple of days. I thought you and Chelsea had just taken a spur-of-the-moment road trip. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I wish. I had a concussion and some bruised ribs, along with a bunch of other scrapes and bruises. I'm feeling a lot better though, but I'm still on some painkillers and strong meds."

"Cool. Do you want to go out somewhere and watch the rest of the game?" Justin offered.

"Thanks, but I think I need to pass tonight. The drugs are kicking in again and I need to lay down and get some rest," John replied.

"No problem. Hey, I'm glad you're okay – let me know if you need help or anything."

John nodded and went back to his room and slowly eased himself down on his bed. He was still somewhat sad about Chelsea and the breakup, but he didn't want to dwell on it. At least not too much. He had too many other things to think about, such as catching up in his classes and recovering.

Now that he was finally back home, he just wanted his life to return to normal.

Governor Davidson was deep in prayer when he heard the attention-chime from the phone's intercom. He stood up from the floor, brushed off his slacks, and sat down in his chair.

"Yes?" he said, answering his assistant.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Governor, but you said to remind you ten minutes before the meeting."

"Thank you, I'm making final preparations now," he replied. He heard the intercom click off and he opened the dossier on his desk. He closed his eyes for another moment, saying a final closing in his prayer. When he finished, he returned to reading the file.

The name and picture in the document was of Artur Sidorov, the Russian ambassador he would soon be speaking with via a secure video conference. He wondered how many people on the Russian side knew of the meeting today. Certainly the prime minister and the president, he assumed. Hopefully, they had tight lips.

He turned the page and reviewed the ambassador's detailed background one more time. Sidorov was just three years younger than himself, but he had lived through much more turbulent times in Russia than were currently in the United States. Ironically, the United States seemed about ready to go through the same era that Russia had only one generation ago: hyperinflation of the currency and then a complete economic collapse. But the Russians had recovered, more or less.

There was so much yet to consider, such as creating and establishing Alaska's currency, raising revenue, their defense, and their infrastructure. Fortunately, most Alaskans were quite self-sufficient and armed, as most Americans had been until well into the last century. It would truly be a miracle if everything could be kept quiet over the next few months. So far there had been no hint that Washington knew what they were planning.

And given the mere topic of the conversation he was about to have with the ambassador of Alaska's closest neighbor (aside from Canada), it could be considered as treason against the United States of America – his own country. The purpose of this meeting was to secure a defense pact with the Russians, something he still couldn't believe he was doing. But Alaskans had no other choice if they intended to be free.

Yet in his mind, he was no traitor – he was a patriot. He hated the thought of his state leaving the nation that had once been the greatest in the world. But in one generation, his own generation, the federal government had abandoned its constitutional boundaries and had fully embraced the soft tyranny of socialism on every level.

There was still time to turn back, he supposed, but that would leave the state of Alaska irreparably fractured. The Presidential Election was only six weeks away and after the recent bombings, the election results now seemed all but certain. He feared his state couldn't survive the Washington bureaucracies and increased taxation for another four years.

How would history regard him? He supposed that depended entirely upon Alaska's success in breaking away from the Union. Whether he would be seen as a 'Jefferson Davis' or a 'George Washington', only God knew. And he knew full well that the victors in any national conflict wrote the history books.

In Alaska, the line between traitor and patriot was quickly becoming harder and harder to distinguish.

Chapter 3 - Patrols

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed..." – The Declaration of Independence

"Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people." – Proverbs 14:34

William parked the car along the curb and checked his surroundings before he got out. The neighborhood was well-lit and better than most, and he was certain that he hadn't been followed.

He stepped out and took the topmost package from the large box on the passenger's seat and looked it over. He slipped it under his jacket and then went up to one of the houses nearby and rang the doorbell. A moment later, an older woman answered it and he was promptly welcomed inside.

"Hello Myrtle, I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it out here yesterday. How are you feeling?" he asked, handing her the small package. He took off his coat and set it on a chair.

"Oh that's alright. I've been better, you know, but this is the best I've felt since last summer. Thank you for going to all the trouble of getting this for me," she replied. She retrieved her purse from the kitchen table and took out an envelope and handed it to him. "Would you like some coffee or tea after my checkup?"

"Thank you, but I'd better pass this evening. I have several other deliveries to make tonight."

Myrtle opened the package and removed the contents. There were several plain-white pill bottles along with an instruction sheet. The labels of the bottles were written completely in Spanish, except for the obligatory 'Made in Mexico' phrase stamped across the bottom.

"Bless them, they even got the dosage right this time," she said, quite relieved. "Thank Heaven I don't have to take those shots any more – you know how I don't like needles."

"I know, but at least they helped get rid of your tumor. How's the rest of your health been?"

"Very good. I've been feeling much better this past week or so."

He motioned for her to roll up her sleeve and quietly took her pulse and then checked her abdomen. The lump had indeed cleared up with the last round of injections, just as he had hoped it would.

"Well, it looks like they did the trick. Don't forget to take those pills every day until they're finished," he instructed as he put his jacket back on. "We'll reduce the dosage to a maintenance level next month."

"I will. Thank you again, William. It's a shame you have to sneak around like this, just to get medicine for us old folks. I still don't know why everything's so illegal nowadays."

"It's okay – we all have our part to play," he said with a big smile.

"You be careful now," she said, extending her arms to thank him again.

He gave her a quick hug and then headed out to make the rest of his stops.

Professor Jacob Burkhart scratched his scruffy chin as the last of his class took their seats. This lecture hall had more students than most of his other courses, but that was to be expected for American History 201. His course was more popular than others, mostly because it was required by more majors, especially the pre-law curriculum.

He strode to the podium and flipped on the small microphone attached to his lapel. He cleared his throat on purpose to begin the class. The handful of talkers ended their discussions and turned their attention to him (more or less). Nearly everyone had laptops and tablets, and he often called on those he noticed weren't paying attention. He loved all history in general, but early American history had always held a special place in his heart.

"Good morning, class. Today we begin our rather cursory study of the Federalist Papers," he said, and then paused until the handful of audible groans subsided. He smiled and waved their mild protests away. The Federalist Papers were one of his own personal contributions to the course. He knew they weren't very popular, but he didn't care. If one wanted to learn the context of the U.S. Constitution, they had to read the Federalist Papers.

"Who can tell me what the Federalist Papers are?" he asked, glancing over the elevated rows of seats and tables.

One of the young women in the front raised her hand and replied. "The Federalist Papers were a series of articles published in several of the New York newspapers by leaders in the Federalist movement, to raise public support for the Constitution."

"Very good. And who wrote most of these articles? Someone else, please," he said, scanning the middle section of the hall. He despised giving the teacher's pets near the front too much fame and 'airtime'.

An older student near the middle-right spoke up. "James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and John Adams were the primary authors."

"Close – two out of three. John Jay, not John Adams, was the third writer. Though Adams supported many of the papers, he was not intimately involved in their writing."

He looked to the upper-left part of the room. "And by what name did these three authors (and perhaps one or two others) sign these articles as?"

"Publius," another young man replied.

He nodded and continued his discourse. "Yes, 'Publius', which means 'friend of the people'. We will be spending the next few weeks reviewing several of the more-relevant Papers and compare/contrast them to the interpretations and laws that we have today in the 21st Century. These papers touch on the First Amendment, the Second Amendment, and the Fourth Amendment, as well as an analysis of the Founders' thoughts on the powers granted and/or denied to the Executive, Legislative, and Judicial branches of the federal government."

He paused and glanced down at his notes. "In addition, we will peruse the anti-Federalist movement led by Thomases Paine and Jefferson, and how these two opposing views of the government and their opinions on the Constitution led to the exclusive two-party system we have in the United States today."

"Now, in the summer of 1787, the Constitution of the United States of America was written..." he began, and then Jacob continued lecturing nearly nonstop for the next forty-five minutes. He did his best to make the subject interesting, often adding flavorful (though minor) details to the various characters involved in the nation's founding. He would've liked to require that all laptops be closed while he spoke, but that wasn't allowed by the university. Besides, he understood how useful they could be for taking notes and instantly looking up information. However, if he had to go to the trouble of speaking, his students could at least give him their undivided attention.

"Thank you, class. Before our next session, please review Federalist Papers 1 through 10. And bring your comments and notes concerning them as well for our next discussion," he said, wrapping up the lecture.

As the students rose and filed out of the auditorium, one young man remained behind and then came forward as Jacob gathered his lecture notes. As he slowly approached, Jacob could tell he had been injured recently.

"May I help you?" the professor asked.

"Yes, my name is John Carver. I was out most of last week and missed the test. How can I make it up?"

"Were you hospitalized? I heard some chatter around campus about someone being in a bad accident last week."

"Yeah, I was in a hit-and-run last Saturday night," John said.

"Oh, my!" he exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

John nodded and rubbed his side. "I'm still sore, but I'm feeling a lot better."

"That's good to hear – go ahead and meet with my admin and set up a time later this week to take it."

"Do I need a doctor's note or anything?" he asked.

"No, that's not necessary. You look like you've been through enough," Jacob replied.

John thanked him and left the auditorium.

Poor kid, Jacob thought to himself. He had been hearing of more hit-and-runs in the area lately. Curious...

And now that his class was over, he would have just enough time to sneak in a quick cigar before his next lecture.

John sighed and approached the History Department administrator's desk. The large, middle-aged woman behind it glanced at him over her silver-rimmed glasses.

"Hi, my name is John Carver and I'm in Professor Burkhart's American History 201 class," he said. "I need to take the makeup exam for last week."

"Yes, I have it here," she replied as she reached down and retrieved the three-page test.

She directed him to one of the small empty meeting rooms at the side and made sure he hadn't brought in any other books or materials with him. The wall between the room and the hallway was thick-paned glass, and he sat down facing the hallway.

He had crammed the last two days for the test, which covered the time period from Cornwallis's surrender at Yorktown up to the Constitutional Convention. What a chaotic time that had been: staggering inflation, domestic unrest, and even threats of war between several states.

There weren't as many dates and events to remember as in the Revolutionary War exam, but there were plenty for him. He had never been very interested in history, but at least this professor made it somewhat palpable.

He began the exam and took his time. He needed a decent grade on this one, especially since he had flubbed the previous test. His GPA was hovering at just under a 3.0, and he wanted to bring it up to 3.25 by the end of the semester. He hoped that would give him more breathing room for the next term, since he usually tended to slack off after Spring Break.

Nearly an hour later, John finished checking his answers and went back to the admin's desk to hand in the test. She gave him a slightly-irritated look and told him it would be graded by the next class lecture.

As he left the building and strode across the Quad, he checked his phone messages – still nothing from Chelsea. He had been checking his messages a lot lately; too much, to be certain. Though he was tempted to call her, he held back and didn't. But he did check his phone's contact list, only to find her name and number no longer there. And then he remembered that he had deleted it the night of the break-up when he'd been at the bar. He probably could remember her number if he tried hard enough, but he put the notion out of his mind.

What he really needed (he had decided earlier that day) was a change in his routine, something to take his mind off his ex-girlfriend and what had happened. He had been thinking of calling William – he still had his business card after all – but he hadn't gotten around to it yet. Maybe that would help: getting to know someone outside his immediate circle of friends and classmates.

Most of his friends were from his college classes or from those his roommate knew. Most of their free time involved watching sports games and drinking cheap beer, but that was becoming monotonous. Ever since the 'accident', he didn't feel quite as happy-go-lucky as he used to.

But he had been thinking more about William lately and the risks he had taken to help him that night. Perhaps he really was some sort of Good Samaritan. He could see someone taking a chance once, but from their conversation in the hospital, it seemed like that was something he did on a regular basis. Why would he risk his own life and freedom to help others like that? Usually most people just left that sort of thing up to the police. There was just something different about him.

When he arrived back at his apartment, he discovered that Justin wasn't home – he was probably in class or something. He found William's business card in his bedroom and entered his name and number into his phone. Though he wanted to call him, he had no idea what to say. He slipped the card into his book-bag so his roommate wouldn't ask any questions. He knew Justin could be nosy at times, but he hadn't run into any trouble with him so far.

John went back out to the kitchen and cracked open a cold beer and sat down in the living room. They always had lots of beer around, like most typical college apartments. The sofa was old and cheap, but it was better than folding chairs or nothing at all. The plasma TV and most of the furniture was Justin's, and sometimes he felt awkward using his roommates 'stuff'. But they got along great and he was never late with his share of the rent and the other bills.

He sat and thought more about that terrible night and finally gathered the motivation to call William after his beer was finished. There wasn't much on TV anyway, and he didn't feel like going out again until he'd healed more. Besides, he felt like he owed it to him to at least express his gratitude again in person. If it hadn't been for him, he might still be in the hospital – or worse.

He called William's phone but it went directly to his voice-mail. He waited for the greeting to end and then left a short message to introduce himself and leave his number.

John slumped back in the sofa and fell asleep. When he woke up, he was surprised to find that William had returned his message telling him when and where they could meet.

John walked into the Common Grounds coffee shop and quickly scanned the faces. He didn't see the person he was looking for until he glanced back at the furthest corner from the door.

William caught his gaze and gave him a slight wave. He nodded and then strode to the counter and ordered a latte. A few minutes later, he went back to the corner and sat down across from William.

"Hi – you haven't been waiting long, have you?" John asked as he carefully sipped from his steaming cup.

"Nah, just five minutes or so – I'm perpetually early it seems," William replied with a grin. He was wearing an older type of baseball hat and a faded, worn leather jacket. Both had apparently seen better days.

"It was nice to get your call yesterday – I wasn't really expecting it. How are you feeling?"

"Much better than the last time you saw me. There's still some soreness in my sides, but most of the bruises aren't as bad. Have you been out on any more of your 'patrols'?" John asked. He noticed that William glanced at the door and the other patrons frequently. He appeared to be very watchful.

William chuckled, "I don't know if you could call them 'patrols', since I don't arrest anyone." He took another drink before he answered. "I've done a few here and there, but not near the University right now. Someone else is covering that area for the next few weeks."

"Oh, so it's not just you then?" John asked, taking another sip as well.

"No, definitely not. But I live nearby, and this is one of my favorite areas of the city."

"How many others are there that do what you do?"

William's eyes narrowed slightly and he spoke softer. "There's only a few I know of by name in this part of the city. But there's a number of others who keep an eye on MARTA stations and stops and the other mass-transit hubs. Sometimes malls, parking garages, and under bridges, too."

John nodded, picturing dozens of 'Williams' driving around every night, keeping an eye on the streets.

"Why did you start doing your 'patrols' anyway? I mean, isn't it dangerous?"

"Yes, I suppose it can be at times. But I saw a need and decided to fill it, rather than do nothing and just worry or complain about it. Sometimes you have to do stuff so that others don't have to. After all, if I don't, who will?"

"Isn't that the job of the police? I mean, that's why we have them: to keep us safe, right?" John asked.

William glanced around for a moment, apparently concerned about their conversation being overheard by the wrong people.

"The city's police department isn't exactly what it used to be. And with the years of budget cuts, they don't have the manpower to keep us safe. Nor the will to, it seems at times. And all the paperwork and regulations have done more to tie their hands than anything else. If you're a cop and you fire your gun – well, God help you. Do you always ask so many questions?" he replied with a smile.

John grinned. "I'm sorry – I'm just curious. I've never heard of anyone doing what you do. Another question: do you consider yourself something of a vigilante?"

"No, not at all. Vigilantes act outside the law and often without a specific code or set of rules. They tend not to be very organized and have few definite targets. They try to enforce the law as they see it, or they make them up as they go along. What I do is simply remove the potential victims before the Husam – or street vigilante groups, if you prefer – get to them.

"Is that where they got their start?"

"The Husam? Well, some of them, I suppose. No one I've talked to seems to know for sure. Power (like nature) abhors a vacuum, and as the police grew weaker and the gangs grew stronger, other groups stepped in to protect themselves and their neighborhoods. At first, the Husam helped put down most of the other gangs. That's one of the reasons why the police don't do anything much about them. But now the Husam have grown out of control and are stronger than some of the police units. Keep in mind that it's always easier to operate outside the bounds of the law than inside – no rules, no oversight."

John thought for a moment. "I guess you're right. Do you think that someday they'll be stopped?"

"Maybe – if the mayor and bureaucrats downtown allow the police to actually do their jobs. But I don't see that happening any time soon. Once laws and policies are put into place, it's very difficult (if not downright impossible) to change them, much less do away with them."

"That night – when that gang was kicking my butt all over the sidewalk – I heard them chanting. It sounded like Arabic or something. I know it wasn't English or Spanish."

"It's likely they were saying 'Allahu Akbar': 'God is great', or literally, 'Allah is the Greater/Greatest'. It's a typical Islamic battle-cry – their way of further terrorizing or putting more fear into their victims. At least beheadings aren't nearly as common as in Great Britain, at least not yet. There have been several hundred of them over the last few years, but their media does a great job of keeping them quiet."

"Beheadings? You must be joking! How can they get away with that?" John protested.

At his exclamation, William gave him a hard look and glanced around again before he responded.

"Well, the simple answer is that there's no one strong enough to stop them. Keep in mind that this nation is shifting into another worldview, or rather, it's stuck between several worldviews. Until the people in this country make up their minds and decisively pick one, or until it completely Balkanizes, the group with the most power wins. And at this point, none of them are really dominant as before."

"I don't understand – what do you mean by 'worldviews'. Which ones are we 'stuck in between'?"

William paused for another moment to gather and order his thoughts.

"First off, a worldview is the way a person, group, or nation sees and interprets the world around them. America used to have a Judeo-Christian worldview, which then began shifting over to liberalism/secularism during the previous century. But now many metropolitan areas are shifting over to partially Islamic and partially chaos/radical individualism. When much of the country still had a Judeo-Christian or even secular worldview, there was unrest but more or less civil order and peace. But with radical Islam and chaos, no such peace exists because in both of those worldviews, whoever has the most power rules and maintains order, rather than individual citizens themselves. Self-government and the rule-of-law have no place in either radical individualism or Islam as it's practiced today."

"How do you know so much about this stuff? Are you a history teacher or something?"

William laughed at his question and shook his head.

"No, I'm definitely not a teacher. But I read and listen a lot about what's going on in the country, mostly outside the scope of the mainstream media. And I'm much older than you are. I lived through the transition from the Judeo-Christian to the secular worldview when I was your age. Then during the early part of the Great Recession, the shift we're going through now began. When unemployment among the black communities skyrocketed, their Islamization dramatically increased."

He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee. "What about you? Are you a student at Emory?" he asked.

"Yeah – how'd you know?" John replied with a grin.

The older man laughed. "You rich kids all look the same," he said with a smirk. "From your clothes, mannerisms, and location the other night, I just made some good assumptions."

John shook his head and gave a short laugh. "I'm not that rich, compared to some of the others on campus."

"What are you studying? Pre-med or pre-law?"

"Neither – I'm a Journalism major," John answered.

"Ah, a future columnist, then?"

"Maybe. I don't really know yet at this point. I like to write though, and I'm decent at it, I suppose."

"You'll find something – just don't offend too many people, or at least not the wrong ones," William advised, but his look said he was only half-joking.

They continued talking for another half-hour, until their drinks were finished.

"So, are you going out later tonight – on a patrol, I mean?" John asked.

He shrugged briefly. "I'll do a couple rounds closeby and see what happens. I never really go looking for trouble, but I somehow always seem to find it," William replied with a grin. "Why? Do you want to come along?"

"I don't know – I'll have to think about it."

"Tell you what – when you're all better and feel up to it, give me a call. It would be nice to have some company."

John smiled and nodded, and then they both stood and shook hands.

"Nice to see you again, John. Just give me a call when you want to ride along, or we can meet somewhere like this again."

"Cool – I'll do that," John promised.

William checked his watch and once they left the coffee shop, they walked off in separate directions.

Jacob sat down heavily in his leather easy-chair with his evening scotch and turned on the television. He had noticed he'd been watching the news more often than usual lately, but there was too much going on for him not to. But he'd found that when there wasn't another daily crisis to announce, the media simply replayed and re-analyzed the latest headlines.

There had been another terrorist bombing at the nation's capital yesterday, but it hadn't been deep inside the Green Zone as the last one had been. And again, it appeared to be the work of Christian extremists based upon the evidence at the scene, the related video footage, and the items found at their last known residence. All the bombers had stayed in hotels and had dressed as Catholic priests when they had detonated themselves. Islamic suicide bombings had been around for decades, but Christian suicide bombings were rather new. Unfortunately, none of the bombers had yet to be positively identified.

He slowly sipped his drink and began to relax. What was this world coming to? At times he couldn't believe that the United States capital had a Green Zone to protect its vital government institutions and resources. The capital had been plagued with crushing poverty and violence for years. The gap between the rich and poor, the powerful and weak, and the free and the enslaved was by far the widest in Washington D.C. If the federal government couldn't even manage their own capital city, how could they be trusted to govern the entire nation?

Before the recent Green Zone Bombings, the last major political attack had been the Senate Shootings nearly a decade ago. Soon after TIRMA had been passed and signed into law, a group of right-wing extremists had successfully assassinated six of the more prominent liberal Senators and two of the senior Representatives who had sponsored the bill. The extremists had also wounded several of their aides and security officers, and two other Senators before they were finally apprehended. And less than three years later, Washington D.C. had its first executions since the D.C. Snipers.

The financial news began, and with it, more depressing reports. The latest national debt figures had just been released: $35 trillion and rising (of course), along with rising inflation and unemployment figures. The Congressional Budget Office had revised their estimates yet again for the arrival of what most analysts called the new 'D-Day' (for 'Debt-Day'). That was the red-letter day when the government was no longer able to even make the interest payments on the national debt without borrowing (or printing) more money.

Once the Treasury had to borrow or print money just to make the interest payments, they would have little choice other than to default on the payments (which some countries would view as an act of war) or begin printing money by the megaton. And that day of reckoning, according to the latest estimates, was now less than one year away.

Jacob grimaced – it was time to buy more silver bullion, he supposed. At $76 an ounce (and rising), it was getting expensive. He wanted to buy gold, but at $3250 an ounce, who could afford it? Students of history should not be caught unawares, and as an avid student of history himself, for the past five years he had been quietly ensuring that he would not be. He had been watching the national debt crisis draw closer and closer ever since the deficits had consistently topped one trillion dollars a year. He knew the true value of paper money and had studied how the American Founders had dealt with high inflation and devalued paper early in the nation's history.

Most of his financial portfolio was now invested in India, China and even Israel, but he wished it were in the United States. He had been buying silver, gold, foreign currencies, and diversifying his other assets ever since he realized the looming reality of the skyrocketing national debt. When D-Day occurred, all hell would break loose in the financial markets in a very short amount of time. Once the crash started, he already had plans to leave the country.  But there would be tell-tale signs before the collapse (if and when it occurred): an explosive printing of paper money, mounting bank-runs, a sudden stock-market boom as the economy hyper-inflated (as people began buying whatever essentials they could get their hands on), and then widespread, unstoppable riots once the proverbial 'music stopped'.

The paper currency and economies of several other large countries had collapsed in his lifetime, and he had read numerous accounts from Argentina and Russia about the behavior of the markets, the people, and the early-warning signs before the Collapse. Tragically, there was no reason why it couldn't happen to America, especially as weak and isolated as it was now, and not to mention with China, India, and even Europe quickly catching up to it financially. These days, America was just too risky to invest in.

And though he had solid plans to leave, he had also studied how to behave before, during, and after the Collapse. Buy anything of value and hunker down if you can't get out. Stock up on food, medicine, ammunition, guns, supplies, and any useful luxuries that could be traded or bartered later. After the initial period of looting and instability passed, a bartering system would emerge, and then later some form of intermediate currency (though not likely one of paper).

Ten years ago, he would've been ridiculed and labeled a 'survivalist' for his views and the preparations he had taken. But today, he was thought of as simply being prudent.

But he didn't plan to be around if it came down to that. He finished off his scotch and continued watching the news until the next commercial, when he decided that he'd had enough bad news for one night and turned off the television.

With the rise of the Christian suicide bombers, the very fabric of America seemed to be unraveling.

John phoned William two days after their meeting at the coffee shop and they scheduled a patrol for the following Wednesday, the day of the week which was typically much 'quieter' on the streets than the weekends. The government issued the welfare checks and other social services deposits on Mondays, so Wednesdays were not usually as busy.

He arrived outside the restaurant they had agreed upon just before eleven o'clock and waited; he was early for once. He wore darker clothing, just as William had instructed. His phone rang and he jumped slightly at the sound, and then answered it.

"This is John."

"I'm almost there now," William said.

"Yeah, I see you," he replied as an older-model car approached. He stepped closer to the curb and jumped in as soon as the car rolled to a stop.

"Ready?" William asked, checking his rearview mirror.

John nodded and they started out.

"Where are we going?"

"The good part of town – downtown Decatur. Is that okay?" William asked.

"Sure," John said with a slight gulp. That it was the 'good' part of town was a terrible overstatement. Gangs and drug-lords had rendered the police powerless in that area nearly six years ago. It was one of the older cities to fall into lawlessness in the metropolitan area. The housing projects and the slums provided basic shelter for the poor, but kept everyone who resided in them miserable and destitute. During the campus orientation, Decatur was one city in which Emory students were explicitly warned not to go.

Ten minutes later, they turned off of Ponce De Leon Avenue and onto one of the smaller side-streets. No one was out, at least not yet. But John felt certain they were being watched.

William began methodically driving up and down the side-streets, crossing Ponce De Leon every ten minutes or so. A few times, they encountered a group of men (or perhaps older youths) standing near a vehicle, but they didn't seem to need any help and weren't causing trouble. William told John that they were patrolling for drunks, homeless people, prostitutes, drug-users, or anyone else who needed to be moved off the streets.

After another hour passed, the area was still relatively empty and quiet. It was dead silent, and since his initial nervousness had passed a while before, John felt a twinge of disappointment.

William's phone rang and he immediately answered it, but spoke rather quietly.

"Where?" he replied. He listened for a few moments and then glanced over at John. "I see. Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What's going on?" John asked as William quickly put the phone back into his pocket.

"Something's come up that I need to deal with. I'll take you back home or wherever the safest place for you is." William immediately turned the car around and began driving faster down the street, heading back towards Ponce De Leon Avenue.

"Oh – I can't go with you? Is it another patrol?"

"No, it's not a patrol. Besides, there's nothing much going on tonight anyway. Sorry, but this is somewhat of a private matter."

"Okay, I understand," John replied. "You can drop me off on the north side of campus. It's only a block away from the apartment and should be safe enough."

"Are you sure?" William asked as he turned onto the main avenue and accelerated. Now he was driving as if he had somewhere important he needed to be. John wondered what it could possibly be at this hour, but he didn't ask again.

Several minutes later, they pulled up to the north side of Emory University. John directed him to Jamestown Road, the street closest to his apartment. William had said little the entire drive back, and John didn't want to pry. It was obvious that he had something very important on his mind and that he was in a hurry to get to his destination.

"Sorry again about this change of plans," he said as John stepped out. "It's an emergency." He gave him an apologetic but hurried look.

"No problem – contact me tomorrow and maybe we can try it again."

William nodded with a slight wave and then sped off. As John walked the short distance home, now he was more curious than ever as to what this 'emergency' could have been.

What was he getting himself into?

The car screeched to a stop and William grunted as he got out a bit too fast. He rushed to the back and opened the trunk. After pushing aside some clutter, he hoisted the old defibrillator out and also grabbed the first-aid kit. He checked his surroundings and jogged up the cracked sidewalk, and then gave five short knocks on the door, which was promptly opened.

He quickly took the equipment inside, only to find a woman sitting next to the couch, on which was stretched an elderly man. At first glance, he appeared to be sleeping comfortably. But when he noticed that both women were weeping, William immediately knew he had been too late.

He set down the medical kit and defibrillator and leaned down to check the old man's pulse anyway. A moment later, he confirmed that he was dead. William stood up and turned to the woman from the hospital, but then remembered that he didn't even know her name.

"I'm sorry – it's all my fault. I had someone with me that I had to drop off first. I'm so sorry," he said, with tears coming to his eyes.

"It wouldn't have mattered – it was his time. He said so himself ever since he was confined to his chair. He's in a better place now." She reached down and squeezed her father's cooling hand. "Thank you for coming as soon as you could," she offered. "It wasn't your fault. I should've called you earlier to tell you he wasn't feeling well today, rather than when he started having chest pains."

William nodded and looked down at the old man with heavy regret.

"What was his name?"

"Franklin, but everyone called him 'Franky'. You can stay here for a while, if you'd like," the other woman offered.

"Thanks – maybe another day." He felt suddenly uneasy and picked up his equipment.

He headed for the door and then turned back to them.

"I'm very sorry – I'll be faster next time," he promised.

As he closed the door behind him, he let his shoulders slump and hung his head. He felt completely useless and defeated.

Najeev checked the clock on his phone for the third time in the last twenty minutes. It was almost time for his monthly call with his supervisor. He hated having to report his status, and because of the incident three weeks ago, he was dreading this meeting even more.

He had met Mohammed (if that was even his real name) only twice before, but had spent less than an hour with him each time. The first meeting had been to 'commission' him as the Husam cell leader, while the second had been prompted by an ugly situation he had failed to handle properly. After the second meeting, he'd had a better idea of who he was dealing with, and that he needed to take his role as cell leader much more seriously.

Fortunately, the most recent incident wasn't nearly as damaging. He knew he'd be questioned about it, but he had cleaned up the mess quite well.

He regretted having to get rid of Darrell and Rashan – they had been two of his better-trained resources. He would tell Mohammed the truth of what had happened, down to the very last detail. He had heard rumors that Mohammed had 'floaters' that monitored other cells within his network, and he was certain that one could not keep the truth from him for long. And given his high rank and position, he knew that Mohammed probably had other, much more painful ways of extracting information if he suspected someone of holding back information from him. He didn't want to contemplate what could happen if Mohammed ever caught him lying.

The phone rang, and he drew a deep breath as he checked the caller. It was Mohammed. He was always very precise for his appointments; he was always completely in control. Najeev flipped the phone open and cleared his throat to greet him.

"Hello?" he answered.

"It has come to my attention you've had some hindrances lately. Explain to me what happened – leave nothing out," Mohammed ordered.

Najeev could tell he was irritated from the curt tone and lack of greeting. The meeting was not going to be pleasant.

"Three weeks ago, four of my men were working on the north side of Emory Village just after midnight, and they found this kid passed out on the sidewalk. When they began enforcing the Curfew – as how you said we should – this car comes out of nowhere and hits two of my men: Darrell and Rashan. Then (and this is from the other two who were with them) this guy jumps out and beats up the rest of my team. Then he grabbed the kid and drove off."

"Did they get a license plate or a description of the man in the car?"

"No, they didn't see the tags of the car or the exact make and model, but they said it was a dark mid-size, probably about eight to ten years old."

"What of the man who attacked them?"

"Orlando and Jefferson didn't get a good look at him, but they said from his build and speed, he was probably older, either in his late-forties or fifties."

"So, your team of four young men was defeated by one middle-aged man? Perhaps you should have them review their training," Mohammed suggested.

"Yes, sir," Najeev answered, holding back the urge to protest.

"The two that were hit by the car – did you take them to the hospital?"

"No, but they were bad shape. I figured that would raise more questions than you would've wanted, so I got rid of them instead."

"Good. Was it clean?" Mohammed asked.

"Yes, I made it look like a gang-related hit-job." Najeev checked his watch and hoped the conversation would end soon. "I take care of my own problems, I can assure you."

"You made the right decision, despite losing two resources. From now on, have your people show more caution. Find out who this man is, but do not go out of your way to confront him. I have heard other reports of such interference, though there may be more than one of these humanitarians."

"I will. Do you want me to find replacements for the two we lost?"

"Yes, but get six this time rather than just two. We will be expanding our programs very soon," Mohammed said. "I will contact you in two weeks to follow up on your progress."

And before Najeev could reply, he heard the connection drop on the other end. Mohammed had left the conversation as abruptly as he had entered it.

Najeev sighed and clicked off his phone. Finding six more recruits in such a short time wasn't going to be easy.

Justin sneered and shook his head at John in disbelief from what he'd just heard. "The Husam? What have you been drinking?" he said. "Everyone knows that's just the garbage from those crazy right-wingers!"

"I know – I know. But I'm telling you, that's what happened. I remember them," John stated.

"Maybe it was just a gang or something. Did they take your wallet or your phone?"

"No, they just wailed on me – they weren't after money or anything."

"So you're telling me now that it wasn't a hit-and-run, but an attack – and for no good reason, mind you – by some mysterious Husam group?"

"Yeah, that's it. I'm not joking – I wouldn't stay out past midnight down there if I were you," he cautioned.

Justin waved away his friend's concern. "I'll be fine. Buckhead's one of the safest places in the city. Besides, there was a Georgia Tech game today, and there'll be tons of people out tonight."

John sighed. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." He noticed Justin's smirk again and decided to let it go.

"Are you sure you don't want to go down there with us?" he offered.

"No, I don't feel like bar-hopping tonight. But thanks anyway," John replied.

"Suit yourself," Justin said as he headed out the door.

John thought for a moment and decided to give William a call. He now knew where and when he wanted to do the next ride-along: Buckhead, and later that night.

Chapter 4 - The Seeker

"That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness." – The Declaration of Independence

"The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction." – Proverbs 1:7

"Thanks for calling me," William said as they passed several groups of revelers gathered outside one of the more popular clubs. "Buckhead's fairly safe, though the Husam have been coming into this area more and more – but nothing like they do in the rougher parts of the city. The regular police patrol the richer, safer areas but rarely set foot in the slums or the projects, which is why the Husam have gained so much power there in such a short time."

John nodded and peered out his window. He hadn't seen Justin or any of his other friends yet, but he knew they were on this street somewhere, probably in one of the busier bars or nightclubs. Besides, there were hundreds of people out and about the clubs, and he might be hard to spot.

"Do you ever get scared doing this? Personally, I think I'd be paralyzed."

"I do sometimes if I think about it too much, especially when I first started," William replied. "But I guess you get used to it after awhile. Controlling your fear to get the job done gets easier as time goes on. Besides, I've come to the point where I'm not all that worried about what happens to me."

"What about guns?" John asked.

"Well, the Husam don't seem to use guns much, at least not lately. I know it sounds odd, but if there were more shootings in their territory, the police or SWAT teams would be forced to get more involved, and neither side wants that. Guns are loud, but knives and boots aren't."

"Isn't going up against them unarmed like having a death-wish or something?" John wondered out loud, glancing over at him.

William grinned. "I wouldn't call it that – I'd call it having a little faith."

"Faith, huh? Or maybe a lot of faith, if you ask me."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. The way I see it, I believe I've been called to help others and show compassion to those that no one else will, and this was an opportunity I saw."

"How many people have you helped since you started?"

"I don't really know – I stopped counting about a year ago. Probably over five hundred, would be my best guess," he replied with a shrug.

"Three hundred? That's amazing!" John exclaimed.

"They add up after awhile, especially around the holidays and whenever there's a cold snap. It's not much fun at times, like when they throw up in the car," William joked with him. "But I know I'm helping the helpless, at least most of the time, even if it's thankless. Besides, it gives me a sense of purpose in this place."

"So you're 'William the Superhero', huh?" John quipped.

"No, it's more like 'William the Recovering Alcoholic'," he admitted. "A friend pulled me out of a gutter and got me cleaned up – literally – a couple years ago and I decided to start returning the favor."

"That's quite a story." John glanced out the window again. "Someone should do a documentary on this stuff, to show what the Husam do and what really happens on the streets after Curfew."

"Yeah, that'd be something." William turned down another street. "Do you see him yet?"

"No, not yet. Do you think he'll be okay tonight?"

"There's a good number of people out and about this evening. The Husam usually seem to go after loners, for the most part, or pairs and small groups if they're feeling brave. When they know that most of their victims aren't carrying guns, they take more risks." He turned right and then cautiously slowed for the stoplight. "Let's go somewhere else where we may be needed more," he suggested. "I have an errand we need to run first though."

John agreed and looked out the window at the crowds one last time. Though this was only his second ride-along with William, he'd begun to feel more admiration for him and his seemingly selfless courage.

They left Buckhead and drove south on Piedmont. The homes and businesses seemed decent, but they became more decrepit the further south they went. As they neared the interstate, John began to feel concerned about some of the neighborhoods they were entering. There were just some parts of the city that were too dangerous to venture in. Decatur was bad enough, but this part of Atlanta was much worse.

William turned down several streets and parked in front of an old, run-down apartment building. If it hadn't been for the signs out front, John would've been certain they were going into one of the nasty downtown housing projects.

Noticing his look of discomfort, William grinned and joked, "Are you coming in, or do you want to stay with the car?"

John shook his head and got out of the car right away and looked around. There were large dumpsters close to the apartments, but trash was still scattered all over the place. The entire complex was surrounded by an old chain-link fence that had been cut and torn open in several places. What a terrible place for people to live in.

He noticed William begin walking towards one of the side entrances and quickly followed after him. Once inside the building, he could hear shouting from inside the apartment units and from televisions which were turned up way too loud. Several people they passed were out in the halls making phone calls, and all eyed them suspiciously as they walked by.

A few minutes later, William led them to a door near the back of the complex on the third floor and knocked loudly. Someone on the other side shouted that they were coming, and after a moment, the door was unlocked and a large black woman quickly ushered them inside and then relocked the door.

"Hello William, what brings you out here at this time of night?" she asked. She appeared to have difficulty walking, and she shuffled back to a chair to rest. As soon as she sat down, she began coughing uncontrollably.

"Hi Kiara," he said, as he pulled a small padded envelope from within his jacket and handed it to her. "Here's your medicine. It should be enough for the next two months. I tried to get more for you, but this was all they had available in the last shipment."

"Oh, bless you, William! I've been feeling just terrible the last two weeks," she said after another coughing spasm passed.

"Well, this should help you feel better. Hopefully it'll take care of that cough, too."

She nodded, and then suddenly gave him a sad look.

"I have some bad news," she said. "My sister needed some help this month, and I don't have the money to pay you this time. I'm very sorry – I know how expensive those pills are. Do you want them back?"

William smiled anyway and shook his head. "That's okay – you need them more than I do," he replied kindly and patted her on the shoulder. "Honest – just pay me what you can next time."

John didn't know what the medicine was or how expensive it might be, but if William was upset about the money, he didn't let it show at all.

And then to John's surprise, the woman burst into tears at William's act of charity. "Oh, thank you – thank you so much. It's so hard here." She wiped her eyes and hugged him. "Thank you, William. God bless you."

William smiled, hugged her, and then pointed to the package.

"You're welcome. Now don't forget to take those just like the directions say, okay?"

She nodded as they said goodbye to her, and then they headed towards the door. Soon they had made it safely back out to the car, which fortunately was still there.

As they drove away, John realized that he was starting to want the same attitudes and sense of purpose that William had. All of a sudden, his normal life of drinking and partying just seemed so self-centered.

But as for more of that 'little faith' (as William had put it earlier), he wasn't so sure. Self-improvement was one thing, but self-delusion was quite another.

John stared blankly out the classroom window as the Economics professor droned on about globalization and its impacts on the modern world. The course was one of those that he just hadn't been able to get very interested in, and it didn't take long for him to be thankful that he had nabbed a window seat.

Halloween fell on a Saturday this year, but he hadn't thought too much about what he was going to do for it yet. He usually enjoyed Halloween though, and knew there were many good parties to attend both on and off campus, especially near Fraternity Row. His roommate had posted a rough lineup of the weekend schedule and was busy trying to keep straight all the events and parties that he wanted to attend. But this year, John just didn't seem in the mood for dressing up and going to big celebrations. Maybe next year.

Recently, for the first time in his life, he had noticed that Halloween was becoming more and more commercialized. Rather than just kids trick-or-treating and dress-up parties, it was now increasingly common to exchange small gifts at Halloween, though not nearly to the extent of Christmas exchanges.

He'd been surprised to read in the news the other day that Halloween was now the most widely-celebrated holiday in America, relegating Christmas to second-place for the first time in U.S. history. However, Christmas was still the biggest 'commercial' holiday, the news had pointed out. The article attributed the decline of the popularity of Christmas to the over-commercialization of the holiday season and also to the decline in Christian popularity.

Over the last two weeks, the leaves had been turning their autumn colors, and now most of the deciduous trees were clothed with fantastic shades of golds, reds, yellows, oranges, and light browns. But the leaves hadn't started falling yet – that would come in early November.

This year was an Election year, but he hadn't even thought much about voting yet. And even though the election was next Tuesday, he hadn't really heard anyone around campus talk about it much. The Republicans weren't putting up much of a fight that year, and the polls indicated that the President would be easily re-elected. Come to think of it, he didn't even know where he was supposed to go to vote anyway.

He had been thinking quite often about the patrols with William and the conversations they'd been having. He wondered what drove him to do what he did all the time. There had to be more to his story than him just wanting to be helpful to strangers. But he had noticed that it felt good to help others, rather than just think about himself and his own comforts all the time.

They had another patrol scheduled for tomorrow night. Maybe he could find out more about what motivated him then.

William rolled the trashbin to a stop and pulled out the heavy plastic container to empty it. Another music track began to play through his headphones – it was one of his favorites of the old praise tunes.

He didn't love his job as a hospital janitor, but he didn't really hate it either. After all, it was an honest job that wasn't too difficult, and these days that was better than nothing. Having a career had meant little to him ever since he'd been fired along with most of the other radio talk-show hosts years ago. Besides, he considered his real work to be that which he did in his free time and in his studio. The janitorial work simply provided income and gave him time to think and plan, and also to pray more often.

He set down the can, rebagged it, and then promptly slid it back in. He smiled as he thought of the new friendship he was developing with John. He frequently marveled at the Lord's sense of humor, especially at the methods and circumstances He used when He called new children into His Family. What others had meant for evil, He often transformed into good. It seemed as if no one was called into the Kingdom in quite the same way as another.

At times, William was tempted to give John more information than he needed, but always stopped himself just in time. In the past, others had been turned off to the message of the Gospel if they weren't yet ready for it – if the soil of their hearts had not yet been properly prepared. When he took matters into his own hands, it frequently backfired. So he had learned to be patient and wait for God to do His work according to His own timing. The trick was learning to not interfere by his own impatience and zealousness to bring others into the Kingdom.

One of the floor nurses passed by him and he smiled at her as he rolled the trashbin down the hall. Denise was her name, he recalled. From the first day he had started working in the hospital, he had made it a point to do his best at remembering all the names of the nurses and attendants he met. Of all the jobs and positions at the hospital, he had noticed early on that the nurses seemed to be treated the worst (or have the worst of jobs), so he often went out of his way to be cheerful and encourage them. Those simple gestures from him presented a stark contrast from the cold, impersonal nature of most of the other healthcare workers in the hospital.

He had learned years ago that good moods could be just as contagious as bad moods. And in hospitals, good moods in nurses often carried over to the doctors and the patients. And sometimes that translated into lessened (or at least somewhat more manageable) pain. At times, laughter really was the best medicine, especially with the long waits and shortages that were increasingly common in managed care. And if a few smiles and cheery dispositions helped people feel better during bad circumstances, then it was the least he could do. After all, he was working for the King in Heaven, not the HHS in Washington.

But he doubted any of them knew how morose he felt at times though, most often when he was alone. He felt it was almost immoral to pollute other's moods with his own, so he had learned to fake it. Some days were easier than others of course, but sometimes his own mood lifted as others responded to his pleasant, though somewhat-forced, light demeanor.

William grinned to himself as he thought about the upcoming patrol later that night. John was getting used to some of the types of people they picked up on their routes. Some really stank and were quite drunk or even sick. Some were mentally ill and would complain or were rude. John's reactions had been typical at first, but he was learning to control his initial responses and internalize them.

"Don't focus on the person's outward appearance – focus on the person's inner condition. What would you do if they were your own mother, father, sister, or brother?" he had often told the young man. After all, they were someone's son, daughter, brother, sister, mother, or father too. Several times when he noticed John react poorly, he remembered how he'd felt his first few months on patrols. But he'd gotten over that years ago. People were people, and their outward conditions could change awfully fast, especially in this stagnant, languishing economy. He was living proof of that fact.

William's phone buzzed in his pocket and he instantly checked it. 'Meeting tomorrow?' it read. He responded with a quick 'Yes' text message and then continued down the hallway. The message reminded him that he should probably check their gathering place before then. It could be dangerous if their meeting location in the bowels of the hospital had been discovered and then people began showing up there tomorrow for no good reason.

The location of their 'church' was another reason he'd stayed on at Emory University Hospital as a floor janitor. The position gave him a certain amount of free rein in the hospital and often more knowledge of the security inside. He considered it one of the few perks of the job (along with free healthcare), so to speak. That and being able to listen to his music player most of the time at work. Besides, he'd also learned early in the job to focus his thoughts on areas other than emptying dozens of trashcans, sweeping floors, and cleaning bathrooms every day.

He finished the floor he was on and checked in with his supervisor over his walkie-talkie. Then he pushed his full trashbin into the service elevator and then went down to the incinerator room. Before his return trip, he briefly checked on their weekly meeting place in the basement.

The door-lock had not been tampered with, nor apparently even been opened since he'd last set it, for that matter. The buckets just inside the doorway were stacked and arranged just as he remembered. The old broken-down equipment had not been moved either. Everything was precisely as he had left it. Another little prayer answered.

William breathed a tired sigh of relief as he relocked the door and pushed the empty trashbin back toward the elevator. They had been meeting there in the basement for just over a year, and had not been discovered yet. They were fortunate, though he knew that God deserved all the credit for their safety and security. But he also knew they would never be able to let their guard down.

The government – not to mention the university – didn't take kindly to illegal, unregistered churches meeting anywhere these days, much less in the basement of one of its own subsidized university hospitals.

The newly re-elected President stood beaming in front of the familiar 'O' sunrise/sunset symbol of his predecessor and began his well-rehearsed victory speech. And just as with his predecessor, the speaker exuded confidence and charisma, the speech flawless and inspirational. The fawning media and the cheering crowds loved it.

The election results had come in several hours earlier than expected: the Democrats had swept the Republicans yet again, maintaining their large majorities in both elected branches of the federal government, including many of the state governments.

"Freedom lives on! Once again, the American people have chosen to continue the transformation of our great nation, where hope flows freely and change is ever in the air!" the President declared in triumph. But the unspoken insinuation was that had his rival been victorious, hope would fail and people would lose their rights.

William shook his head in disgust. People today were continually told that they were more free and had more rights than ever before, though in reality they had much less true freedom and their rights were increasingly nebulous.  They were freer in the sense that they could do whatever they wished with their bodies and speech, as long as they didn't offend anyone else outside the ever-tightening bounds of political correctness. They were free as long as they didn't run counter to the State. The Enemy had many slaves, but his most-compliant servants were those who supposed themselves to be free, and often declared to be so by their own masters.

People were not free just because a president or a politician told them they were, but that was never admitted these days. The current thinking for the past century was that rights and freedoms came from the government, not inherently from the people themselves. God, not government was the source of true freedom, but when God was excluded, the government by default became the source of freedom.

The sun-symbol that once again swept across the screen made William recall Benjamin Franklin's quote about a similar icon he'd noticed on the back of George Washington's chair during the concluding days of the Constitutional Convention. And while Franklin had interpreted the symbol as the rising sun of the new republic, William had deep sadness in feeling that the sun now seemed to be setting on that very same republic of the United States of America.

He turned off the television and fought his urge for a drink. He should have known better than to pay attention to politics today, especially on Election Night, the climax of the long political season. Most of the time, he wondered why he still even owned a television, since he got most of his news from the Internet and there wasn't much worth watching anyway. He supposed it was just due to old habits.

William took out his Bible and turned to the Book of Hosea, the prophet who had presided over the decline and fall of his own nation over 2700 years ago. One of the key verses of the small book was from Hosea 4:1 – "For there is no truth, nor kindness, nor knowledge of God in the land." How painfully true that was in this day in America as it had been in the waning days of Israel. The 'new Israel' the Founding Fathers had once envisioned appeared to following in her ancestor's footsteps.

How America had changed within a matter of years – it still astonished him when he thought about it. In just his lifetime, it had become a completely different nation, not to mention that of his parents and grandparents. Most historians cited 1963 as the year the nation had undergone a dramatic cultural shift, though they typically attributed it to the rise of the post-war/Baby Boomer generation. Others declared that the tragic assassination of President John F. Kennedy had been the trigger for the shift, rather than the initial entry of the Baby Boomers into college on an unprecedented scale, which had overwhelmed many of the public institutions.

But William had a different opinion. He attributed the change in the nation's soul and attitudes to the ceasing of daily prayer in the public classroom – essentially expelling the presence of God from the schools – in the lawsuit by Madalyn Murray O'Hair, Murray v. Curlett. That lone decision by the Supreme Court had seemed to open the floodgates in the atheists' campaigns to remove America's Christian heritage from all aspects of the nation, starting with public property: the town-square. But eventually their campaigns had even affected private property as it became less and less sacred.

Thinking back to the current election, he knew full-well what the news in the coming weeks would likely be. There would be investigations of political opponents (usually on the losing side of the candidates who had come too close to winning for comfort), as well as charges of election fraud and the filing of countless motions for recounts. Such lawsuits and demands only served to increase the public's distain for modern politics and further weakened the democratic process.

And tragically, there would probably be several attempted assassinations tomorrow or later that week. He figured that none would be successful, since few elected officials left the Green Zone in Washington D.C. these days. And with the Green Zone Bombings, security was even tighter than before.

Since the passage of nationalized healthcare and TIRMA years earlier, bombings of government buildings and political assassinations had become all too common. Even though the health-reform bill had been extremely unpopular with the public, the political left had gambled that they had everything to lose if they didn't push it through. And though they had lost their majorities in the following election, it didn't take them long to win back their seats. With the President vetoing any repeals of the healthcare system reforms, the new system was there to stay.

In the months after the sweeping TIRMA bill had been signed into law, eleven of the most vocal proponents of the bill in Congress had been shot, leading to the declaration of temporary martial law in Washington D.C. The FBI and other police agencies confiscated guns from all over the city and even into parts of northern Virginia. When the outrage over the bill's passage diminished and the riots finally began to fizzle out, martial law was rescinded. And though their party had lost a number of congressional seats in the following election, it hadn't been enough to cost them their majorities in either the House or the Senate.

Seemingly overnight, Washington had been turned into a war-zone, with a temporary 'green-zone' encompassing the Capitol Complex and the White House; years later, it had been expanded and made permanent. To protect the Congressmen and the other vital government resources from further violence, the mandatory registration of all citizen-owned firearms was put into effect in the interest of public safety, which was only the precursor to the complete banning of private firearms. Dozens of lawsuits were filed by gun-advocacy groups to protect their Second Amendment rights, but the liberal-packed Supreme Court upheld the new gun-laws.

But as with most such intrusive policies, the gun-bans had the complete opposite effect as intended, and the sale of unregistered firearms skyrocketed. The President had been declared to be 'The Firearm Salesman of the Year' at many now-illegal gun-shows. At that time, the more astute citizens perceived the change in the government's attitude towards the citizenry and began to quietly leave the country. Those who could afford to moved to India, South America, or Australia, while millions more settled for Alaska as their new residence. Alaska wasn't another country per se, but was as far enough away from the seat of federal power as they could get (with the exception of Hawaii).

What began as a trickle of emigrants soon grew into a steady stream, and then a rushing torrent. And in the campaigns of the recent election, some of the candidates had even promised to introduce legislation that would curb the astounding emigration and hemorrhaging of the federal tax-base. The massive deficits and ballooning national debt demanded that no more of the tax-base be lost. If the politicians delivered on their promises (which they likely would), upper- and middle-class Americans wouldn't be able to leave the country even if they wanted to.

Since her discovery by Columbus and settlement by the Pilgrims, Puritans, and traders that followed, America had experienced wave after wave of people from all over the world coming to her shores to start new lives – freer lives. But now the first waves of inhabitants were leaving her for foreign lands that held more promise and freedom. More liberty.

That was another one of his personal demons: coming to terms with the fact that the country he loved – his own country that had been predominantly founded by Christians – now considered them to be virtually enemies of the state just because of their traditional beliefs.

For decades, America had been the primary exporter of the very things that her people (as well as God) had once abhorred. But like all the other nations of the world, the United States was doomed to corruption; it had only been a matter of time. And like Europe, Canada, and Great Britain before her, America had fallen under the soft-tyranny of socialism, mostly in the name of compassionate, service-oriented government.

How the young country of America had aged in only a few years.

John opened the back door of William's car and helped pull the drunk out. He smelled terrible, reeking with a mixture of beer, old whiskey, rancid body odor, and something else that John couldn't identify (nor did he want to).

Fortunately, this one could still more or less walk, or rather just put one foot in front of the other. William was on his phone with another homeless shelter nearby, in case this one was full.

He put the older man's limp arm around his shoulder and walked him up to the doors of the Helping Hands shelter. He rapped at the door, which was opened a few seconds later and a large black man stepped out. It was Scotty, one of the night attendants.

"Another one tonight?" Scotty asked him with an incredulous look.

"Yeah, we've been busy. We might be back again in a half hour or so," John replied.

"We'll be here – we still have plenty of beds for our guests this evening." Scotty slipped the man's other arm around his shoulder and John stepped back as soon as attendant had shifted the man's weight over.

"Good – it's a warm night for November, and people are staying out longer than usual."

Scotty waved him off with his free hand and took the man inside the shelter. John grinned and walked away. Another good deed done for the night.

"Ready for more?" William asked as John got back in the car and slumped in the seat.

John nodded and then reached for his coffee before William drove off again. They were working the Little Five Points area of the city that night and had already made three drop-offs, and the night was still young.

Thanksgiving was two weeks away, and the trees had dropped the last of their leaves earlier that week when strong winds had blown into northern Georgia. Most of the day had been overcast and rather gloomy, but still warmer than a few days ago. Perhaps that was why they had more 'fares' that evening.

"Do you have plans out west for Thanksgiving?" William asked.

"No – I went home for the holidays last year, and it wasn't very pleasant. My mom's content to pay my tuition and living expenses while I'm in school, but we don't get along very well. I call her every month or two, and we leave it at that. What about you?"

"Just the usual holiday routine for me: work, a small celebration with some friends, and this in the evenings. You're welcome to join us if you don't have other plans. There'll probably be a traditional meal with turkey, taters, and all the fixin's," he said with his imitation of a heavy Southern drawl. "No grits, though."

John laughed and agreed. Neither happened to be very fond of that Southern staple-food for any occasion.

"You're not spending it with family, either? Come to think of it, in spite of all these patrols we've been on, I don't know much about your family at all," John observed.

William shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"Are you, or were you married? Do you have any kids?"

"I was married, and have a daughter about your age named Megan. She lives with her mother in Southern California, near San Diego," William replied.

"No kidding – my mom's in Southern California too. May I ask what happened?"

"It's not something I'm proud of." William paused for a long moment, as a sad, pained look shadowed his face. John immediately regretted asking the question.

"Are you old enough to remember talk-radio?" he asked. John shrugged slightly. "Well, I used to be a conservative radio talk-show host for WKBD downtown. About two years after the Great Recession took hold, Congress passed legislation to localize the ownership of all talk-radio stations across the country, along with empowering local public opinion to shut it down. Soon after the radio stations were localized, most of the conservative talk-show hosts either quit or were fired, rather than try to fight the legislation. I was one of the many who were fired."

"Huh, I don't remember that," John said.

William smirked. "It's hard to defend freedom of speech these days when your microphone has been taken away, and that was one of the first and worst of the power-grabs by the Statists, or the political left. If there's no one in power to oppose you (or if they simply have no voice), it more-or-less assures that you'll remain in power indefinitely and that you can pass whatever laws you want. When no one can mount a decent opposition, you can pass sweeping legislation very quickly."

John nodded, trying to remember if he had ever heard anything about that when he'd been a young adolescent.

"I was married then – my ex-wife's name is Susan – and after the Recession worsened and I couldn't find work, I began drinking. A lot. She put up with it for about a year before she left me. But I stayed drunk and let her go – I let them both go. She divorced me a few months after we separated. At the time, all it did was make me drink even more."

"I'm sorry. Do you get to see your daughter much?"

"No – it's been a couple years since I last saw her. I call her on her birthday and at Christmas, but that's about it. I should go visit her one of these days, but it's hard now that Susan has remarried. Megan's step-father adopted her soon after the wedding, so there's not much possibility of joint custody. Besides, her mother can provide for her much better than I can now."

"Is that why you help these people we pick up?" John asked.

"Yeah, I suppose that's part of it. Every time I see a drunk passed out on the sidewalk or on a park-bench, I see myself. Or rather, I see what I used to be. I hit rock-bottom and stayed there for a long time. It's so easy to destroy your life, but very hard to build it, and even harder to rebuild it."

"I bet that's tough – how do you cope with it?"

"One day at a time, day in and day out," William said softly.

John thought for a moment before continuing.

"How did you rebound in the first place? I mean, did someone pull you up 'out of the gutter' or did you just do it on your own?" John asked.

William smiled and decided it was time to tell him. He decided to take yet another little leap of faith and see what would happen.

"Someone took pity on me and first helped me get sober. But the biggest change wasn't that I was fixed or cleaned up on the outside, but that I was transformed from the inside."

"How'd you do that?"

"I became a Christian." And then he glanced over to see the after-effects.

John's initial reaction to William's admission was to recoil in disgust, especially after all the recent terrorist bombings. But he caught himself just in time before he visibly reacted. And while he didn't say anything, 'William's a Christian?!' was the only thought that ran over and over in his mind.

"It's okay – I can tell you're surprised," William said. "So, do I fit the template of Christians that the media, schools, and the government have been drilling into you since kindergarten?"

"No, not really," John admitted. Especially compared to the Christian suicide bombers.

"What can I say? Christians don't get much good publicity these days. We haven't for a long time and it's getting worse. There was a time when Christians in America had the same freedoms and rights that everyone else did. But that all changed after the Dispersion."

"The Dispersion? What's that?"

"Ah, I keep forgetting your age and education. You probably know it better as TIRMA, or the 'Tolerance In Religion and Media Acts' or by some other politically-correct title like that."

When he mentioned TIRMA, John nodded, remembering their passage when he'd been in his early teen years.

"I never heard it called that before: the Dispersion," he said.

"I didn't expect you would – it's only used by those in the underground churches."

"Underground? You mean Christians don't meet in the church buildings?"

"No, those are state churches, for all intents and purposes. After the TIRMA laws were passed, the government had a direct say in what could be said and taught in private churches and what could not. Several large portions of the Bible were redefined as being hate literature against various minority groups and immediately banned from print and distribution. The pastors and leaders who refused were declared to be religious extremists and several were fined or even arrested. Some churches that did not meet the new requirements of the law lost their tax-exempt status and had their property confiscated, since certain provisions in the law were retroactive. The churches which wanted to remain autonomous and true to their principles closed their doors before they lost their property and leaders as well."

John shook his head in disbelief. He had never heard that side of the story before.

"How could they do that?"

"Private property isn't nearly as protected or sacred as it was before the Great Recession. 'Soak the Rich' campaigns rarely stop with the wealthy, and once the corporations had paid their dues (or tribute to the government), the bureaucrats went after the wealthy individuals and the mega-churches and then on down the line. Political correctness took precedence over free speech."

"I was too young to remember the start of the Great Recession, but I remember my father losing his job. Didn't it all just start with the banks making too many bad loans?"

"Actually, there a number of bad policies and behaviors that contributed to it, but the Great Recession had been brewing for years, if not decades. The Community Reinvestment Act from the late Seventies laid the foundation for all the bad loans, and the Federal Reserve had such a loose monetary policy that many banks were pressured to loan too much money to people who couldn't really afford the loans. Everything was booming, and everyone thought there was no end in sight, so they borrowed far beyond their means to pay. Greed and bad-investments took over, and securities began being backed with risky loans and sub-prime mortgages. The real-estate bubble grew bigger and bigger, and then when the sub-prime mortgage market finally burst, it took many of the banks with it. Then the government stepped in with their stimulus packages, bailouts, and inflated budgets, and have been raising taxes – and growing government in the process – ever since. As more of the tax burden was shifted to the 'evil rich' and the corporations, eventually they were bled dry (or they just gave up and stopped trying to earn more) and then the taxes came down on the middle-class. The President said he wanted to 'spread the wealth around' (i.e., wealth redistribution) but ended up just making everyone suffer."

"What's wrong with that? Wealth redistribution, I mean. If you make more, shouldn't you pay more?"

"Well, maybe to a certain extent, but it shouldn't be so much it's punitive. There are consequences to 'soaking the rich', as it's called, just as if the poor are being over-taxed. If you're wealthy (or you aspire to be), you make investments which translate to economic growth and then jobs on down the line. But if your tax burden becomes so great that you can't make afford to invest anymore, it doesn't make sense to try to invest at all, but rather just sit on what you have and try to protect the principal. Besides – why should one tiny group of people (the 'evil rich') have to pay for the goods and services of everyone else and get little from it? That's not exactly fair (or smart) to make the top 1% or 5% pay the vast majority of the taxes. Eventually, they'll just take their money and go elsewhere, such as what's happening with Alaska. Eventually, a progressive tax-system and wealth-redistribution turns into a form of legal theft."

"Legal theft? C'mon, really?" John protested.

"Sure – stealing is stealing – even if the government makes it 'legal', right? How would you feel if you were in a room full of people and they all voted to take a much higher percentage of your wealth or income and then passed it into law? Then later on, they voted to take more and more of your money until you were left with nothing? It's all perfectly legal, after all. But it's still stealing. Everyone should pay roughly the same percentage of taxes, not with most paying nothing while a few being forced to pay far above half their income."

John was quiet for a few minutes. "Do you wish the Great Recession and TIRMA had never happened?" he asked.

William thought for a moment before he answered. "I don't know. For many years in the United States, there was no cost to be a Christian. There was no persecution and therefore the Church became nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding culture. Now there's a stark contrast. We don't have to compromise what we believe anymore."

"I'm not following you – what was the cost?"

"When you become a follower – or disciple – of Jesus, you're in essence renouncing the ways of the world and accepting the ways of God. As a Christian, you're to be in the world but not of it any longer. In the Bible, it says we are adopted into God's family and have exchanged our worldly citizenship for a heavenly citizenship. You can't be a citizen of both, because they are completely opposed to one another: the flesh (or the world) versus the Spirit. Before the Dispersion, many Christians in America behaved like saints on Sunday mornings, but sinners the rest of the week."

William grinned after a moment and then continued. "Did you ever hear the old joke about the Civil War Coward?"

John shook his head.

"There was a story of this man back then that didn't want to take sides in the Civil War – he just wanted to live his life and be left alone. So one day he gets this brilliant idea to put on a Union coat and Confederate pants and that way he'll be safe from either side. He figures he can then go anywhere he wants and no one will shoot him. After awhile, as the war moves closer to his home, he lets his guard down and gets too close to the front lines. Well, one day after a battle, some Union troops find him lying dead just peppered with bullet-holes. When the field surgeon later examines the body, he finds that the man had been repeatedly shot by both the Union troops and the Confederates." William chuckled slightly and finished the story. "And that's the way the Sunday morning Christians used to be, having one foot in the world and one foot in the church. In the end, they're no good to either side and considered to be as good as 'dead' to both sides as well."

"How do you become a Christian if there are no more churches?" John asked.

"Well, a church is just a gathering of like-minded believers, not a physical building of bricks and wood. Where there's two or more believers gathered together, there's a church. The Church – at least the Church that Jesus is building – isn't the walls and steeple you see, but the body of believers inside. You know, just like that old children's rhyme: 'This is the church, this is the steeple, look inside, and see all the people."

"So, what's required to become a Christian – is there some initiation or 'rite of passage' you have to go through?"

William smiled. "No, nothing like that. It's really very simple: you genuinely admit you're a sinner before God and ask Jesus Christ to come dwell in your heart. Then He'll do the rest, provided you get out of the way and let Him."

John was quiet for much of the remainder of the patrol, thinking about all that William had said. For the past month, some in the news media were recommending that citizens report known Christians to the police, so they could better be tracked in the interest of public safety. He thought that was wrong, of course, but with all the bombings lately, what else could the government do?

Now he had a problem.

When John opened the door to the apartment, he found Justin slumped deep in the sofa, watching a football game. He smelled stale beer and saw a cluster of crumpled cans on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Justin looked up and noticed him. From his slow movements and bleary gaze (along with the numerous cans) it was obvious that he was drunk. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet.

"Hey John – haven't see you around in awhile. What have you been up to? Partying without me? Or maybe a new girlfriend you haven't brought over yet?" he said with a heavy slur in his voice.

John laughed as he sat down on one of the chairs nearby. He hesitated for a second before he answered, deciding it was best to just be honest.

"No, I've been hanging out with a guy who picks up homeless people after the Curfew. We get them off the streets before they get hurt. Sometimes we help people who have drunk too much," he replied with a slight grin.

Justin glanced over at him for a brief moment before rolling his eyes and returning his limited focus to the game. "That sounds 'exciting'. Boooring," he said and then began making loud snoring sounds. "Where'd you meet him, at a soup kitchen?"

"No. Actually, he was the one who took me to the hospital that one night."

"Oh right – when you were supposedly beat up by the Husam? Are you sure he's not just gaming you so you'll give him some money?"

"Nope, he's the real deal," John said.

Justin shook his head and drained the beer can he was holding, and then promptly crushed it and tossed it in the pile on the table. "What a do-gooder."

"You know, he mentioned that he's a Christian the other day. I think he's the first one I've met since I was a kid."

"Oh, that explains it – he's just trying to convert you. When you go out, does he ever offer you something to drink? Like grape Kool-Aid?"

"No, nothing like that. It just feels good to help others out for a change. You should see some of the people we pick up, especially on the weekends. Lots of young drunks," he said, putting extra emphasis on the word 'drunks', even though the point would probably be missed again.

"I'd rather not. Again: booooring. Besides, let someone else take care of them, like the police. But watch out for those fringe religious nuts – we're a lot better off with those fanatics silenced."

John nodded slightly to acknowledge his point, though not necessarily agreeing with him.

"Okay. Well, you're welcome to come along if you want," John offered.

"Thanks, but no thanks – I'd rather party, or even just watch a game."

But John didn't think it was much of a party, and he had the pained feeling that he was looking at just another future alcoholic drinking all alone. He went back to his room and then laid down on his bed and closed his eyes. The patrol the night before had been busier than usual, and he was tired from a long day at school.

Besides, he needed to think alone for awhile. He was starting to feel like he was being pulled in two very different directions: one was towards the new world he was being exposed to with William, and the other was back towards where he had come from.

But whichever path he looked down, the road ahead seemed terrifying.

The next day, John was about to cross the campus of Emory University when he noticed a huge old oak tree off to the side of the Quad with fallen leaves scattered all about it. That looked like a peaceful spot where he could just sit for awhile and contemplate the recent events. He wandered over and sat down on the far side, facing away from the buildings and the sidewalk.

Though he'd been thinking about it nearly constantly since the night before, he still couldn't fully come to terms with William's admission that he was a Christian. Weren't they all religious zealots who didn't want anyone to have a good time and force everyone back to living in the Dark Ages? No abortion rights for women, no homosexual rights, limited free speech, and frequent bigotry and hypocrisy were just some of the many stereotypes of Christians. And weren't they being blamed for all those bombings lately?

Yet he felt strangely drawn to William's faith, and he couldn't explain why. Perhaps that's what was most troubling to him – why he couldn't just cast it away. It wasn't from anything that William had said as much as what he did – how he lived – that he felt was pulling him. And to make it even more odd, most of the time he did it with little or no recognition or reward, to say the least.

There was a peculiar sense of peace and quiet courage about him, and that seemed very comforting when he thought about it. William genuinely cared about others and was willing to sacrifice his own comforts just to help them, even though they never asked him to (and seldom thanked him). And that was something John found to be quite admirable, if not inspirational.

He hadn't heard William say or do anything like the typical stereotypes about Christians usually suggested. He sure hadn't tried to thump him with a Bible or really even outright 'convert' him. He had never felt any pressure or discomfort, and he even felt that William was becoming a genuine friend. And at times, he wondered if he had even known what a real friend was, other than just acquaintances and drinking buddies.

What did it mean to be a Christian? Would he have to change anything drastic about his life? What would it cost him? He had never really studied religion, but he knew enough about the major ones to know that something always had to be offered, such as time, money, or bad habits. What would he have to give up?

What would happen to him if he did become a Christian? Would he turn into some cult-minded religious freak with no social life? Could he handle being a second-class citizen in modern society, or even worse, an outcast of sorts?

And what about the long-term consequences? Would he someday turn into one of the stereotypes he'd heard of? Would he eventually become a self-righteous bigot or a hypocrite? The very thought of that notion made him want to recoil and have nothing further to do with it.

What would his friends think of him if they found out? And what would his mother think (not that he much cared what she thought most of the time though anyway) if he was 'born-again'? Would she cut him off? How would he pay for tuition and his living expenses if that happened? The more he thought about it, the greater the risks and doubts seemed to grow.

There was much to consider, and after another half-hour of sitting under the tree, John was free to admit that he still didn't have any answers. And unfortunately, now he had even more questions to find answers to.

It was quite ironic, he suddenly realized, as he glanced over at one of the magnificent marble buildings nearby.

Here he was in one of the great centers of knowledge and learning in the country, and yet there was not a single person he felt he could ask to help him with these growing dilemmas.

Chapter 5 - Decisions

"And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor." – The Declaration of Independence

"Proclaim liberty throughout all the Land unto all the inhabitants thereof." – Leviticus 25:10, inscribed on the Liberty Bell

William turned off Memorial Drive and onto Midway and steadily continued south. John seemed to be doing little other than stare blankly out his window.

"You're quiet this evening," William observed. "How was school?"

"Okay, I guess – the professors are trying to cram in a bunch of material now so they can give the tests before Thanksgiving break next week," John replied.

"Listen, if you need to study, go do it – I don't want you to feel obligated to come along with me all the time."

"No, it's okay," John answered. "The classes are really boring this semester, except for the American History class, somewhat."

William grinned. "I like history too – can you tell?"

John nodded and turned to look out his window as they passed a rundown grocery store. Since the lights inside were all off, it had probably closed hours before, and they didn't see any cars in the parking lot.

The main reason he didn't feel very talkative was that he was still thinking about their conversation from the previous patrol. William just didn't seem like most other Christians he'd heard of, nor did he behave like they were often portrayed in the press and on television. Here was a man who was always going out of his way to help others, regardless of their status, race, condition, and poverty. He certainly didn't seem to be of the same mindset as the recent suicide bombers were, that was certain.

The media, education system, and even the legal system typically painted Christians as being completely intolerant, racist, hypocritical, judgmental, and now a national security threat. In most circles today, Christians were often likened to Islamic radicals, but without the cushion of political correction. And lately, they had been blamed for many of the recent bombings in the nation's capital and mosques even though the evidence was unclear and rather limited. But again, William didn't seem that way at all. He just couldn't see him even being angry or violent, much less radical.

Was William putting on a show just to convert him (as his roommate had suggested)? No – John had concluded. Definitely not. No one could do what he did without being genuine.

So then, what or who was he to believe? His new friend or the culture and the media? Who should he trust for the truth? William had helped him when he'd needed it the most, and he seemed completely straightforward in his faith and his deeds. He felt as if he had nearly come to an impasse: should he step out 'in faith' and continue working with William or should he simply stop fooling around and return to his old comfortable life?

He had been thinking of little else over the last few days, and he had yet to make a decision one way or another. The old 'take the road less traveled' paradox, he supposed – but who knew what was up ahead on that road?

At times he felt he was being silly for feeling like it was increasingly urgent that he decide. But yet he couldn't escape that gnawing feeling in his gut. Somehow the accident had changed him, and he felt a certain clarity about the fragility of life now.

"Have you thought any more of our discussion the other night?" William asked softly.

For a fleeting instant, John wondered if William was clairvoyant, though he realized he probably just wasn't hiding it very well.

"Yeah, quite a lot, actually," he admitted. "That's why I've been so quiet tonight."

"Can I offer you some advice? Whatever your decision turns out to be, I'd make it sooner rather than later, if I were you. Things can happen awfully fast these days, especially out here. You see, with me – well, I know where I'll end up if something bad happens. But what about you?"

"I guess that's what it comes down to, in the end – but no pressure, right?" John replied with a short laugh.

"That's right," William grinned.

He pulled up to a run-down liquor store, where they had noticed an older black man slumped against the wall, just next to the door. John quickly scouted the surrounding area while William pulled up close to the man. They both got out of the car and John bent over him. As he did so, he stepped in a puddle of dark liquid near the man. It felt strange under his shoes, not quite like water.

He stepped back and looked at it, somewhat puzzled. The rest of the pavement and sidewalk was dry, except for where the man sat. And it made no sense that he would sit where it was wet. At first, John thought it was urine, until he saw some of it on the man's clothes.

John reached down and touched the puddle and then held it up to the dim light of the store's signs. It was bright red, which surprised him even more. But it was William who identified it first.

"It's blood – he's been shot!" he exclaimed, pointing to the large bloodstain on the man's shirt under his coat. William reached down and checked the man's pulse at his neck. A moment later, he shook his head. "He's dead. We'll call the police right after we leave."

But John just stood there, staring at the man in shock – it was his first time seeing a murder. He couldn't move from the sight.

"John, c'mon. We need to go now!" William said as he grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back towards the car. They got in and sped away. After they had gone a few blocks, William called the police to report the murder. John just sat there, still stunned at their immediate confrontation with death.

"Can you pull over?" John asked a few minutes after William's call. The murder had badly shaken him up. He felt like he couldn't even breathe. Life and death really did move fast out on the street.

William frowned. "Are you okay? Are you going to be sick?"

"No, not at all – I'm ready," John said, his mouth dry and voice cracking.

"Ready for what?"

"You know, the next step. I've made my decision about becoming a Christian."

William glanced over at him, and then pulled over without saying another word.

Two weeks after the Presidential Election, another national body gathered for the first time in the ballroom of the Governor's Mansion: the Alaskan National Convention.

Governor Mitch Davidson was presiding over the gathering, and was pleased to see so many of Alaska's Finest in attendance. There were seven former governors, nine Senators, four Congressmen, and then all forty of the current state representatives and their twenty state senators.

Several video cameras had been set up at different positions throughout the hall, while the official stenographer was seated close to the governor's chair at the front. No media had been invited to the event, though he was certain that some of them had guessed what would be happening there that night.

As he looked over the room, he tried to capture the mood of the attendees. Except for a handful of people talking on their phones, most were chatting in a friendly fashion. Political circles in Alaska were still relatively small, and most of the delegates knew one another on a first-name basis. But below the chatter, he sensed a palpable nervousness throughout the group, which was to be expected given the nature of the occasion.

He hadn't quite known what to expect in this convention, though emotions had been running high. He had been praying intermittently throughout the day and had been reading as many of the writings of the American Founders as he could find for the last few months. But he supposed he would never truly be ready (much less comfortable) with what they were about to do.

The governor checked the time; there was no sense in delaying any longer. He strode to the small podium at the front of the room and tapped the microphone to get everyone's attention. The delegates ceased their conversations and quickly made their way to their seats in the hall.

"Welcome to the first Alaskan National Convention," the governor began, as he gathered his speaking voice. "We are gathered here tonight to decide the future of our great state, and the fate of ourselves, our families, and our constituents. But before we begin, I'd like to open in prayer, just as our own Founders did nearly two-hundred and fifty years ago, when they were faced with the same decisions with which we find ourselves: divided loyalty or independence."

The entire room fell silent and followed suit as he bowed his head and began to pray. He asked God to grant them wisdom and guidance in their endeavor, and for the peace between their state and the rest of the Union, and also between their state and their neighbors. He prayed for the citizens and the delegates and that God would secure their liberties regardless of their government. And lastly (though some may have thought ironically), he prayed for the peace and restoration of their mother country, the United States of America.

After he concluded the opening prayer, his assistant turned on the projector and dimmed the lights. On the screen was displayed a document in elegant lettering that read, 'The Alaskan Declaration of Independence'. All the delegates had received confidential copies of it the previous week, so it came as no great surprise for them to see it.

The Alaskan Declaration of Independence was very similar to the original Declaration of Independence written in 1776. In fact, a copy of the Declaration had been used as the foundation for their own document. And though the Alaskan version had undergone a series of changes over the last week, most were relatively minor. But the main points were the same, because their grievances had been the same: both documents were a formal declaration against a mother country whose government had grown overreaching and tyrannical.

After the document had been read, the debate began, though it wasn't as heated as the governor and many of the other delegates had feared. The people of Alaska were quite consistent in their stance and decision to part with the Union. The delegates had an obligation to their constituents: their fellow Alaskans.

And at this time in their history, the people of Alaska would rather fight and even die for their freedom than live in secure subjection to an overgrown, burdensome government thousands of miles away. The vast majority of Alaskans owned their own firearms and knew how to use them. When the new gun regulations from Washington had taken effect, the Alaskans simply ignored them, and the local authorities had refused to enforce the laws even at the state level. Ironically, the distance between Juneau and Washington was nearly the same as that between Washington and London, around 3700 miles.

The delegates had all loved their mother country and none had wanted to leave the Union, but the gulf between them was too great now. The government had all but turned the nation into a foreign country to many of them, and Alaskans wanted no more of that, especially the new immigrants. The traditional-minded people of America had spoken with their exodus. He was surprised – but pleased – when more than one delegate had quoted Benjamin Franklin in his infamous words: 'Where freedom is, there is my country!'

The debate lasted only two hours, but fortunately did not grow too heated. Most of the delegates were consistent in their opinions and desires to secede. Soon the motion was made (and immediately seconded) to end the debate and sign the Declaration.

The governor stepped down from the podium and laid out several copies of the Declaration for the delegates to sign. He was the first signatory on each document, and his pen trembled as he began writing his signature. He signed in large, clear handwriting near the center, much as John Hancock had in the original American version. However, he had made the signature with the intention of assuming most of the responsibility, rather than simply mocking the king as his predecessor had.

As soon as he had finished signing his name, he stepped back to watch the others as they signed. Most of the delegates who began to line up at the table were very somber just as he had been. They knew the costs that they would likely have to pay and the burdens they would have to bear. There was no laughing nor even much smiling as the Declaration was signed, and the governor noticed that several were even weeping silently as they put the pen to the paper.

In the end, there were seventy-six signers, three abstainers, and one lone dissenter.

The governor retrieved the microphone from the podium, and then began the conclusion of the convention. He had prepared two different closing statements earlier that day, just to be safe. But now that the Declaration had been signed, he felt relieved to use the one he knew best. The one he knew by heart.

"When our forefathers met to sign a similar document against a tyrannical government thousands of miles away, Benjamin Franklin uttered his famous words at the closing of their own convention. And whether he spoke them merely to introduce some levity into the solemn occasion or out of genuine concern, I like to think it was most likely both. Tonight in closing, I would like to honor Mr. Franklin by repeating those same timeless words.

He paused and looked gravely over the other delegates.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we must all hang together, or most assuredly, we shall all hang alone."

The delegates were all now traitors to the United States of America. But now they were free.

John found a quiet table in the back of the library and hoisted the heavy backpack off his shoulder. He took out his laptop and flipped it open, and then pulled out his History book.

He had a full load of homework and had felt that he needed a change of scenery. He usually avoided the library since all the course materials were already available online. But he just didn't feel like doing his work at home that night or at a diner or coffee-shop.

After he sat down at the table and settled in, he thought about the decision he had made three days ago: he was now a born-again Christian. He didn't regret his decision, but he knew that at sometime in the future, there would be consequences. And given that Christians today seemed to run entirely against the grain of the modern culture (especially at universities), there were bound to be difficult choices that would have to be made sooner or later.

He had found the entire conversion experience and its aftermath rather intriguing, though he hadn't really known what to expect anyway. The skeptical side of him had been concerned about having a 'Zen-like' experience and falling into some sort of religious trance. But that hadn't been the case at all. The only real change he had noticed was that he felt more at peace with himself, but he couldn't really explain why other than he now knew that his eternal fate had been settled.

William had told him that his first priority was to begin reading the Bible, one of which he had been given that night. Evidently William kept a number of spares in his trunk if the need (or opportunity) arose. Actually, he had given him two: one traditional/hard-copy version and another on a flash-drive for his computer. He had told him to start in the Book of John and then go on to Romans and then the rest of the Gospels and the New Testament. He had loaded it onto his laptop last night, but hadn't gotten around to starting it yet.

Other than William, no one else knew about his conversion. And though he was excited about it, he didn't want to tell anyone else, at least not yet. He knew how most of his friends would feel – he remembered how they had reacted to the bombings earlier that fall. He remembered how he himself had reacted. He doubted that most would even be polite or cordial towards him.

He wanted to talk to others about it, but he didn't know of any other Christians aside from William. And in the current environment, he couldn't exactly ask around campus. Besides, who would listen?

He wasn't quite sure what to do next, but he decided to take William's advice and just start reading the Bible. He eyed the History book suspiciously and figured that could wait, at least until he was warmed up and ready to tackle it.

John started the Bible application on his laptop and browsed to the Book of John and then began reading.

"In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God..."

'Alaska Secedes!' the huge newspaper headline shouted. Professor Jacob Burkhart had never thought he would live to see the day when the word 'secede' would be on the front page. But those crazy Alaskans had finally done it. They had followed through on the rumors (some said threats) that had been circulating before the election. He wondered if and when any other states would follow their lead.

He had been studying Alaska and its brief history for the last month. From even before its admission into the Union in 1958, Alaska had always had a strong independence streak. In fact, for decades they even had a powerful state political party whose main platform was to remove Alaska from the Union.

Alaskans had always been fiercely independent and often claimed to have the last remnants of the old pioneer spirit that had won the West in the 19th century. And though the population of Alaska had been steadily growing since its purchase in 1867 and the subsequent Yukon Gold Rush, it had exploded over the last two decades.

After the 2008 crisis and election, deficit spending (and therefore the national debt) had skyrocketed in the central-planners' misguided attempts to restart the crippled economy. But when the Chinese and other nations could no longer afford to buy many more devalued Treasury bills, the Federal Reserve simply began printing more money rather than demanding that Congress cut its entitlements and economic stimulus programs. Rather than reducing the tax burden on the citizenry and curbing federal spending, they had dramatically increased both, and the Great Recession tightened its grip.

Inflation rose sharply rose only a few years later, and had yet to be brought back under control. Many economists declared it was actually getting worse, though the President and the government's economic experts usually claimed otherwise. Inflation was bad for the citizenry, but good for debt-ridden governments as a tool to offset their compounding debts. So far, they had been able to ward off the looming specter of hyperinflation, though it always seemed to be lurking just around the corner.

When the citizens and businesses saw that the spending could not be slowed by their mere votes, they began voting with their residency, and moved to states with lower taxes, especially the expanding retirement population. The states began an unspoken tax-war in order to attract new citizens and businesses in order to bolster their own ailing revenues, and American demographics quickly shifted. However, the failing states offset their own deficits with even more bailouts from the federal government.

As the tax-war continued in the Western and Southern states, millions fled the West Coast and the Northeast. In an attempt to prevent the dwindling tax-base from causing those states to collapse, the President and Congress directed the IRS to raise the federal income tax rates on those living only in the states with the lower state tax rates. The outcry was enormous, and the word 'secession' began being heard much more frequently.

Early in the Great Recession, the governor of Texas had declared that it was a state's right to secede from the Union. After all, they held that the state government had an obligation to their constituents first and the federal government second. But the federal government responded with even more lax border policies for Texas and higher taxes, further infuriating the South. Harsh gun control measures soon followed as public anger (along with booming gun and ammunition sales) mounted, and the National Guard was ordered to put down several protests that turned violent. Several of the organizers of the fledgling (but steadily growing) tea-parties were arrested and the anti-government protests were frequently broken up.

With the higher taxes, suppression of protests, and misguided energy policies, many conservatives and libertarians began retreating to Alaska, where the hand of the federal government was much weaker. Almost overnight, the tone between Alaska and the Feds turned sour. The state's population swelled as friends and families of the new residents soon followed, and the state began to boom like never before.

Due to the increased population, the Alaskan governor had ordered more natural gas and petroleum be extracted to keep up with increased demand and keep energy prices stable. But this went against the mandates of the EPA in Washington D.C., putting the state on a faster collision course with the federal government. And today, that inevitable collision had finally taken place.

Jacob slowly sipped his morning coffee and read the article in full. It would likely occupy most of the news cycles for the rest of the week. In addition to being a professor of early American history, he was also an avid student of the Civil War and the issues that had led up to it. The roots of division in early America had been widespread and deep before that terrible conflict, almost as long and deep as this one.

With the announcement of the secession – or rather, the declaration of independence – of Alaska, had the South been within their rights of sovereignty when they had seceded? He went back and forth on the issue, depending on the day and his recent studies. At the time of the Civil War, the government protection of slavery frequently muddled the topic. But thankfully, that was no longer an issue. If a state's majority of citizens at one time voted to voluntarily join the Union, couldn't they vote to leave it as well, with no fear of reprisal? And once a state did secede, did the federal government have the right to force them back in? Under the Constitution, the United States was a confederation of states, and not an empire, after all. At least it would be until the Tenth Amendment was formally abolished, rather that just ignored as it had been for decades.

When he considered the Civil War at times, he always agreed (of course) that the state-sponsored, state-protected institution of slavery was evil and wrong and should not have existed. But over the years, he had also come to believe that the people of the South had the right to leave the Union. And they had done so peaceably, at least at first. It had been the Union who had sent their armies into the South and started the war after refusing to turn over the federal garrison in Fort Sumter to South Carolina.

He was grieved to see that the country he loved was being deeply fractured yet again, but it had been falling apart from the inside for years. The secession of Alaska was merely the latest in a long line of weakening events in his own lifetime. Just earlier that year, another wave of people had rushed north after the Alaskan governor had lauded his support of the old Fair Tax and his desire to see it both replace the progressive income tax and the bloated IRS.

Personally, he doubted the federal government would send the military up to Alaska to force them back into the Union. If Washington went to war against one of its own, more states would surely follow Alaska's lead, and the entire economy could quickly collapse. He felt that Washington wanted to simply be rid of the anti-government trouble-makers and naysayers, many of which were now in Alaska. Besides, Alaska had recently become more of a burden than a benefit to Washington anyway. Rumors were circulating that the Alaskan government had made a secret oil and natural gas 'deal' with Russia in exchange for guaranteed military aid against the United States, should matters ever come to that.

Thanksgiving was only three days away, and his primary task for the week was to pass out tests. He would put off grading them until after the break was over, and then would have one of the assistants do it. He wanted to study the arguments for and against secession from the Civil War period anyway, since it was certain to be the hot topic in all his lectures now. Maybe that would make his classes more interesting as well.

Would any other states secede from the Union as Alaska had done? He decided he wouldn't need to worry much about that until one of the larger continental states tried it. And given the lasting (though typically friendly) rivalry between Alaska and Texas, he figured Texas would be next.

Then there would be some real fireworks.

Mohammed waited for Najeev to answer his phone; usually it only took him two or three rings to answer, rather than six. The call went to his voice-mail, and he immediately hung up and then redialed his number. He never left messages. After another several rings, Najeev answered.

"Did you read the news-link I sent you yesterday?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for the delay – I was on another call," Najeev replied.

"Do you understand the implications of that report?"

"I believe so. It means that some of our covert actions will soon be legalized."

From his tone and response, Mohammed could tell that Najeev was only guessing. The fool. Sometimes he truly despised having to work with these amateurs and unprofessionals on a regular basis. But unfortunately, it was necessary at this point in the timeline.

"No, it means that you must increase your pressure on the zealots and force them out into the open. Also, you will have to work harder to avoid the FAAHAD agents, since there will soon be many more of them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I got it," he answered.

"Have you been observing that man who took out half your cell like I ordered in our last meeting?" Mohammed inquired.

"We have tried, but he moves around frequently, and he often leaves an area before we arrive. We don't have the resources or the organization for watching him all over the city."

Mohammed sighed mostly to himself, but he hardened his tone so that Najeev would be certain to hear his frustration.

"Very well. Since our directives are changing, set some traps for him and remove him from interfering with our operations. Do not make it ugly or public, but you may do with him as you wish. But if I hear or read about it from any source other than you, there will be consequences."

He immediately ended the conversation, even though he heard Najeev start to utter a reply. He never spoke more than was absolutely necessary over the phone, especially to his subordinates.

He turned his attention back to his laptop and reviewed the internal memorandum that his superior had secretly forwarded to him. FAAHAD – the Federal Agency Against Hate And Discrimination – had been created to oversee church and media registration, regulation, and observation, and only yesterday it had been granted new enforcement powers. Much more extensive, expanded powers. If he was not careful, some of his cells could be inadvertently caught in their net.

Mohammed sometimes wondered how much Najeev and the other Husam cell leaders knew about him. He figured that they had surmised (and correctly so) that he was extremely well-connected and well-financed, given the significant amount of cash he regularly paid them. Eventually, the day would come when he would have to decapitate each of the cells by removing the leaders. It was a necessary part of covering one's tracks in his line of business.

He sat back and thought about the further implications of the memo. America was a very different beast than Europe. The registration of the churches had only seemed to make the American Christians stronger and more resolved, rather than extinguishing them as had happened throughout Europe and Canada. Since the registration had dispersed and scattered most of the evangelicals, the underground American churches had thrived and were now sending out and supporting more missionaries overseas than ever before!

He had never said so publicly, but he knew it was the forced registration that had made the American Christians more focused and effective in their zealotry, rather than crush them as intended. The passage of TIRMA had been their final wakeup call. Complete Islamization had always been the unstated goal, but in order for that to happen, a society first had to become completely secularized. Purge the society and culture of all traces of the former religion, allow the culture to become debased, and then refill it with Islam. Like nature and power, religion abhorred a vacuum. The model had proven quite effective time and time again in Canada, Europe, Africa, Central Asia, the Middle East, and even Great Britain. But it was different in America.

The thugs and 'reformed' criminals on his payroll were simply not visionary enough, Mohammed thought with chagrin. They had no zeal nor imagination to match their counterparts in the underground churches. He wanted – no, he needed – true believers from Palestine, Syria, Lebanon, Arabia, and Iran. He needed those of the purer sects of Islam, rather than from the foolish and bumbling Nation of Islam types in America.

The true believers of Allah would stop these American Christians dead in their tracks. Or better yet, just dead.

William and John sat in the car along the strip down in Little Five Points. They were early that night, and the bars wouldn't start closing down for another half hour. The bars and clubs looked somewhat busier than normal, though the schools weren't letting out for another few days.

"So, what do you think about Alaska leaving the United States?" John asked.

William grinned and sipped his coffee. "They've got some guts, I'll give them that much. The last time a state seceded, it kicked off the worst war in American history."

"What do you think will happen with them?"

"I don't know – probably nothing, at least not right now anyway. We 'continentals' (as I've heard the Alaskans refer to us) have enough of our own problems to deal with. And with that D-Day coming next year, there may be more states following them in leaving the Union. Maybe the Alaskans will get creative and offer to give the Feds some money to make their decision more appealing (or at least easier to swallow)."

John nodded and watched as a small crowd left one of the bars nearby.

"Have you thought about moving up there?" he asked.

"Yeah, I considered it a year or so ago, but after I prayed about it, the Lord told me not to," William said, matter-of-factly.

"No kidding – why not?" John asked, taken by surprise at his friend's answer.

"Well, it's funny you should ask that, because when I did, this phrase I heard when I first became saved popped into my head. I hadn't thought about it in a long time, but I knew right away that it was His reply."

"What was it?"

"This creationist I had heard on the radio once said it best: 'There's a war going on, folks! If you can't shoot, then carry bullets! It doesn't really matter what you do – just find something to do for the Lord!' And he was right, though I thought he was a little off-base at the time. Since I'm a terrible shot and was never in the military, I figured it was my place to carry the bullets," he said with a far-away look.

John smirked and thought about it.

"So is that when you started delivering all that black market stuff?"

"No, but that's when I began doing much more of it and when I decided to stay where I was. If He wants me to move, He'll let me know one way or another. When I first became a Christian, I figured that missions' work was always somewhere else – somewhere far away and done by real 'saints' – you know, not us average Joes. But that's not right. This mission field is anywhere you happen to be, regardless of how long you've been saved. God puts you where He wants you to be. So, I saw a need and opportunity, and decided to do something about it."

"Do you ever feel guilty about breaking the law?"

William thought for a long moment before he answered.

"To be honest, I did at first but now, not so much. When the law becomes subservient to the government rather than the reverse, the laws just seem to turn into bad rules. Especially after I saw how the government-run healthcare system treats the elderly. It's gotten to the point that if you're old and get sick, you're almost better off not going to the hospital. Because of cost-controls and the widespread availability of the 'end-of-life' counselors, they end up denying the elderly people medicine and options just because of their age. Many have died due to all the bureaucrats standing between them and their doctors."

William was silent for a minute again.

"You know, before government-run healthcare, the black market used to just deal in dangerous stuff, like nasty recreational drugs, illegal weapons, and stuff like that. But it really boomed after the government instituted its price-controls on the pharmaceutical industry. Whenever there's price-controls, shortages immediately follow. Besides, when drugs were legalized, some of the dealers simply switched forms of contraband. To the smugglers and dealers, it doesn't really matter exactly what the substance is, as long as it's illegal and there's an opportunity to make a lot of quick money, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose," John admitted.

"Besides, the stuff I deliver isn't addicting nor recreational, it's just what some bureaucrat has declared to be illegal or has made unavailable to the general public outside the healthcare system. Saving someone's life (or attempting to) with illegal drugs is more important than obeying the HHS/FDA mandates. Most of the items I distribute are vitamins and alternative medicines, along with some pharmaceuticals that the US doctors aren't allowed to prescribe, even though many other countries allow them."

John nodded. "Getting back to Alaska and D-Day, what do you think will happen about inflation?  One of my profs was talking about it the other day, and I was curious to get your thoughts on it."

William laughed slightly. "With all the deficit spending, I had thought the Crash would've happened years ago, but it hasn't yet. I don't know – I have some extra food and such stowed away, but I've decided to take it one day at a time."

"What about all your savings and retirement?"

"Most of that was wiped out during my unemployment and divorce, so I don't have much of that to worry about. But as far as handling the inflation (or extreme inflation), the trick is to buy anything of real value and stay safe until things settle down. Personally, I think the collapse or whatever will be global, not just national. In Revelation 6, it talks about how hyperinflation will be worldwide when the End Times get rolling – there will be massive shortages for the basic staples like wheat (and probably corn and rice), but luxuries like oil and wine will be available for those who can afford them. And when you think about it, a global financial crisis is the quickest, most likely way the world nations will consolidate their currencies and financial systems under the Anti-Christ, and then get everyone to take the 'mark'."

John didn't know what to say about that, but it made him uncomfortable and he decided to change the subject.

"There haven't been any more of those Green Zone bombings lately. My roommate thinks most Christians are extremists like that."

William frowned. "I don't think the people that did those bombings were Christians. The same with all the suicide bombings that have followed since. Or at least I don't believe they'll be waking up in the same place I will when I die."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Jesus always denounced violence and revenge against authorities. Even when He was being arrested and one of his disciples wanted to fight, He said, 'Those who live by the sword will die by the sword,' and ordered him to put away his weapon. The Bible is pretty consistent about taking revenge or rebellion: vengeance is the Lord's, and He will repay. He has placed the people He wants in office for His purposes, even if they're completely against Him. And though we're to submit to the authorities, we have a Higher Authority that we are to submit to first and foremost."

John gave him an odd look, but he nodded anyway.

"I'll explain it more later – we'd better get going. Looks like people are starting to leave," William said.

He started the car – the fun part of the patrol was about to begin.

Thanksgiving Day had finally arrived after another long year in the Great Recession. The economy showed little signs of lasting improvement, but some in the country still found things to be grateful for. With his eyes closed in prayer, John considered what all he was thankful for as William prayed out loud.

"Lord, we thank you for this feast you have provided for us today. May we remember our loved ones who have gone before us, and those who could not be here with us today. Thank you for your Mercy and your Providence. In Jesus' Name we pray, Amen," William said.

John opened his eyes and glanced across the table at William, whose eyes were slightly moist.

Five other people were seated around the table with them. One was a young mother with her seven-year old son, and two others were women who appeared to be even older than their hostess. Bowls and plates full of food were uncovered and once again filled the room with the aroma from their contents. There were mashed potatoes, yams, turkey and stuffing (of course), along with beans, corn, and even okra.

"That was beautiful, William. Thank you," Rose said, as she began passing the heavy tray of turkey to her right.

"You're welcome – the food looks wonderful! Thank you for hosting the dinner here again this year," he replied.

"I'm glad I had everyone's help – it's not easy to prepare Thanksgiving at my age." She was evidently in her late seventies. Rose smiled at John and passed another large bowl of food towards him. "William tells me you've recently made an important decision," she said.

John glanced up at William, who nodded slightly, letting him know it was safe to tell her.

"Yes, I became a believer last week," he answered.

"That's wonderful! Have you been baptized yet?" one of the other women asked.

"No, I didn't know about that. Is it necessary?"

"Well, not for salvation, of course," William replied, "but it's something we're instructed to do after we've been saved. Baptism is a public announcement of our decision to be born-again, passing from death to life. The outward water baptism is representative of the inner spiritual baptism we undergo when we're saved."

John nodded and put a huge scoop of mashed potatoes onto his plate. He hadn't realized he was so hungry until he'd smelled the food when they had arrived. The familiar sights and smells reminded him of past holidays, and he had felt a sharp twinge of homesickness.

"You can do it upstairs after dinner, if you want," Rose offered.

"How? We're not in a church. And aren't most of them closed today anyway?" John asked.

"You don't need to be in a church to be baptized," she replied. "Just go on up to the tub and we'll have our own little service here."

John felt bashful about the idea of being in a bathtub with others watching, even though he knew he'd certainly be adequately covered. He supposed that he could ask that only William be present, but he understood that it was a public announcement of his newfound faith.

William noticed his slight reaction and changed the subject. "How's Sandra these days?" he asked.

"She's doing well, I suppose. The funeral was last week – she was upset when it was delayed for two weeks. The funeral homes are quite backed up these days, from what I hear." Rose took a drink of sparkling cider and continued. "Thank you for trying to help Franklin that night, but it was his time. They all think so – he was ready. We've been praying for them."

William smiled, yet looked regretful. "That's what his daughter said that night."

"What happened?" John asked.

"Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I got a call and had to drop you off in the middle of that patrol?" John nodded to William that he did. "A man named Franklin had a bad heart attack. That was the emergency, and unfortunately I was too late to help him. Anyway, his daughter Sandra has been having a hard time since he died, and I asked Rose to call her and pray for her and her family."

"Why didn't they call 911 or take him to the hospital?"

"Because he was too old and the emergency rooms are always full. She had taken him several times before to have his heart-meds checked and they kept turning him away. When there's an emergency, it's triaged and prioritized, and the elderly are often put at the bottom of the list. He stood a better chance with me getting there first and then taking him to the hospital rather than calling the ambulances. Isn't socialized medicine wonderful?" William replied sarcastically.

"Yeah, I guess I never thought about it too much. I'm sorry," he offered. John thought for a moment. "Why did you have me step out? You could've just left me in the car."

"I suppose now that I could have, but I didn't know you very well and administering critical care outside a medical facility is a federal offense. Literally."

"Oh, I didn't know that."

"Again, the benefits and wonders of socialized medicine," William added.

"When you get to my age," Rose began with a kind smile, "you have to think about these things more often. When I have my first heart attack, I'll go to the hospital a day or two ahead of time just to make sure I'm closer to the front of the line."

They laughed at the absurd, but depressing, joke she had made. As healthcare costs in the government hospitals continued to skyrocket, more and more elderly died in their care waiting for treatment than in the handful of cash-strapped, though still private clinics. Ambulances would often drive around looking for an opening in an ER since the ERs were typically swamped and understaffed.

Everyone at the table continued eating until they were all full and could eat no more, save for pumpkin pie a short time later. It was a good Thanksgiving dinner, one of the best that John could remember.

Later that afternoon after several of the guests had taken naps or walks, they gathered in the small bathroom upstairs with John sitting in the bathtub wearing a pair of borrowed swimming trunks. William knelt next to him with his sleeves rolled up. Rose and the two others stood just outside the door.

"John, today you profess your faith in Jesus Christ through your baptism. You have chosen Romans 8:38-39 as the scripture text that you want to live by in your earthly service to the Lord. Hear then what God says to you through His Word: 'For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.'"

William bent over and helped John lean back until he was fully immersed and then lifted him back up out of the water, saying, "We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may have new life through Him."

John wiped his eyes and William handed him a towel.

"May God help you live by this teaching and may He bless your earthly service to Him. Amen."

The sun had set hours before, and John and William had left Rose's home after a light meal of turkey and other Thanksgiving leftovers.

Justin was away for the holiday break visiting his family in North Carolina, so John had the apartment all to himself that weekend. He invited William in and they sat down in the living room.

"I want to apologize if the baptism earlier today caught you off-guard. I didn't mean to put you on the spot," William said.

"That's okay," John replied. "Actually, it got me thinking about something else afterwards."

"Such as?"

"I know it might sound a little weird, but what do I do now about church? You're a Christian but you never seem to talk about church very much. I mean, we discussed it once awhile ago, but now that I'm saved, where do I go to church? What do I do next?"

William grinned and nodded. "Good question. The first thing to do is to start growing – study the Bible as much as you can and get intimately familiar with it. That, and coupled with consistent prayer and fellowship with other believers. And it should be with believers other than just myself, so you don't get such a one-sided view of the world and everything," he said in a joking tone. "And of course, loving and getting to know the Lord."

"How do I meet other believers? You said before that most of the churches today are monitored and regulated by the government."

"That's right – you'll need to go to an underground church, such as a house church or one of the cell churches," William replied.

"In the underground? You know, whatever happened to the Freedom of Speech and Assembly and all that? What about the Separation of Church and State?"

William was silent for a long moment, apparently thinking about how to best answer the question.

"Long before the Dispersion took place, certain left-leaning groups in the United States began pushing the idea of a complete, constitutionally-mandated Separation of Church and State based upon the First Amendment. But did you know that phrase isn't even in the Constitution?"

"No, I didn't know that. Where did it come from?" John asked.

"The phrase 'Separation of Church and State' actually originates in a letter from Thomas Jefferson to a group of Baptists who were concerned about the free exercise of their beliefs. They were being pressured by other churches and even the state of Connecticut, and they wanted to have the President give them his written guarantee of their freedom to worship as they saw fit."

"Anyway, Jefferson stated that the First Amendment created, in essence, a wall of separation of church and state. It wasn't that the organized church was pressuring the state, it was that the state was pressuring the church. Even during the Middle Ages when the Vatican ruled the land, it was still a state/government entity which controlled the church, not the church that was controlling the state. And that's one of the reasons why it was illegal to possess or even read a Bible during most of the Middle Ages."

"Really? Just reading it was illegal?"

"Yes, even owning one was a capital offense at times. Remember, the Bible teaches that leaders are held to a higher account than the people they serve, along with basic principles of righteous leadership and the separation of powers. Kings and popes don't like to share their power, do they? Not only that, but many of the prophecies in the Bible speak of how when Jesus returns, He'll judge the entire earth and put down all the nations and governments – and their religions."

"Even the United States?"

"Yeah, even the United States. We're not exactly a Christian nation anymore, would you say?"

"No, not really, I guess. I think some parts of it still are though, like the more remote areas of the South and West," John offered.

"Yes, but those areas are much fewer and smaller than they used to be. When I was your age, there were enough Christians still active in their faith and their politics to unify and swing the vote to Ronald Reagan and then later, the Bushes. But since the Dispersion and TIRMA, the Christians have been unable to organize to focus their influence – and their vote."

"Because of the decline of talk-radio and the silencing of the churches, right?"

"That was a large part of it. But it had started long before that. When the 'Separation of Church and State' began being proclaimed in the Fifties and Sixties, Christians shrunk away from government service, and the media focused more on portraying them as hypocrites than anyone else. After all, scandals sell more papers, right? After a while, many conservatives and Christians decided it just wasn't worth having their personal lives scrutinized and destroyed to enter into politics. We became marginalized and divided (when we weren't doing it ourselves) and then the country became more and more secular. Once the humanists took over all levels of education, the media, and the government, the families soon followed. Now secularism is so pervasive that the Pledge of Allegiance can't even be said in a public school classroom because it mentions 'God'. That and the fact we aren't much of a republic now either."

"So, is there any hope of changing the nation? I mean, won't most people get fed up with it one of these days?"

"There is always hope, of course, but it's becoming increasingly unlikely. Once the freedoms of speech and assembly have been restricted by political correctness, it's very difficult to start and sustain an adequate opposition movement. Also, the right to bear arms is required for any possible revolution, which isn't much of an option now either. But the worst part is that today, millions of people don't want things to change too much – once the government starts sending out checks every month and providing goodies like free healthcare, employment, and security, the majority of people are much less likely to revolt. Besides, a nation is very much like an individual: before its behavior can change, its heart must change, and that starts with a large portion of the citizenry getting back to God and depending on Him rather than their fellow man, such as in the Great Awakenings. But today, unfortunately, the nation has outlawed the real solution to many of its problems: God."

John gave him a puzzled look.

"I didn't follow you on the last part. What does religion have to do with freedom?"

"Everything!" William exclaimed. "Let me start from the beginning. Where do human rights and freedoms come from? The Declaration of Independence says that freedoms are endowed by our Creator. If you take the Creator away (by secularism and the banning of God in the public square), from Who (or Where) do we get our freedoms? The next authority greater than ourselves: the State, or the government. Not only that, but the more religious a nation is, the less it inherently needs government – where there's less personal sin, there's less need for police, courts, and laws. There was much more liberty in the country when most people policed themselves at the individual level. And it was the Great Awakenings which started that."

"I've never heard of the Great Awakenings – what were those?" John asked.

"Not many people have these days," he replied. "The Great Awakenings were two religious movements that swept over the Eastern seaboard in the mid-18th and mid-19th centuries. Thousands upon thousands of people became Christians – real Christians – and it changed their generation and the one that followed. In fact, the course of the entire nation changed after each of the two Great Awakenings that took place. Sadly, there have been two more 'awakenings' in America, but both were secular, which took the country in the exact opposite direction: away from God."

"How did those two push it towards secularism?"

"Much of it started slowly, but the humanists hammered away at the religious foundations of the country for decades. If you consider that Truth (or lack of it) is what protects a nation's moral character, I'd argue that the widespread, public teaching of the Theory of Evolution is what first cut the West loose from its Christian moorings. In Romans, it says 'they exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshipped the created things rather than the Creator'. If that doesn't sum up what has happened in America and the West, I don't know what does. That's what happens when the public school system is used to brainwash kids rather than teach science and biology."

"Brainwashing kids?" John replied with a frown and a look of skepticism. "What are you talking about?"

"It's the constant indoctrination in Evolutionary teaching from pre-school on up. Brainwashing is the intentional conditioning of people to only think or interpret problems/situations in a desired way. Perhaps 'brainwashing' in our vernacular is a little too strong of a term to use here, but it fits the definition. Want to see how easy it is to get brainwashed?"

John smirked and waved his hand for him to go ahead and try.

"Here's a very simple example – it's a riddle, but it will demonstrate my point that it's very easy to get someone thinking in only one direction. 'A man left home jogging. He ran a little ways and turned left. He ran a little further and turned left, and then finally turned left again and headed for home. When he got there, he found two masked men waiting for him. Who were they and why were they there waiting for him?' Want a minute to figure it out?"

John grinned and thought for few seconds, but soon admitted he was stumped. With the limited information he was given, how was he supposed to know the answer?

William smiled. "See? I brainwashed you on a very basic, and completely harmless level – and now, allow me to 'unbrainwash' you. Ever watch a baseball game? A man left home jogging..." he said, as a noticeable change crossed John's face and he began laughing.

"Yeah, I get it. But how exactly is that like brainwashing kids?" he asked.

"The same way: in the first few words or seconds," William replied. "Open any school book that discusses origins, science, or biology, and what are the first few words that are written? 'Millions of years ago...'" Today, they probably use 'billions', since they're always inflating their numbers, but the idea is the same – and the intended effects: kids end up believing in Evolution and that it's part of science and therefore 'true' rather than being just another belief system. And kids and parents believe it because the schools wouldn't knowingly teach lies, would they? Understand that Evolution is the preferred religious foundation of the modern State, so what other theory of origins would the State schools allow to be taught? Why would they give even five minutes to any other theory? After all, 'he who payeth the bills, maketh the rules'."

"Anyway, I could go on and on," he continued. "But after the humanists realized their opponents would often surrender by just being threatened with a lawsuit, the flood-gates were opened and there was no stopping them. When you can bankrupt your opponents with lawsuits, you can win every time, regardless of the results in the courtroom. This first happened in the education system, then in the media, and then finally in the churches. What starts in the universities often becomes widespread throughout the society, because the universities produce the teachers, journalists, and the lawyers. Even Hitler openly declared, 'Let me control the textbooks, and I'll control the State'. After TIRMA was passed, the Progressives, the LGBT activists, and the ACLU threatened to sue any church or Christian school that didn't comply with the new laws. Understand that the Tolerance Acts ended up generating more intolerance than anything else. Most of the faithful churches simply decided to close their doors rather than fight the limitless money and powers of the federal government."

"I had never heard that stuff before – I thought most of them had just ran out of money and closed."

William nodded. "A number of the larger denominational churches did after the charitable deductions were eliminated from the tax-code and the income tax rates were raised, but most of the independent churches remained, at least for awhile. Actually, faithful churches seem to grow during tough economic times. But you see, when Christianity was the mainstream in America, the Church seemed solid and influential. On the outside, it was big and strong, but inside, it was weak, compromising, and withering. But since the Dispersion, outwardly the Church is weak and collapsing, but on the inside it's strong, vibrant, and growing like it hasn't been for nearly a hundred years. The difference today is that it's all underground, like it is in most other countries."

"So what's the solution then? I mean, where would you even start in turning things around?" John asked.

"First and foremost, we should be praying. God, not government, is the solution to America's problems, and too few of us ask Him for help. Apart from that, widespread homeschooling (or at least private education), and then the systematic dismantling of all the unconstitutional, non-critical Washington bureaucracies and agencies, starting with the Department of Energy and the Department of Education. In every society, the larger the government, the smaller the citizen. The Constitution is very clear in that the federal government has only the powers explicitly granted to it by the Constitution and not denied to the States. The US government has no right or business being involved in welfare, education, energy, etc. – those are the responsibilities left to the States, and not granted to the federal government."

"I understand the reducing of the size of government, but homeschooling? Isn't that illegal?"

"Of course," William replied with a grin. "But that doesn't mean that people don't or shouldn't do it. When obeying God conflicts with obeying the government, you should obey God first and foremost. After all, governments are just made up by people, right? You should see some of the lengths that people go to when they homeschool their kids. Some families up and move out to the middle of nowhere to have that freedom, though many have recently moved to Alaska. Jesus said, 'But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were thrown into the sea.'? Well, some parents take that very seriously and refuse to subject their kids to a pagan/secular school environment. It does no good to teach your kids one set of values and then send them off to a school where they're taught the exact opposite."

John nodded and was silent for a long time. Finally, William broke the silence and spoke again.

"John, you asked earlier about what's next for you, right? Well, aside from reading and praying, you need to connect with other believers on a regular basis. As you might have guessed by now, I'm deeply involved in an underground church. In fact, I lead one, and I want to let you know that you're more than welcome to join us. But given our circumstances, that will require a serious commitment from you, both for your safety and the safety of the rest of the group. Remember, groups or churches that are unregistered are considered illegal, and are now deemed to be a growing threat. So, we have some rules..."

"Okay – such as?"

"We hold to the traditional honor system, of course, but the basic rules are: do not speak about the group in public or even with your friends, family, etc. – only Christians you know you can trust. Don't go to the meeting location unless we're meeting at that time. And of course, don't rat out the group and its location to the authorities."

"Of course. But what's the commitment part?"

"That you be honest and open with us, and trust us as you would your own family. Each of us has unique gifts that belong to the Body – or the group – just as each of us has physical needs. The group is only as strong and faithful as its individual members are. And the more we give and the more we share with one another, the more we all will grow in the knowledge and grace of Christ. Unity and growth both as individuals and as a group is the point."

John nodded that he understood.

"I don't need an answer tonight, of course. Just think about if you'd like to be a part of it. Pray about it. Then we'll take the next step when you're ready," William said.

John nodded again. There was much more to consider now – and to pray about.

Later that night after William had left, John clicked off the TV and tossed the remote onto the cushion next to him. He stretched out and stared up at the ceiling. What was he getting himself into? Becoming a Christian hadn't seemed very difficult, even with his impromptu baptism earlier that day.

But now there was a real commitment he had to decide on. Other believers would be counting on him with their lives and well-being. It would be his first real test of faith.

What if their group was discovered by the authorities? What if he was even arrested and thrown into jail?

Did he really want the responsibility of looking out for others in the group? What if he didn't like them or they didn't like him? What if he was really joining a crazy cult or something? He thought of Justin's Kool-Aid comment and his fears began to grow.

John got up and retrieved his Bible from where he had hidden it in his room and then continued reading in the Book of Romans. He spent the next half-hour in it, until his eyes grew heavy and he dozed off on the couch.

When he awoke a few hours later and finally went to bed, he realized he wasn't feeling nearly as much trepidation as he had earlier.

Chapter 6 - The Cell

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." – The First Amendment to the United States Constitution

"What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?" – Romans 8:31-32

John smiled at the houses and trees they passed as he looked out the car window. The day was warm, and people were busy putting up their holiday lights and other decorations on their homes. Now that he had become a Christian, he supposed he should start thinking of them as Christmas lights, but no one had called them that for years. But Christmas was coming, and he was looking forward to it more this year than he had in the past. This year, he was expecting it to be special.

"Are you sure you're ready?" William asked him.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Let's go," John said as he put a determined look on his face.

"Okay. Don't say I didn't warn you though. It's not like most churches you see on TV or in the movies."

William soon made a right-hand turn. They headed back towards Emory University, and John was surprised when they parked on the east side of campus, just north of the hospital. They left the car and began walking, and then as they neared the hospital, William turned off the sidewalk and onto a side entrance to the building.

John almost kept walking but then quickly followed after him.

"It's this way," he said, walking towards one of the steel backdoors.

"What are we doing here? Don't you work in this place?" John asked, somewhat puzzled.

"This is it – we meet down in the basement."

John gave him another strange look as William glanced around at their surroundings. "Why not just meet in someone's house?"

"Oh, we used to every few weeks or so, but usually not on a Sunday morning. In fact, most cell churches did meet in homes until the police really started cracking down on illegal assemblies. I've heard that some authorities are using thermal imaging and high-sensitivity sonar now, but that's mainly in Washington and New York. You know, it's ironic: the intelligence tools that most people demanded after September 11th are now used against cell churches and other political adversaries. Over a year ago, we decided to not take the chance of endangering our families or neighbors and just began meeting here. It's hard for the surveillance tools to penetrate several feet of concrete and underground, after all."

"Are you worried about getting caught?"

"Every time we meet. But everyone in the group has a key and dresses up as janitors, orderlies, or other hospital staff. Besides, no one ever goes down to the basement anyway, except for archives and cold storage."

"What if you are discovered?"

William shrugged his shoulders. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. But we've been here for thirteen months and haven't had a problem yet. We also have a number of precautions we take to further reduce our risks."

John nodded and looked around nervously as William unlocked the door. The area was deserted and the side-door they were entering was far from the parking lots and the street. William stepped in and then came back out with an 'Out of Service' sign that he put on the door.

"We do that to let the rest of the group know that it's safe. I always get here before everyone else and check things over. If the sign isn't out, they turn around and come back next week. So far, we haven't had to do that though."

John followed him inside and down a short hallway, and stopped in front of another door that William unlocked, and then followed him into a large storage room. The room was dark and cluttered and had a faint musty odor to it.

William placed another 'Out of Service' sign on the door after they entered. He flipped on the fluorescent lights and motioned for him to put on a janitor's uniform. The room was full of metal shelves crammed with supplies, and boxes of old hospital bed-parts and other equipment were stacked haphazardly throughout. But past all the mess, there was a small area that was less cluttered than the rest of the room.

"Like I said – it isn't much, but at least we have chairs now."

"How many should I set out?" John asked as they walked over to the open area.

"Put out seven in a small circle," William replied. "Three are stacked against the wall over there," he said as he pointed to a rack of dismantled IVs. "The rest are under that tarp near the other wall."

John nodded and set up the chairs in the cleared area of the room.

Five minutes later, there was a strange, almost rhythmic knock at the door. If it would've been louder (and unexpected), John might have jumped.

William immediately answered the door with a slightly different knock in response and then a stocky, muscular black man entered. He was dressed as an orderly and was carrying a dark backpack. They shook hands and then William introduced him.

"John, this is Jamal," he said as they shook hands.

"It's good to finally meet you – our little chapel here isn't glamorous, but it grows on you, right Will?" Jamal said.

"Absolutely. How's work downtown?" he asked.

"Can't complain – made it through another layoff last week. It was tough to see so many go. Nothing's safe these days."

"We've been praying for you over there," William answered.

Jamal slapped him on the shoulder and grinned in gratitude.

A few minutes later, there was a knock similar to Jamal's on the door and another group member arrived. Within ten minutes, two more came in, and John began to wonder if they would have enough room for more chairs – after all, the cluttered room was now becoming rather small. But no more came after the last two.

Their names were Tyra, Hernando, and Emily. Tyra and Jamal were similar in race and age – probably in their mid to late twenties. From their mannerisms and conversation, John could tell they were involved in a relationship together, or at least were very close friends. Hernando was older and appeared to be in his forties. Emily was closer to John's age than anyone else, and he was surprised to see that she was younger than the rest of the group.

William had introduced John to each of the members as they had arrived. They were very kind and friendly, and John began to relax once the door was locked. He was still worried about them being discovered, but no one else seemed to be. They were probably used to it, he supposed. John noticed that there was one chair left empty, and he wondered who it was for.

Everyone sat down on the old folding chairs and William opened the gathering by taking prayer requests. Jamal was concerned about his job at the construction company; Tyra's mother was ill, but fortunately not in the hospital; Emily requested prayer for an upcoming math test; and Hernando's sister had recently lost her job. Both William and John had no requests, though William asked for their continued safety on their patrols.

And then the group began to pray, each of them in turn, with William opening and closing it. The prayer time went longer than John had expected, but he was surprised at how open and personal they were with one another.

Following the prayer time, they continued their Bible study on the Book of Ephesians, which lasted nearly an hour. William guided the study, but each one in the group contributed to the discussion (except for John – he was still taking it all in). They closed with a short prayer, and then the group began leaving as carefully and as cautiously they had arrived. No one left together at the same time, and they staggered their departures.

William and John were the last to leave; they put the chairs away, took down the signs, and locked the doors. As they walked back to the car, John thought that his first experience in the underground church was one of the most unexpected he'd ever had. He almost likened it to being in a 'secret-society' meeting like he'd see in the movies, but without all the weirdness.

"I noticed that there was an empty chair, but it seemed that everyone was present. Was there someone missing?" he asked.

"No, everyone was here. I always put an extra one out to remind the group that we always need to be growing. The empty chair is a visible but silent reminder of that," William replied.

"Do you take up a collection or anything? I thought that was a big part of most churches," John noted.

"Sometimes we take up a small offering for special events or charity, but most times the members just give how they see fit, though on their own. We do encourage one another in that, of course, but it's not mandatory. Some are in a financial position to give more, and others are not. It's more about the attitude of the giver's heart than the amount given. We don't even have a bank account."

"Why is that?"

"Well, for a small group like ours, we have very few obligated expenses. We don't have utilities or a mortgage to pay, much less salaries. But everyone in the group helps finance at least one missionary or ministry abroad – a growing number of which are even here in the United States. You'd be surprised at how many missionaries can be supported when a church doesn't have to pay a mortgage or a monthly electric bill," William said with a big grin. "I can give you a list of missionaries actively seeking support, when you're ready."

John nodded and then thought of another question.

"So, what do you call this group of yours anyway?" he asked.

William shrugged. "We don't have a real name for it, which is one of our safety rules. We just sort of refer to it as 'the Cell'.

The basketball game had probably already started, Justin thought with irritation as he opened the door and immediately tossed his backpack on the dining room table. He grabbed a beer from the front of the refrigerator and plopped down on the sofa.

He watched the game until his beer was finished and then got another fresh one. The last week of classes before Christmas break was wearing him out. There was a big holiday party tomorrow night at the Alpha Gamma frat-house to celebrate the upcoming vacation, and that would lift his spirits.

Only two more days to go, he thought to himself. Friday would be easy (or rather, easier) because he had only the required Diversity class in the morning. All that class entailed was attending a mosque once a week and taking a basic test on Islam and its cultural contributions to Europe, America, Africa, and the rest of the modern world. He thought it was a waste of time, but if it was required, it was required. College was just a game anyway.

"John?" he called out, and then quietly listened for a response. There was no answer. He sat back down and muted the commercials, thinking about his frequently-absent roommate. He tried to remember the last time they had watched a game together and then gave up.

John was never around much any more – he hadn't been since Thanksgiving, come to think of it. They hadn't had a beer together for even longer, probably since the accident early in the fall. What was going on with him?

He returned to the game and continued drinking; he had some homework to do before tomorrow's classes, but he could put it off until tomorrow morning. Besides, the game (and his beer) was much more interesting.

Towards the end of the third period, he heard the sound of a key at the door and looked up. It was John.

"Hey buddy! Where ya been?" Justin exclaimed (a bit too enthusiastically, he realized shortly afterwards). "Haven't seen much of you lately!"

"Yeah, I've been busy. Who's playing?" John replied, taking note of the half-dozen empty beer cans scattered across the coffee-table.

"Georgia is up by five against UNC. Grab a beer and have a seat," he offered.

"Thanks," John said as he sat down but didn't get a beer. He saw that Justin noticed, but he didn't say anything. "How are your classes going?"

"They suck, as usual. How's yours?" Justin replied.

"Okay – I've been doing better – more studying, I guess."

Justin nodded and crumpled another empty can. "Do you have plans for the holiday break? Going home?"

"No, not this year."

"Wanna to go back with me for a few days?" Justin offered.

"Let me think about it. I had planned on staying here – maybe working around campus or something."

"You got a job? Since when?"

"I haven't yet, but I might find some volunteer work."

"Really? Man, if you're gonna work, you should at least get paid for it. What a waste of time!"

John grinned awkwardly, but didn't respond to it. Few people volunteered their time or money any more.

He watched the game for a few more minutes until the commercial break. "Well, I'd better go study while it's fresh," he said, standing up from the sofa.

"You study too much, dude." Justin had a slight tone of irritation in his voice. "Watch the rest of the game! Eat! Drink! Be merry!"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I haven't been drinking much since the accident."

"Whoa! Not even beer? How can you be in college and not be drinking beer?!"

John smiled and waved off the light mockery. He strode back to his room and closed the door.

Justin shook his head once he was certain that John was in his room. His roommate was turning into a Puritan! What happened to the fun-loving drinking buddy he had known only a couple of months ago?

A few hours later (after he had dozed off for a while), he thought he heard John quietly walk past and head out the door. After he left, Justin flipped on the television again; it was five minutes before midnight. For someone who didn't party or drink anymore, he found it very peculiar that John was going out at that hour.

What was he up to?

The young surgeon worked feverously over the patient, but he was wearing down after an already long day. He still had two hours left to go on his shift. He was trying the best he could to stop the hemorrhaging, but after the first half-hour, he had determined that she was a lost cause. But for the sake of her unborn child, he decided to keep trying for a few more minutes, if only out of pity. From the size of the fetus, it appeared to be at nearly thirty-two weeks.

He kept working and had one of the surgical assistants call for assistance, though he was skeptical that any would come. Even at the well-funded University Hospital, they were still understaffed, overworked, and of course, underpaid. As soon as his required term was up, he was heading back to China. Back home.

"Sponge!" he ordered harshly, and immediately one of the assistants dabbed at the rising pool of blood in the victim's side. He hated working on pregnant women – especially those he knew would likely die.

The vital signs buzzer sounded nearby and his patient began to flat-line.

"Get the crash-cart!" he exclaimed. "Paddles! Set to three-fifty!"

The assistant closest to the cart quickly wheeled it over and handed him the defibrillator paddles and it began charging. He rubbed the paddles together and applied the shock to her chest. Her body bucked and momentarily recovered with a faint sinus rhythm, and then flat-lined again.

"What's the status of the fetus?"

One of the assistants checked the fetal monitor.

"Stable, but we'll need to get it out soon if we can't bring her back."

"I know what we need to do," he retorted. He swore in his native language under his mask and tried again.

The heart monitor didn't change and he knew it was over.

"She's gone. Call it and notify one of the OTD teams. Hook her up to life-support and keep her blood circulating until they get here." He was glad they would be cleaning up this mess. Maybe they could salvage some of her other organs and tissues, along with the fetus, of course. His superiors would be pleased about that.

"Doctor, what about the baby?" one of the assistants asked with a concerned tone. It was the prettier one, and probably just a few years younger than him, he supposed. But he already felt like an old man – after just two years out of medical school, he felt old and burned out. Modern medicine in America took a heavy toll on residents such as himself.

He shot her a look of utter irritation, mixed with arrogance. "They'll take care of that. Just do what I told you to."

"But it's – it's still alive! It wasn't injured in the crash!" she protested. "We could do a quick Cesarean before they –"

"No! You know the rules – I could lose my residency, and you could all lose your licenses. It's a federal law – you know that! I don't like it any more than you do, but let it go," he ordered, ripping off his surgical gloves. "It's not our call to make anyway."

The younger assistant who had protested began shaking her head and stepped back from the table. He knew what was going through her head; he'd had the same thoughts during his first few cases like this, but he didn't want to think about that now. But she was correct: the baby appeared to be perfectly healthy. He shook his head at her and stormed out of the operating room.

The other, more experienced assistant did as she was told and connected the artificial-life-support machine. She ensured the fetus was alive and stable, and then called for the Organ Tissue & Disposal team. But the younger assistant just stood there.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked as she hung up the phone.

The other assistant stared speechlessly at the infant monitor which continued to blip at quick, regular intervals. After another long moment, she shook her head again and then ran out of the room.

William pushed the mop bucket down the hall, in no real hurry to finish the floor. He had been there long enough to know how to pace himself. When he didn't pass his time at work with reflection and prayer, he sometimes liked to estimate odd things, such as how many times he had changed the trash, filled the mop bucket, or how many floors he had cleaned over the years.

As he approached the supply closet to refill some of his cleaning bottles, he heard a sound coming from inside that he had not expected: someone was crying. And if they were trying to hide, they weren't doing it very well.

He slowly opened the door and found a young woman sitting hunched on the floor – one of the surgical staff, from the color of her uniform and her molded-rubber shoes. She was sobbing uncontrollably; in fact, she almost didn't notice that she had been discovered until he had fully entered the closet and quietly closed the door behind him.

"Excuse me – are you okay?" William asked softly. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first surgical assistant he had found hiding in a closet.

The young woman looked up in surprise, but only for a split second. She wiped her eyes out of fear and embarrassment and shook her head.

"No – no I'm not. I've done something terrible," she said, before the sobs came again. "It's all my fault – I let it happen."

He slowly sat down next to her.

"Would it help to talk about it?"

"You won't tell anyone I'm in here, will you?"

"No, I promise. My name's William, but you can call me Will."

She nodded, but with tears still streaming from her eyes.

"I'm Natalie."

"It's nice to meet you, Natalie," he said, gently shaking her hand. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was assisting with an accident victim in surgery. She was eight months pregnant, and she didn't make it. The doctor ordered the OTD team to come and take her – and the baby. But it was still alive!"

William drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. Another case of mandated infanticide. Tears began to seep into his eyes as he thought of the tiny innocent life that had been heartlessly snuffed out.

"The worst part is – I mean, if that wasn't bad enough – is that I didn't do anything. I couldn't! I was too scared about losing my license to stop them! I should have done something – I let them commit murder!" she sobbed.

He drew another deep breath and put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him, still sobbing. For several long moments, he said nothing.

"Can I ask you something?" she said as she stopped crying for a moment and looked up at him.

William nodded.

"Do you think it would be weird if I gave the baby a name?" she asked.

"No, not at all. Was it a boy or girl?"

"The chart said it was a baby boy." She wiped her eyes and thought for a moment. "Joseph – I think his name should be Joseph," she said.

"That's a great name," William replied with a gentle nod.

Naming the baby had given her a moment of comfort, but then she began weeping again.

"It's all my fault – I let it happen! He would be alive right now if I had just tried to stop them!"

"There was nothing you could have done," he said, trying to reassure her.

Of course it wasn't her fault – the hospital was to blame. And the evil government policies and bureaucrats that condoned abortion and even infanticide, which forced hospitals to carry out their horrible mandates. If she had tried to intervene, she would have likely been arrested, or at least been fired and had her license revoked.

With modern socialized 'medicine' in the United States, cost-control was of utmost importance. Infants (especially preemies) were expensive to care for and then later educate, while their organs and tissues were quite valuable. When there was no living will of the mother, and no apparent Next of Kin, the infant was deemed to be in the custody of the State. And that meant abortion and often organ/tissue harvesting, regardless of how old the fetus was. He had even heard rumors of infanticide for up to three-month-olds now.

"I feel so guilty – how can I be forgiven for what I've done?" she said between sobs. "I feel like I just let him die!"

He was silent again for a long time, before he finally decided to answer her. He glanced over to make sure the door was closed.

"If you really want to be forgiven – and feel forgiven – let me tell you about my best friend. His name is Jesus – the Great Comforter..."

The first of their cell group walked in, and John looked up as he finished setting out the last of the chairs.

"Hey Jamal – how's it going?" John said as he shook hands with him.

"Great, my man, great. How're y'all?"

"Better! I'm on Holiday – uh, Christmas – break," he replied, correcting himself.

"Yeah, that sounds a lot nicer than 'Holiday Break', huh?"

John nodded with a grin and they continued chatting. Over the last few weeks, he had become friends with all the people in the group, but he felt most comfortable with Jamal. They joked around before and after the group-time, but during the study and prayers, they were both quite serious. William tended to be a little more aloof than normal during their meetings, so he was glad that Jamal was around.

Emily walked in a little later than usual and sat down. He noticed that she didn't really talk to anyone after the initial greetings, so he decided that he would be the first that day. She was slightly younger than him and attractive, but he didn't have a romantic interest in her. He saw her as a younger sister. And he thought of the rest of the group in a similar fashion: fellow brothers and sisters.

In fact, he had been thinking about them more and more, regularly praying for them here and there throughout the day and when he read his Bible. His concern and affection for them was growing. It was good to have a family again, even if they weren't related. Most times in the meetings, it felt closer than his own real family ever had. William had laughed at him (good-naturedly, of course) when he had first made his feelings for the group known on one of their patrols, and had told him that was quite normal. In the spiritual sense, he had said, the group actually was his family: his spiritual family.

William sat down in his chair and most of the others in the group followed his lead. He smiled and cleared his throat.

"Good evening. Hope you've all had a good week. Jamal will be leading us tonight, rather than myself. Are you ready?" he asked, turning to Jamal, who promptly nodded.

Jamal greeted the group and began asking for their prayer requests, and then led them in the prayer time. After they were finished praying, he passed out a study sheet and had them turn to 1st Thessalonians. They were starting a new book that week, but they had been in the Epistles for the last three months. John had been doing his best to catch up with them.

The study and discussion went on for the next hour before Jamal brought it to a close. He had summarized the book well and had taken them through the first three chapters. He briefly touched on the subject of the Rapture, which John realized he was unfamiliar with. He decided he'd ask William (or even Jamal) about it after the meeting was over.

After the study had concluded and the closing prayer had been said, everyone stood up and complimented Jamal on his first 'sermon' of sorts. John overheard him joke with William about recording it in his studio for posterity purposes, and John thought that was rather curious. Something else to ask him about later.

The group filed out of the small room a little faster than normal, but since it was late Saturday evening (rather than Sunday morning), they figured it was safe enough to do so.

William unlocked the door to the studio and held the door open for John. He whistled softly as he walked in, noting the thick acoustical padding on all the walls and ceiling. Even the back of the door was covered in the dark gray pitted foam.

On a table near the center of the room, a laptop sat in a docking station near two large LCD displays, along with a professional-looking microphone, a set of headphones, and another device that looked like a flat metal plate. He also took note of several bundled cables that descended from the back of the table and ran along the floor to what looked like a hub and several other boxes. There were piles of notebooks, manuals, and other books on a shelf near the desk, and in front of the laptop was yet another lined notebook.

"Wow! When I heard you had a studio, I had pictured something completely different – nothing like this!" John exclaimed, complimenting him on his set-up.

"Thanks – it took awhile to put it all together, but I'm happy with how it turned out. Here, let me show you around," William said, and he proceeded to identify each of the components scattered about the room.

"What's this?" John asked, pointing to the flat plate near the microphone.

"Oh, that's a wind-screen – it absorbs the extra noise from the speaker, like the harder-breathing sounds and 'p-pops' when you speak."

"Usually there's a big mixer or something in a studio, right? I don't see one here."

"I have some software that I use for most of the mixing. The real ones draw too much juice. But you're right – most studios have a large mixing console in the middle, but that's more for recording music and such. The software I use is adequate for my purposes."

"If you don't make music, what exactly do you record here, anyway?"

William grinned. "I was wondering when you'd get around to asking that. I record mostly sermons or other Bible studies and then syndicate them to various locations over the Internet. I also pay for some time on an AM-rebroadcasting service in Texas. Lately, I've begun recording audio versions of books that are no longer available in bookstores. Many of them are Christian books, which have been banned from most other stores."

"If they're illegal, why do you take the risk?" John asked.

"Because the messages in those books need to be heard. Just because our government has declared certain books to be filled with hate-speech doesn't mean they really are – it all depends on what the definition of hate-speech is. No one really cared when the bans started, because most of those books really were bad and few were sold anyway. But when the PC-crowd took it a few steps further, most pro-family, traditional-values books became painted with the same broad brush, so to speak. If your book offends the wrong group and they start screaming, you're forced out of business by the government, rather than the market. Such bans usually start out with good intentions, but seldom end well."

"How often do you create these broadcasts anyway?"

"A few times a week, though it varies. At least once a week though."

John nodded and looked around some more, trying to take it all in.

"I'll show you how it all works sometime, if you're interested," William offered.

"That would be great! I've never been in a real studio like this before," he replied.

"Yeah, there aren't many around these days either. But there's a few of us old-timers still ticking in the underground." William moved back towards the door. "I'll show you the rest of the place, mainly my library."

As they stepped out, William locked the door to the studio, and John walked over to one of the bookshelves nearby. He noticed a picture of an attractive woman with a young girl, who appeared to be her daughter.

"Is this your daughter?" he asked.

William glanced up and nodded. "Yes. This is one of the last pictures I have of her and her mother when they lived here, before the divorce," he said quietly.

"Do you plan on seeing her next year?"

"I don't know. I'll visit her sometime – I'm not sure that she wants to see me."

"You should ask and see what happens. You're going to call her at Christmas, right?"

"Maybe you're right," he replied with a slight nod and a shrug. He paused for a long moment as John put the picture back on the shelf. "Thanks for pressuring me about my daughter. I just don't want to push her further away than she already is. It's my fault for driving them away."

"You should at least call her – after all, it's Christmas!" John said.

"I suppose I should. Christmas is as good a time as any..."

"Okay – on three. One, two, three!" William grunted as he and John lifted the man into the backseat of the car. He was completely passed out and it felt like they were lifting two hundred pounds of dead weight. From the look and smell of him, he hadn't been sober in a very long time.

John flipped on the interior light and checked the man's left arm for track-marks and other signs of drug use. There were none, and then he checked his other arm. Since the man had no identification on him, William looked around outside in his junk for his wallet or anything else that might help them figure out who he was and where to take him.

William returned a moment later having found nothing useful. They turned him over on his side, just in case he threw up.

"Where do you want to take him?" John asked. "I think the Hayward House is full tonight."

William sighed. "It's always a challenge around the holidays. Let's take him to one of the other shelters further out – how about the Rescue Mission off of Claremont?"

John nodded with a yawn. "Do you mind driving this one? I'm getting sleepy – I had an early morning today."

"Sure, let's go," he replied as they got into the car. William briefly looked back at their guest, who was snoring slightly.

They drove off and maneuvered through the smaller streets until they turned onto Lavista, which would eventually take them to Claremont. The shelter wasn't too far north from there, and they would soon drop him off for the night. Hopefully someone at the shelter could help him dry out for a few days, but at least he would be safe.

William caught the glimpse of a sudden movement in the rearview mirror from the backseat and turned just in time to see something hard strike the side of John's head. His skull banged loudly against the window and he slumped against it, unconscious.

"John!" he yelled. And then he immediately felt the cold steel barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head.

"Shut up and he might live," the man in the backseat ordered. "Turn onto Claremont and keep going."

William nodded slightly, and felt the pressure against his head increase.

"What do you want?" he asked. "I don't have any money."

"I'm not here for money – I'm here to deliver a message. We've been watching you for sometime now. You shouldn't go poking your nose into places where it don't belong. And after tonight, you won't." He sat back in the seat but kept the gun trained on the back of William's head.

William turned onto Claremont as he had been told and then began to speed up again. The motion made John shift slightly and the man pointed the gun towards him. William stole a glance back in the rearview mirror and noticed that the man had sat back and was no longer pointing the gun directly at his head. He saw his chance.

Without warning, he slammed on the brakes and braced himself hard against the steering wheel. Their assailant was completely caught off-guard and pitched forward with a yelp. William shot his elbow backwards and smashed him in the face and grabbed the gun. The car screeched to a stop and William jumped out into the middle of the street.

"Get out! Now!" he shouted as he yanked the backdoor open and pointed the gun at him. The man raised his hands and slowly stepped out. "Who do you work for?" William demanded.

But the man didn't answer, other than give him an icy stare.

"You won't kill me – it's not in your nature," he replied.

"Shut up! Turn around, lace your fingers behind your head and start walking, or you'll find out if it's in my nature or not!"

The man complied and began walking down the street. After he was nearly fifty feet away, William jumped back in the car and sped off in the other direction.

He looked over at John, who was still slumped in the passenger's seat against the door. He quickly turned down a side-street and then another, and then pulled over to the curb to park the car. He turned off the headlights and locked the doors, but left the engine running. John was alive and breathing, but still unconscious.

"John! John!" William exclaimed, shaking him slightly. "John!" A moment later, his friend began to move on his own.

"What happened?" he said, opening his eyes and blinking. He immediately rubbed the side of his head and winced. There was no blood, but a thumb-sized knot was already forming.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go to the hospital?" William asked.

"No, I'll be alright. What happened?"

"The drunk we picked up was faking it. He knocked you out and had me drive away. He said we needed to stop meddling in their business. I hit the brakes when he wasn't expecting it and was able to take his gun," he said, holding it up for him to see.

"Was he going to kill us?"

"I don't know, but I didn't exactly want to find out!"

"What do we do now?" John asked, gently rubbing the side of his head.

"We may need to get rid of this car. We'll definitely get rid of the gun."

John nodded. He felt dizzy and unsteady, even while sitting down.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" William asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"I'm sure. I'll ice it or something when I get home."

"Okay. Here, pop the clip and wipe this down," he said, handing him the gun. "Then wrap it in some napkins or something while I find a place to toss it."

William grimaced and they drove away. A short time later, he found a dumpster and threw away the gun. He would be sure to log what had happened in his notebook.

The Husam had gotten much too close this time. Much too close.

Najeev wiped the blood from his nose and spat some from his mouth. He felt angry and humiliated. A kid and an old man had gotten the better of him. And they had taken his own gun. He decided to clean himself up before anyone found out what had happened.

He wiped his nose again and reached for his phone, but his left pocket was empty. Then he remembered he had put it in his other one where he usually kept his switchblade. But when he pulled the phone out, he realized his knife wasn't there with it.

He became worried and frantically checked all his pockets. But he still could not find his knife.

Najeev swore as he realized the only place it could be: in the car he'd just been kicked out of. But at least now he knew the make, model, and license plate of the car he had been looking for.

It would only be a matter of time before they found it. But he hated making mistakes.

Jessica Nelson flipped through a magazine while her husband watched the evening news. She wasn't really paying attention to the news though, since it was more or less the same day after day: double-digit unemployment, dismal financials, and more violence. She was almost relieved when the phone rang.

She momentarily hesitated when the number on the phone was one she didn't recognize, though the area code was from Atlanta.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hi Mom, it's me," John said.

"Oh, hello John! Your name didn't come up on the Caller ID – I almost didn't answer it. How are you?" She was surprised that he had called; she couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

"I'm doing well – great now that classes are out for a few weeks."

"That's wonderful! You can still come back home for the holidays, if you want," she offered. "We'd all love to see you."

"Thanks, Mom. Hey, I'm sorry about not calling or coming home much this past year. I've been thinking a lot about it since Thanksgiving."

"I know that we've had our problems, but you're always welcome here. I can still order an airline ticket, if you'd like."

"Actually Mom, that was the other reason I wanted to call you – I have some news. I took a part-time job as an orderly here at the Emory University Hospital. It's within walking distance from my apartment and right next to the University."

"Oh – that is some news! But what about your studies?" she asked.

"It's only part time, and I'm planning on working mostly on the weekends," he replied.

"That's good. You don't have to work while you're in school, you know. Do you need some more money or something?"

"No, I'm okay. I just wanted to help out there – I see it like volunteer work, more or less."

"Okay. You're sure you don't need some money?" she offered again.

"I'm sure – you and Robert pay for my tuition and all my living expenses, and I know how much that is. Thanks for always taking care of that."

When she heard that, she nearly dropped the phone. John had never thanked her for his tuition or expenses before. "You're welcome," she managed. "The holidays won't be the same without you here this year."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, Mom. I'll go home more next year. And maybe I'll surprise you around Mother's Day this spring," he suggested.

"That would be nice. When do you start your job?"

"Next Saturday, right after Christmas." He hesitated for a brief moment. "Hey Mom? I want to apologize for not calling you more often. I'll try to do better about that – I promise," he said.

From the serious tone in his voice, she knew he meant it and she found herself tearing up.

"Thanks, John. That means a lot to me," she said quietly.

"Merry Christmas, Mom."

"Merry Christmas," she replied and then she hung up the phone.

She felt a little strange saying 'Merry Christmas' instead of 'Happy Holidays', and that struck her as quite curious. She couldn't remember the last time she had said that to anyone, or even heard it, for that matter.

But it had felt good to say it again, she had to admit, and resolved to say it more often this year. There was just something about those two words that warmed the heart that other season's greetings did not: 'Merry Christmas'.

The telephone in the kitchen chimed softly and Susan Walker cleared her throat before answering. She was busy preparing dinner, and she hoped the call wouldn't interfere with her evening tasks. She didn't recognize the number, but it didn't appear to be from a solicitor.

"Hello?"

"Hello Susan, it's William."

She hesitated and then responded politely after the initial surprise had passed. They hadn't spoken in over a year.

"Oh, I didn't recognize your voice at first," she said. "How have you been?"

"I'm doing well. I'm still working at the hospital," William replied. "And still sober."

"That's good. I'm happy for you. How long has it been?"

"Almost four years now. I stopped keeping count of the days after last year. How about you? Have you been well?"

"Yes, I'm very happy here."

He paused, but only for a brief moment. "I'm – I'm glad to hear that. I really mean it, Susan."

"Thanks, William."

"How's Megan been?" he asked.

"Okay, I guess. We've been arguing about everything lately, but I suppose that's to be expected. She's got your stubbornness, that's for sure," she said with a comfortable laugh.

William chuckled slightly, "Well, that's something, I guess. We saw that when she was two. Is she doing well in school?"

"Yes, her grades are in the high-B/low-A range. Algebra is giving her some problems, but she's getting through it."

"That's good," he said. There was an uncomfortable silence, as they both had simultaneously run out of conversation topics. She decided she would be the first to move it along.

"It's been nice chatting with you. Would you like to talk with her now?"

"Sure – thanks."

Susan muted the phone and called out for Megan, who was upstairs in her room. A moment later, she came down. "Here she is – goodbye, William."

"Goodbye, Susan – and Merry Christmas."

She smiled and handed her daughter the phone, and then returned to her dinner preparations.

"Hi Dad," Megan answered.

"Hey, Megan, how's the California winter? Any blizzards yet?"

"No, it's not much of a winter – there's never any snow here!" she complained.

"About as much as Georgia, huh?"

"Yeah – maybe Mom and Ron will take me skiing in Colorado again this year." As she mentioned that, she glanced up at her mother to make sure she'd heard her suggestion, and Susan smiled and shrugged her shoulders as if to say 'maybe'.

"That's sounds like fun. Did you like it?" he asked.

"It was hard at first, but I got used to it after the second day. I forgot sunscreen though and my face got sunburned."

"How's school going?"

"Okay," she said. She glanced up at her mother and then turned away from her slightly. "I wish you could be here, Dad. I miss you."

"I do too. I'm sorry about messing everything up between your mom and me, and us too," he said quietly.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Tell you what – maybe I can take a trip west this year to see you. I mean, if you want to me to, and if it's okay with your mom, of course."

"Okay, I'll ask her. What about Memorial Day?"

"Anytime is fine with me – ask your Mom and I'll work it out with her. Maybe we can sneak in some driving lessons, since you're seventeen now."

"That would be great!"

He hesitated for a moment. "Merry Christmas, Megan."

"Happy holi– Merry Christmas, Dad."

The Sunday after New Year's, another visitor attended the morning meeting at the Cell. Just before Christmas, several new people had joined, and they were quickly running out of room in their meeting place.

John had realized that since becoming saved, Christmas had taken on a whole new meaning for him. When he stopped and thought about it, he had figured it would, but now it felt much more special to him than even when he was a child. Now it was a season of not just giving gifts, but one of peace, forgiveness, and new life.

And it felt even better after he had called his mother (and on his own initiative for once) and talked things out with her. Over the last few weeks, he had realized that he wasn't angry towards her any longer. He couldn't really even remember why he had been angry in the first place. He attributed it all to his new life in Christ.

He hadn't mentioned it to William yet, but with the latest new visitor, he was beginning to grow concerned about the size of the group. The larger it grew, the more likely they would be discovered. The hospital basement had been a safe meeting place for a long time, but sooner or later, it could be broken up if their numbers grew too large. One more visitor might be all it would take.

At the start of the meeting before prayer-time, William stepped forward with the new visitor to introduce her. She was about John's age, if not a few years older. She was attractive and had a nice smile, but she appeared to be somewhat nervous. She seemed slightly familiar to him, but he couldn't place her.

"Good morning, everyone. This is Natalie, and she's recently decided to join our little circle of faith," William said, introducing her.

Natalie smiled and gave a short, shy wave. Everyone greeted her warmly and she took a seat close to William after he turned the meeting over to Jamal.

Jamal rose and began taking the prayer requests as usual, and then led them through the prayer-time and the rest of the worship service and study. This week they were finishing the Book of James, and would likely complete their study of the Epistles by the end of January.

As one of his New Year's resolutions, John had decided to speak up more often during the meetings and become more involved. He wasn't naturally shy, but he had been quiet in most of the meetings when the Scriptures were discussed. He was feeling more confident now that he was becoming more familiar with the Bible and the rest of the group. Also, he had decided to be more outgoing with strangers in general, and the recent visitors had given him some good practice.

After the service had ended, John walked over to introduce himself to Natalie.

"Hi – I'm John. You look really familiar – do you go to school at Emory?" he said, shaking hands with her.

She smiled and shook her head. "No, I work in the hospital though. That's where I met William. You seem familiar too."

"No kidding – I work there as an orderly on the second floor. But I've only been there a week or so."

"Oh, I never leave the third – I'm in the ICU."

"You know, I was there a few months ago. I was in a hit-and-run accident and stayed there for a few days."

"That was it! I remember you now. How are you?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Good – I haven't been in any accidents since," he said. "It's nice to meet you outside the hospital, even if we're still in its basement."

She laughed at his joke. "That's great. We prefer not to have very many return customers on my floor."

He grinned and felt his face slightly color. "Yeah, I hope I don't have to go back there anytime soon."

The other members had begun to leave and soon it was her turn.

"It was nice meeting you again – maybe I'll see you in the cafeteria sometime," she offered.

He nodded. "We'll do that," he said with a smile.

John reached over to open the door, and then did a quick check to make sure it was clear. Tyra had preceded her, and Jamal said he would make sure she left the building without being discovered.

As usual, John and William were the last to leave.

"So the old man elbowed you in the face, managed to disarm you, and then forced you out of the car?" Mohammed exclaimed furiously.

Najeev was tempted to hold the phone away from his ear, but was afraid he might miss something Mohammed was saying and then would be in even more trouble than he already was. He had never heard him lose his temper like this before, and he hoped he never would again. He quietly sighed in response but didn't say anything. He at least knew better than to try to defend himself at that moment.

"If I had been there, you would have been dead before you hit the pavement." Mohammed's Middle-Eastern accent was much heavier than normal.

"Yes, sir," he acknowledged. Mohammed was the only one he ever addressed as 'sir'. He hoped he never had a woman as his superior – that would be unbearable. But fortunately, women were never allowed to be cell leaders. Ever.

"I've had enough of your mistakes. I will be replacing you at a time of my choosing in the very near future. Pray that it won't be permanent. And don't attempt to run either – there's nowhere you can go without being found," Mohammed threatened. "And that mistake would be much worse than any others you have made so far."

Najeev heard the conversation end abruptly and he flipped his phone shut. He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was disappointed at his demotion, but he'd been half-expecting it ever since he'd realized he was bound to report the incident.

He couldn't imagine how Mohammed would have reacted if he had mentioned his missing knife. If he had, he would probably be dead soon. Fortunately, he had requested that an associate in the Atlanta Police Department put an alert on it, in case it turned up there first. He was still waiting for the report on the license plate and make of the car, but hopefully he'd get that information in the next few days, or at least before Mohammed arrived.

Perhaps there was a chance he would be able to redeem himself. Until then, there were some preparations he needed to make. He didn't want to wake up some morning floating down the Chattahoochee.

Chapter 7 - New Beginnings

"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the People to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed." – The Second Amendment to the United States Constitution

"For as the body is one and has many members, but all the members of that one body, being many, are one body, so also is Christ. For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body – whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free – and have all been made to drink into one Spirit." – 1 Corinthians 12:12-13

The group stood in the cramped meeting room, all holding hands with their heads bowed as William began to pray. February had flown by and the winter months were nearly over.

Natalie was a regular member now, and Roger, a man in his early thirties, had become a regular also. William had mentioned that he knew of two others who were looking for a church to join as well. Jamal had been leading their studies for most of the winter and had finished his leadership training two weeks ago.

The time had come to divide the Cell.

"Lord, we pray that you'll bless Jamal and Tyra in their new group, and that You protect and guide them in their ministry," William said. "We also ask that You continue to watch over all of us, and that You continue to direct us as You see fit. May Your perfect will be done in all our lives as we part company. May Your Body continue to grow and spread throughout this land. In Jesus' Name we pray, Amen."

And with that closing, each member of the group hugged Jamal and Tyra and then wished them well in their new endeavor. This was the last time they would gather with them there in the hospital basement (unless something very unexpected occurred).

After a few more minutes of tearful goodbyes, the group broke up and the members began leaving in their cautious, typical manner.

John had many questions for William that day, but he decided to wait until they were safely out of the building and a good distance away before he asked them. Natalie hadn't been there that week, and he had been quieter than usual at the meeting.

"Why did they have to separate again?" he asked. "We could've just found some place bigger to meet."

"Because with the new members who have recently joined, our group was getting too big. We've always tried to keep it under ten, but this time, Jamal and Tyra were called to separate early. They had begun to outgrow the group, and we decided that it was time for them to start their own church."

John nodded and they continued up the sidewalk. It was warm and sunny out that morning, and the wind had begun to pick up – another indication that March was approaching.

"That's the entire purpose of a cell church: to start out small and grow towards maturity, and then divide as new members come in and mature. Then the process starts over, just like with all other living cells. I believe that's what Jesus had in mind when He referred to us as His Body: many tiny cells working together to edify one another, and all the while spreading and growing. Also, Jesus told us to go into all the world and make disciples, not set down stakes and roots and ask the people to come to us. Jesus calls us to invade – to shine light into darkness."

John understood but still felt sad about the division. He had grown to love the close-knit nature of their cell church, but at times was still surprised at how it functioned. It was so different than most of the other churches he had seen on television or had heard about. The traditional churches he remembered seemed stagnant and even quite the opposite of the Great Commission at times.

"How often do we split – every few months?" he asked.

William thought about it for a moment. "Sometimes. Usually between four to six months, but it mostly depends on the people in the group and how many new ones are coming in. New members typically help push the older ones toward growth and leadership out of necessity."

"How many times has this cell divided?"

"Oh, this is our fifth split since I've been involved. I started when another fellow named Bob was leading it. He split off after about four months, but that was a couple years ago."

"How do you know when it's time to divide?" John asked.

"Well, it may sound a little strange, but it's very similar to a normal living cell: it divides only once it reaches maturity. If it divides too early or too late, it can end up harming itself or even other parts of the body. By the dynamics of each different group, we've just learned when to split. Also, the Spirit tells us when it's about time to separate, both in natural divisions in the group and with new members. There's no real science or formula to it, and that can make it quite a challenge at times."

"Okay. Will I be asked to split off one of these days?"

William smiled and shrugged.

"Probably. We'll both know when it's time, just like with Jamal and Tyra."

"I haven't seen Emily for a few weeks," John mentioned, somewhat in passing.

To his surprise, William frowned at the mention of her name.

"Yes, I don't think Emily will be coming back," he stated.

"Why? Is she going somewhere else?"

"I don't know," William replied. "Tyra mentioned that Emily was having some personal struggles, and you notice that we've been praying for her regularly (and specifically), right? It seems that she may have fallen away, at least for the time being."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember the four types of soil in the Parable of the Sower? There's the hardened, rocky, thorny, and fruitful soils. It's my perception that she had 'rocky soil' and shallow roots, and her new faith seemed to grow, but then diminish quickly. All we can do is hope and pray for her."

"Did she completely lose her faith or did she never really have it in the first place?"

"I don't know – but I believe her faith and commitment was genuine at the time. Faith is a funny thing with people at times. It can ebb and flow, depending on your circumstances and your personal walk."

"Do you think mine is real? Or as real as hers?" John asked.

"Of course. But keep in mind that a life of faith is more like a marathon than a sprint – you can only get to the finish-line if you don't quit; if you stay the course. In a race, you still lose even if you sprint all the way to the end but choose not to cross the finish line. It's the 'if and how' you finish that counts, even if you stumble over and over along the way."

John nodded, thinking more about it.

"I can see you have more questions, and that you're probably as upset as much as I was when I first learned of someone who fell away. We're not living in times for easy or lazy faith any more. The course set before us is long and hard now. All we're asked to do is hold fast to Him and finish the race He's set before us."

William grinned and lightly clasped him on the shoulder.

"Who knows? Maybe Emily will surprise us and come back one of these days and tell us what happened. It could be that she's stepped away to catch her breath for a time. I've seen it before."

"Yeah?" John asked, somewhat doubtfully.

"Yeah. Want to grab some lunch? I'll show you how to run the studio today too, if you'd like."

John nodded. "That sounds cool – thanks!"

They headed towards William's car in the side lot of the hospital and were soon on their way.

But John thought about Emily and what had happened until they sat down to eat. What kind of faith did he have? Would he have to 'catch his breath' in the race someday?

John's head was spinning from all the details of the instruments and software that William had been explaining for the last half-hour. He tried to keep up with the informal lesson, but it was simply too much information for him to absorb all at once. It would take him a few sessions to figure it all out and get comfortable with it.

"Okay – that's how to record the tracks and mix in the breaks, commercials, and the bumper music. Next, I'll show you the syndication process."

John nodded and he stared blankly at the busy display. William caught his glazed look and smiled.

"How about we take a break first?" he suggested.

"Thanks! I think I'm having an information-overload," John replied.

"You'll pick it up quick after you start doing it on your own."

"What? You want me to start broadcasting?"

"Well, only if you want to, of course. You know, just in case something happens to me," William said.

"What could happen? It's been quiet at night lately."

"Who knows? I could be hit by a bus or something," he replied with a grin. "Have you seen some of those MARTA drivers lately?"

"Speaking of that, I still think we should've gotten rid of your car after what happened at Christmas."

William waved his concern away. "Bah, it's too old and too common for anyone to look for. Besides, I can't afford to get a new one. Want some iced tea?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Why do you have that? Spring's not even here yet!" John joked.

"When you get to be my age, it comes earlier and earlier every year. Besides, here in Atlanta, Spring begins when the first dogwoods begin to blossom. I consider this to be early Spring."

"That's true. In that case, iced tea will be fine."

"You should go to Piedmont Park when they're in full bloom – they're spectacular!"

"I'll have to remember that."

"How are things going with your roommate?" William asked as he poured two glasses of tea from the refrigerator. He held up a pack of sugar, but John shook his head.

"Okay, I suppose – I'm not around there much anymore. He's still drinking a lot and doing the college party scene. Between work and school, I'm there to sleep and that's about it."

William nodded and handed him a glass.

"Are you planning on staying there after the lease is up?"

"I don't know – I can't think of anywhere else I'd go at the moment."

John knew from William's pause that he wanted to say something more.

"You know, if it ever gets bad over there or something happens, you can always bunk here for awhile, if you need to."

"Really? Thanks – I'll keep that in mind," John replied.

"Fair enough. Ready to start up again?" William said after they drank a few sips.

"Sure. The distribution part, right?"

"Syndication," William corrected him.

"Right – got it."

They went back into the studio with their drinks.

Maybe finding a different place to live would help him refocus, John said to himself. He would indeed have to think about it. And pray about it.

Natalie was the first to arrive the following Sunday morning. She usually came early, John had noticed. They typically asked the newer members to arrive in the middle of the group order, but he figured it was alright since she worked at the hospital and the group had recently divided.

"Good morning," he said, setting down two of the folding chairs he'd been carrying.

"Hi John. Where's Will?"

"Oh – he got called away on a quick errand upstairs. He should be back before everyone else arrives. How was the ICU this week?"

"It was pretty quiet for once, actually," she replied.

"Hey, I'm getting moved over to the second shift next week. Are you still working that one?"

"Yeah, I've been on Seconds since Thanksgiving. That's when most of the excitement happens," she said with a smile.

He laughed as they went back to get a few more chairs. He didn't forget to set out the extra one either. "Excitement is an understatement. What time do you usually go on break?"

"I usually get a half-hour at eight o'clock, and a fifteen-minute one every two hours."

"Cool – that's about when I take mine. Would you like to grab lunch in the cafeteria sometime?" he asked, trying not to appear to be too forward.

"Uh, sure," she hesitated slightly. "My break schedule varies by whatever's happening on the floor, but that should be fine."

"Okay, I'll go up to your floor and have you paged when I go on break," he joked.

"Oh, don't do that! The doctors and administrators get very upset when anyone other than themselves gets attention!" she said, laughing.

William came back as they finished setting up the chairs, and noticed them laughing. He gave them a somewhat curious but odd look, and then the remaining handful of members began to trickle in.

"Hi John, I'm sorry I'm late," Natalie apologized as she put her tray on the table and sat down across from him. "There was a mix-up in the ICU and one of the doctors was still working on a patient that I had to check."

"That's okay, I have a few more minutes," he replied, checking the time on his phone. "Your job is much more demanding than mine is, to be sure."

"Sometimes – I usually try to leave each day with no one deteriorating who's assigned to me," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. "But of course, that's almost always out of my hands."

"Does that happen often? I mean, in the ICU in general, not just your patients?"

"To be honest, it's getting worse. The drugs and treatments are becoming more restricted, and the waits and authorization times are getting longer. We do our best, but many of the better doctors get fed up with it and leave here as soon as they can."

"Why? Where do they go?"

"Wherever they can make money practicing medicine without all the hassles and restrictions: Mexico, Costa Rica, the Caribbean, and of course, Alaska now. They used to have a terrible time attracting doctors and nurses up there, but not any more. The good surgeons and doctors go wherever socialized medicine isn't crippling the healthcare system."

"That would discourage me, to see so many doctors leaving all the time," he said.

"It used to with me at first too. Now I don't really blame them as much. Many are required to work in bad places with long, terrible hours, and are sometimes forced to perform procedures they don't agree with just to pay off their medical school bills and finish their residency."

"What procedures do you mean?"

"Euthanasia, late-term abortions, fewer tests and fewer surgeries, and more 'cost-effective' treatments. For the elderly, we're often not allowed to help them much except if they're critically injured. We call it the 'lie and die' sometimes, but never when the patients or supervisors are around. Didn't Will tell you how we met?"

"No, he never did, come to think of it," John replied with a frown, thinking about it.

"Just before Christmas, I was in surgery with a car accident victim. She was eight months pregnant and died on the table from massive internal hemorrhaging and organ failure. Her baby was fine, but the hospital rules, or rather the HHS rules, dictated that it be given over to the OTD group, along with the mother," she said quietly.

"OTD? You mean the Organ Tissue Donor group?"

"Yes – actually, it's the 'Organ, Tissue and Disposal' group. There's nothing 'donor' about it. The baby was aborted, even though it was perfectly healthy and could have thrived in any preemie ward. He would likely still be alive today." She took a drink from her diet soda and a sad, pained look crossed her face. "That was my last day as a surgical assistant."

"That's unbelievable! Do people know about stuff like that?"

"I don't know, but even if they did, what can they do with the government running everything even remotely related to healthcare? The majority of the people voted for the President and the Congress who nationalized the system, even though most of the people didn't want their healthcare reforms. Their opponents and the executives in the healthcare industry warned everyone that there would soon be shortages and rationing, but it was pushed through anyway. And now, people are too afraid to protest, much less organize together to stop it. Once you control the healthcare system, you can control many aspects of peoples' lives, how people behave, and also who lives and who doesn't."

John nodded and thought about it for a while. He had never imagined it was this bad – and that such atrocities took place in the very hospital in which he worked. Whatever happened to the Hippocratic Oath that was so vaunted in medicine? It seemed as though 'First do no harm' had been turned into something much different under socialized medicine. Something much less humane and compassionate.

"Is that how you met William?" he asked.

Natalie smiled. "Yeah, I was really upset right after it happened and was crying in one of the janitor's closets upstairs. He heard me and helped me talk it out and got me back on my feet. And he told me about Jesus." Her eyes grew large as soon as the last word slipped out, but fortunately no one was close enough to overhear her.

"You said you used to be a surgical assistant – I thought you were a nurse?" he asked.

"Oh, I was when you were a patient, but I had a brief stint as a surgical assistant during the holidays when they were really shorthanded. The day after the incident, I requested to go back to just being a floor nurse."

"Wow – that's some story. Are you doing better now?"

She nodded. "I like working with people, especially the ones that are in a lot of pain that I can help give some hope to. And as a nurse, I don't have to compromise my principles. At least not yet," she added.

He smiled and they continued eating. They chatted more about the hospital and he told her about some of his classes at Emory, but they were careful not to discuss their faith or the Cell. Even in an empty cafeteria, they had to be very careful. After they were finished eating, they said goodbye and went back to work on their separate floors.

He had gone several minutes over his break, but it had been worth it.

"Hey John, it's been awhile since we did one of these. Here – I brought coffee," William said, carefully handing him a lidded paper cup. "It's straight and black – not one of those fluffy drinks you usually get," he joked. "But there is some cream and sugar if you want it."

John grinned back at him. "Thanks. Yeah, I've missed it too. Between the hospital schedule and school, I haven't had much time lately. Where are we heading to tonight?" John asked.

"Downtown, towards the north side. A buddy of mine from one of the other cells has been having more problems up there. Also, I have some deliveries to make on that side of town."

"Problems from the Husam?"

"Sounds like it, but this group is much more violent. And gruesome. There was a beheading there a few days ago," William said.

"A beheading?! I haven't heard anything about it on the news or on the Internet," John mentioned.

William grimaced. "Don't expect to either. You don't want the public to get scared and start buying illegal guns to arm themselves, do you? Sorry – my Big Brother pessimism slips out at times."

"That's okay. I agree with you most of the time now. I remember at first, I thought you might be some right-wing nutcase."

"There aren't many of those left now, at least not in the cities. If you go out to the hills and deeper back-country though, watch what bumper-stickers you have on your car. 'Hope and change' might get you shot out there."

"Good thing I don't have one!" John said. He had left his car at his mother's house in California two years ago when he'd left for college.

"Oh, right. I forgot about that since we always take mine. That must be nice not having to ever pay for gas to get around – it's $8 a gallon now."

"You should just fill it with alcohol or something – it might be cheaper. Or think of it: a car that runs on beer. But that wouldn't go over very well in a college town like Emory Village. Gas would still be $8 a gallon there."

"Some do – not beer though – they don't call 'em moonshiners for nothing! Them and the corn farmers might be onto something."

"Up in the hills, right?" John laughed.

"Yeah, there's still some good old American ingenuity left out there. Not much though," William said with a grin as he pulled out and began driving north.

"How are you and Natalie? I've seen you two in the cafeteria a few times together, just so you know," William said.

"Really? Why didn't you stop by?"

"Appearances and all that. Besides, it looked like you two were having somewhat of a private conversation."

"Oh, it wasn't that private. You can come over and eat with us, if you want," John offered.

"Thanks, but that's okay – I try to keep a low profile around there. It prevents some floor supervisor or administrator from asking too many questions," William said. He was quiet for slightly too long, and John almost knew what he would be asking soon. And he turned out to be right.

"So, may I ask if you two are dating?"

"Yeah, I guess we are. I mean, neither of us have much time to see each other outside the hospital, other than the group, of course."

"Can I give you some advice?" William asked softly.

John nodded and took a sip of his coffee.

"Keep your courtship completely platonic, right from the beginning. Remember, you're spending time with a fellow believer first and foremost – a sister in Christ. And as you grow in your relationship, there will be more feelings and growing temptations, even if they're innocent or with the best of intentions."

William paused for effect, letting it sink in.

"Also, keep in mind that you may be dating someone else's future wife. Remember, you'll have to answer someday for your actions before Christ, and being in sin with a 'sister' makes it all that much worse."

"Do you think we should spend less time together or stop seeing each other?" John asked, with a slight irritation in his voice.

"That's not for me to say. However, try to keep your relationship as Christ-focused as possible, and let Him lead you. It may be that He has others – or even no one at all – in mind for you and Natalie. But let me just say from experience, you don't want the guilt or other complications that come from going too far with someone, regardless of whether you marry her or not."

"Okay – I'll keep that in mind."

As they drove further, they passed a construction site with a large structure being erected. And though there was no sign that identified the building project, it was obvious from the frame that a new mosque was being constructed. John frowned and shook his head.

"What's wrong?" William asked.

"Nothing – just another mosque being built. I've been noticing that there's more and more of them. Or maybe I just never saw them before I started these patrols. There's only one near Emory, in one of the older church buildings."

William nodded but didn't say anything in response.

"How do the Muslims and other religious groups get around TIRMA? I mean, they have to register just like all the other churches, right?"

"Just because they signed an agreement with FAAHAD doesn't mean they necessarily follow it. Besides, the Muslim civil-rights groups have always been more adept at playing politics than most other religious advocacy groups. A convert once told me that whenever FAAHAD goes to observe one of their worship services, the mosque leader either quickly changes the message to a politically-correct one or they stop the service until their lawyers arrive. If you scream 'discrimination' loud enough and often enough, FAAHAD will back down, especially when it involves a non-traditional sect or minority group."

A moment later, John spoke up again. "Do you think America will be Islamicized like Europe and Great Britain soon?"

"Maybe, but only time will tell," William replied. "Do you think that more mosques or even the Husam is the real problem in this city?"

"Well, yeah – I think they're a big part of it now. Don't you?"

William frowned. "You know, Muslims – or any other group – aren't really the problem. They're people just like everyone else, just like you and me. They may happen to believe much differently than we do, but so does most of the rest of the world. Even secularism isn't the cause of America's problems."

"What is then?" John asked.

"At the heart of the matter is the power behind all the belief systems that do not acknowledge Jesus as the Son of God come in the flesh, that He died for our sins and rose again the third day. Remember back to our study in Ephesians? 'For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.' It's those powers that we're contending with, not the people, religions, or organizations that they're using."

"I'm sorry – I guess I have a hard time separating the people from the 'powers'."

William grinned, "Who doesn't? I'm sure I give the wrong impression at times when I complain about the government and what's going on in this country."

"So how do you keep them straight?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's not easy for me at times either," William replied. "But what I try to do is remember exactly who and what I was before I was saved. Both of us were just like all of them until Jesus called us out. And we didn't change ourselves; He did (and still is). He's making us into a new creation in Himself; our job is just to let Him."

John nodded as William turned right onto a smaller road lined with old apartment buildings. Most of their conversations always seemed to leave him thinking more deeply about the world around him. And growing.

Later that week, Justin walked into his apartment and found John heading on his way out. From his uniform, it appeared he was going to the hospital to work his evening shift.

"Hey, do you have a minute? I've been meaning to talk to you about our living arrangement here. The lease is coming up next month, and I wanted to make sure you want to continue renting this place with me," Justin said.

"Yeah, I guess so. Why wouldn't I?" John replied. He glanced at the wall clock.

"Well, because you're never around anymore, for one thing. You should just rent a room over there," Justin retorted in a half-joking tone. But in his voice, John could detect a note of irritation or even perhaps anger.

"Maybe. But I still have school and friends outside of work."

"What friends? You don't have any – at least none of the ones you used to."

"I have friends, but just a different set now."

"What – we're not good enough for you now?" Justin said with heavy sarcasm.

"No, that's not it at all!" John was getting irritated at the conversation, but tried to calm himself. He knew his roommate was clearly angry now, and probably had been for quite sometime.

Justin shook his head and backed off slightly, but continued.

"Dude, you've changed. You don't drink, you don't party – you don't even hang out anymore. What's been going on with you? Is it money? When you're not in class, you're working at that crap-job or doing who knows what," he said.

Though he wanted to tell him to mind his own business, John took a deep breath before he replied.

"You know, you're right. I have changed, but it seems to me that you haven't. After the accident, I started seeing things for what they are, and it seemed like the way I was living until then was – well, a big waste of time."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"All the drinking, the parties, and all that were just pointless. They were fun at the time, but empty. When I was recovering in the hospital, I had a lot of time to think and look at my life. And I didn't like what I saw. I decided that I want to make a difference in this world, rather than just blowing my way through it."

"So that's why you're working at the hospital now?" Justin asked.

"Yeah, that's part of it. But most of it is just having a different focus – these years we're in school partying away – it's just not real. It's a vacation from reality, and I just realized I was missing out."

"Reality, huh? As an orderly? Why not become a nurse and go for the really big bucks?"

John shrugged his shoulders at the attempted insult.

Justin was quiet for a moment, but when he started to speak, it was with firmness. And with a heavy dose of resentment.

"You know, maybe we should go our separate ways when the lease is up. That way, you can be with your friends and I can be with mine. And we won't have to tip-toe around each other like we have been."

"Maybe you're right," John replied. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Let me know if you change your mind though, so I can start looking for another roommate."

"Okay. I'll think it over. I need to go," John said, heading out the door.

And as soon as he was outside, John felt a huge relief, as if a big weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Though now he had to find somewhere else to live.

John finished setting out the usual number of chairs in the basement room and checked everything over. William walked in with a small stack of handouts and put them on his chair.

"So, you're out at the end of the month, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's the way it looks," John replied. "It doesn't give me much time to find a new place, but I'll figure something out."

"Well, my offer still stands. If you want, we can move things around or something and give you your own space, even if it's not entirely permanent."

John laughed slightly. "Thanks. If I move in, I suppose I'll have more time for patrols, right?"

He nodded. "Maybe it's a blessing in disguise. We can also spend more time preparing you for leadership," William observed.

"Leadership? As in another cell?"

"If you're interested, of course."

"Who do you think will split off at the next one?" John asked.

"Well, most likely it will be you and whoever goes with you, if and when you're ready. Next to me, you're the one who's been in our cell the longest now."

"Oh – I guess I hadn't thought much about that. It seems like I've only been there a few weeks."

"Time flies when you're having fun," William replied, laughing.

John's eyes grew large as he thought about all the responsibility he'd be taking on if that happened. Not to mention the risks. William caught his reaction and slapped his shoulder to reassure him.

"Leading a cell isn't as bad as it sounds, though finding a new place and getting it organized and secured can be a little scary, especially at first. Just stick to some of the rules we use here and then modify them as needed. Being watchful and flexible can go a long way in the underground."

"What about my limited knowledge of the Bible and all that? Do you think I'll really be ready?"

"That's what we'll need to prepare you for. Your daily growth and walk will be reflected in your messages. To be honest, I didn't know my Bible nearly as well until I was forced to teach it every week. Nothing like a good old-fashioned kick-in-the-pants to get you moving, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so," John admitted.

"Don't worry about it – we'll take it one step at a time."

John nodded, but his mind was already spinning. Him? The leader of a cell?

"I don't know – I'm not sure I'm ready," he said doubtfully.

William furrowed his eyebrows at him.

"Why? Don't think you've got it all together yet?" he asked.

"Well, no, not at all," John admitted. That exuded a laugh from his older friend, which he hadn't really expected.

"That's funny. Have you considered how much you've changed over the last six months? When I found you, you were a self-involved, crazy-partying college kid that spent way too much drinking beer and chasing girls."

John smirked. "I guess I haven't thought about that much."

"No worries," William replied. "One thing about giving your life over to Jesus is that He promises to remake you from the inside out. You may not see much of a difference when you look in the mirror everyday, but trust me, everyone who knows you sees that you're a different person than you were before."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah, everyone – a few more months, and you'll probably start realizing that you're not the same person either!"

John smiled at the thought. Perhaps he really was becoming a new creation. And after thinking back to his last conversation with his roommate, he realized that William was probably right.

John looked over the small bedroom in the old house and tried to be as optimistic as possible. In the room there was only a twin-sized bed, an antique dresser, and an even older desk. But the rent was cheap and the house was big and quiet and in a safe area just west of Emory Village. There was a slight musty odor to the house, but it was to be expected since the house had to be at least a hundred years old.

Mrs. Weinstein had already explained the rules to him as she had given him the tour of the room: no loud music, no late-night noise, no alcohol, no drugs, and no overnight 'guests'. All of those were fine with him, of course.

"So, what do you think?" the elderly woman asked.

"I'll take it. Thank you, Mrs. Weinstein."

"Wonderful," she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "The room is $600 a month cash, and I'll need this month's rent and last month's rent as a security deposit in cash also, of course."

John nodded and grinned at her emphasis on the word 'cash' – what the IRS didn't know about couldn't hurt them, he supposed. He followed after her as she left the room and went back out to the hall and towards the stairway. She moved carefully down the old creaky stairs, but she still seemed to be fairly mobile, if not slightly slower at her age. The walls hadn't been painted in years and the woodwork badly needed oiling, and even replacing in some areas.

Eileen led him past her husband Charles who was sleeping soundly in his worn-out easy-chair. She stopped and pulled the light-brown afghan up to his chest and lovingly patted his shoulder.

"Don't mind him, he watches TV most of the time, when he's not resting. He has the middle stages of Alzheimer's, and a nurse stops by every other day to check up on him. He's quiet and has a kind old soul. We've had many good years together."

"How long have you been married?" John asked.

"Oh, nearly sixty-four years now. I think that's a record in this day and age!" she said proudly.

"It certainly is," he agreed.

Charles shifted in his chair, opened his eyes slightly and looked up at them with a confused look on his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Charles, this is John, the young man who will be renting a room from us," she said, speaking louder to make sure he could hear her. He nodded and glanced upstairs, and then slowly blinked his eyes. "We'll be in the kitchen, so just holler if you need me."

She patted his shoulder again and then blew him a kiss. He smiled as he closed his eyes and then slowly returned it to her.

Eileen and John walked into the kitchen, towards the backdoor where she had let him in. The musty odor was much heavier downstairs than on the second floor, but he figured he would get used to it.

"You can use any of the appliances you like in the kitchen. I'll clear out a section of the other refrigerator for you, and you'll have to take care of your dishes, of course. The washing machine and dryer are over there," she said, pointing to another small room that was off to the side of the antiquated kitchen. "You'll need your own laundry soap, unless you'd like to chip in a little extra each month."

"That's okay, I'll use my own. Everything looks great," he said. "When can I move in? I don't have much furniture or anything."

"Oh, how about next weekend? That will give me a few days to have a key made for you and do some more house-cleaning. Everything slows down when you get to be my age. Is that fine with you?"

"Sure. If you have a list of odd jobs for me to do around the house, I might be able to take care of some of them after I move in," he offered.

"Oh, that would be wonderful! And do tell William 'hello' from us. He's such a nice young man," she said as she opened the backdoor for him.

He smiled graciously at her. "I sure will. I'll see you next Saturday morning then."

William said 'Amen' and smiled at Jamal after he opened his eyes. He could tell that the groom was nervous; he remembered how hot the church had felt on his own wedding day over twenty years ago.

"Are you ready?" Ramon asked, clapping Jamal on his shoulder. He was the Best Man, and also the one who had led him to Christ.

Jamal nodded and took a deep breath. "As much as I'll ever be," he said with a weak smile.

"Okay, let's get out there. We wouldn't want to keep your bride waiting," William said.

William stepped onto the stage in front of a small table, while Jamal and Ramon took their places off to his left, slightly in front of him. Ten rows of chairs had been set up in two sections, with a wide aisle between them, one for the groom's family and one for the bride's.

He looked out over the small crowd and saw John there, several rows behind Jamal's family. Jamal and Tyra didn't have much money, so the Cell's other members (unknown to either of them) had decided to take up a collection to rent them a private hall for their ceremony.

William had been surprised when Jamal and Tyra had asked him to preside over their wedding, but had immediately agreed, of course. It was his first wedding as an officiator, and he hoped he wouldn't forget any of the lines. Fortunately, he had written everything down on a set of notecards that were safely stowed away in his pocket.

After a few minutes, the Maid of Honor opened the front door to the hall and the wedding music began to play. She walked down the aisle and stood on the other side of William across from Ramon.

A moment later, the doors closed again and the wedding march began to play. Everyone stood up and turned to the back. As the doors opened, Tyra and her father entered and began slowly walking down the aisle. She was dressed in a flowing, traditional white dress and veil. She looked beautiful and radiant as she walked towards the front of the hall.

Her father led her to Jamal, kissed her cheek, and then stepped back to sit down next to her mother in the front row. Jamal and Tyra linked arms and turned to face William.

They had wanted the wedding to take place in a traditional church, but those were very regulated and most charged high fees to use their property, even to their own members. Besides, neither Jamal nor Tyra wanted an ordained minister who had registered with the state.

William smiled at the bride and groom and opened the service with a short prayer and blessing, and then began the ceremony.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here in the presence of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Marriage is one of the oldest and most sacred institutions of God. It was ordained and established in the Garden of Eden, graced by the personal presence of Christ at Cana of Galilee, likened by the Apostle Paul to the mystical union which exists between Christ and the Church, and is declared in the Holy Scriptures to be honorable before all men."

"Our Savior has declared that a man shall forsake his father and mother and cleave to his wife and she to him. By His eternal Word, He has instructed those who enter into this covenant relationship to cherish a mutual esteem and love for one another; to bear with each other's infirmities and weaknesses; to comfort each other in sickness, in trouble, and in sorrow; in honesty and humility to provide for each other in the things which pertain to God; and to live together as the heirs of the grace of eternal life."

He took out one of the notecards and read of the first marriage from Genesis 2:18-24, of the creation of Eve and God's plan for marriage.

Next, he spoke of the roles of the man and woman in a marriage. As he began reading from Ephesians, he turned to Tyra directly.

"Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the Church, His Body, of which He is the Savior. Now as the Church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything," he said.

And then he turned to Jamal and said, "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the Church and gave Himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the Word, and to present her to Himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the Church – for we are members of His Body. 'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.'"

William paused and raised his head to look solemnly at them, and then turned to the groom.

"Jamal, before all these gathered here and before God Almighty, do you take Tyra to be your wife, and do you covenant to be faithful and true to her, to love, cherish, and protect her, in sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth, until death do you part?"

"I do," he replied, grinning at Tyra.

"And Tyra, before those gathered here and before God Almighty, do you take Jamal to be your husband, covenanting to be faithful and true to him, to love, cherish, and honor him, in sickness and in health, in poverty or in wealth, until death do you part?"

"I do," she said as tears streamed down her face.

William took the rings from his pocket and handed one to Jamal, who carefully slipped it onto Tyra's ring finger. And then she did the same with his.

Lastly, William recited 1st Corinthians 13, about the lasting value and importance of love in all relationships, but especially in marriage.

"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing. Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

As the ceremony drew to a close, William said a short prayer over their new marriage and asked for God's blessing on it. And then as soon as he had said 'Amen', he made the final announcement.

"As a minister of the Everlasting Gospel of Jesus Christ, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Therefore, whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder," William declared.

"You may kiss the bride," he said with a great smile, and Jamal and Tyra did so with the approval and applause of everyone in the hall.

And then the wedding celebration began.

Chapter 8 - Revelations

"The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized." – The Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution

"And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. But rather fear Him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell." – Matthew 10:28

John moved out of his old apartment two weeks before the lease ran out, since Justin had found another roommate who was anxious to move in. Besides, Mrs. Weinstein had finished the arrangements and the room was ready for him.

He was still getting used to living in someone else's home, but it was steadily improving. He hadn't been there much for anything other than sleeping though.

Late on a Monday night, John quietly closed the backdoor of the old house and walked around to the front where William was waiting for him.

"Hey, William," he said as he got into the older car. "Great! You brought coffee."

"Yeah, I figured you could use it. When you get to thirty, you start to crave it. And when you get past fifty, you can't quite function without it most of the time," he joked.

They drove off towards the northeast, heading towards the Stone Mountain district.

"How'd the move go?" William asked as they got on the Stone Mountain Freeway.

"Oh, it was okay, I guess. It was a little uncomfortable with the new roommate moving into Justin's apartment while I was moving out and everything, but I'm glad it's over and done with. It was a week earlier than I was originally planning on, but Mrs. Weinstein was pretty flexible about it."

"Are you adjusting to living with the Weinsteins?"

"Yeah, they seem nice, though I've only spoken with Mrs. Weinstein. Her husband is almost always sleeping whenever I go past him on the way up to my room."

William nodded. "It's hard to see him like that. He always had a lot of energy, up until the Alzheimer's struck."

"So what are we going to talk about tonight?" John asked after they had driven a few miles.

"I was thinking I could teach you some of the basics of cell leadership – how does that sound?"

"That's fine. I'm ready to hear more about it."

"Are you sure you don't want to take notes or something?" William asked him with a grin, but John knew he was probably more serious than not. "Most of it's good old Christian common sense though."

"I'll remember – if you have to repeat it, then I'll think about writing it down," he replied.

"It's a deal. First and foremost, you are to be a servant leader – like a shepherd – you lead best by example. During the meetings, don't think of yourself as the leader or expert, but as more of a facilitator. Start the study with prayer and move it along. Facilitate the discussion by asking questions to make everyone think. Encourage others to get involved. You'll likely have to prepare notes and help get the group back on track from time to time. Remember: be the servant leader."

"Will I need to prepare everything myself or can I find study materials online?"

"You can try searching online, but you have to be careful. The FCC is filtering and monitoring more and more religious sites lately, but there are still many resources out there. I have some old software I can give you, along with a list of secure sites that you can download commentaries and such from. I have lots of books and notes I can give you as well."

"Okay. You had me worried there for a minute," John said, half-joking.

William continued, "Second to being a servant leader, it's your responsibility to protect the group, both from external and internal dangers. The external threats are not only from the Husam and the authorities, but also from the registered churches and denominations. They don't care much for cell churches – not much at all. Freedom often creates enemies out of those who are not free. Also, the registered churches may be worse than the authorities at times since they might see themselves as doing 'the Lord's work'. Remember Paul before he was converted?"

John nodded that he understood.

"What are the internal dangers?" he asked.

"Arguing, personal criticism, disunity, gossiping, laxity towards doctrine, etc. Avoid politics if possible and other relationship landmines, like the loaning of money between members. But bad doctrine is trickier and more difficult to handle by far. Sometimes a member will hear something and then put out weird or bad ideas that can be harmful to the group – especially to people new in their faith."

"What do you do in those cases?"

"Well, you move the discussion back to the topic at hand. Encourage everyone to be like the Bereans who searched the Scriptures daily to prove what is being taught is true. When it's bad doctrine, you usually have to correct it then and there. But try not to get personal between you and the dissenter. That can really divide the group fast. You're there to facilitate, not to win a debate."

"What if it gets really bad?" John asked.

"Talk to them privately and try to correct them outside the meeting environment. If that doesn't work, you may have to ask them to leave the Cell."

"What if they leave the group and hold a grudge against us?"

"Then you may have to relocate the meeting place or even disband the Cell completely for everyone's safety," William replied.

"Have you had to do that?"

"Not yet, but it's always a possibility. If the persecution gets worse, then disband right away. Maybe take a few weeks off before meeting at the new place. Also, don't keep the contact information of past members or more than one member in the Cell, and don't let others do it either. Each cell member should only be able to contact one other member, so the entire cell can't be compromised if just one person is arrested."

"Okay – what's next?"

"Third: don't preach, as much as teach. Study hard and study often, and stay humble. Watch out for pride as it can grow even from reading the Bible. This goes along with the first rule. You need to be the 'resident expert' on the topic or section you're teaching, but don't think that you can't learn from new members. And remember, your job is to help everyone mature, not to show them how great you are or how much you know about Scripture. You are to feed them, not to try to grow them or force them to – that's God's job."

"Fourth rule: know when to divide the Cell. This is tricky and sometimes tough to do, especially when the group's been together awhile and there's a lot of love in it. But under our current circumstances, division must be done to keep the cells small, safe, and unnoticed. Sow, grow, divide. Sow, grow, divide."

John thought for a moment and then spoke.

"If these cell churches are all over the country and spreading, do you think our numbers would ever be enough to get some Christian influence back in the government?"

"You mean like to 'retake the country'? No, it's much too late for that. It's likely that it was too late for the country after the Sixties and the Baby Boomer generation. The country's foundation was originally Judeo-Christian, which highly valued legal equality and personal liberty. But over time, those two elements can mutate and then erode the moral restraints, which is what happened over the last century. So you can forget about trying to save the country. We're here to help save a remnant of the people, not the entire nation. Keep your focus on one person at a time."

"Do you ever contact the other cells?"

"No, not if you can help it. The cell church model we have today used to be referred to as the home church model, which is more independent and autonomous. The old cell church model fell by the wayside soon after the Dispersion."

"What was the old cell model?"

"The old cell church model really wasn't designed with persecution in mind. One leader more or less managed several cells and guided them. The problem there is that the leader is widely known and engaged, and if that leader's arrested, then all the cells under his authority are endangered. The leader becomes the biggest liability and the single point-of-failure. The way we do it now, only one cell is affected if it's discovered, not the rest of the network. Not only that, but if the leader is arrested, the whole cell isn't jeopardized. That's also why the leader doesn't know the contact information for the entire cell."

"When you divide, do you keep in touch with any of the group that's split off?"

"A little, but we don't talk about our own cells much, especially concerning the location and new member names. That's part of protecting both your cell and theirs."

John nodded.

"Fifth and last: be the best example you can for the group, and lead by example. That's the way most people learn – by watching faith being consistently lived out. The group can only be as good and mature as the leader is. If you fall into sin, don't hide it, but admit it to the group and step aside, if needbe. Police and judge yourself before the rest of the group. We're all human, but don't take the group down with you. Be accountable to the Cell."

"Okay."

"That's pretty much it. What do you think? Are you up for it, or do you need some time to think about it?"

"It's a lot of responsibility. But you're right, I'll have to think about it," John said.

The massive gray dome of Stone Mountain loomed before them in the distance, and William soon turned off the freeway and onto a dimly-lit side street. It was time to go to work.

As John checked his appearance in the mirror, he realized (with some chagrin), that he hadn't been out on a date since the night that Chelsea had broken up with him. He was a little nervous, but hoped it wouldn't show. At least not too much.

He took one more glance at himself and headed out to the car, saying a quick goodbye to Mrs. Weinstein. William had graciously offered to let him borrow his car for the occasion, and he had promised to take good care of it. The restaurant wasn't very far away, and he didn't want to be late picking up Natalie.

John drove over to her apartment and found it without too much trouble. She lived nearby in the North Druid Hills area, which was more affordable than most areas around Emory Village. Her roommate worked at the hospital as well, but she was sleeping since she worked the night shift on one of the other floors.

Since they both liked Italian food, they decided to eat at Medici's, a decent, medium-priced restaurant near the Little Five Points area. The wait was just over a half-hour, since it was a Saturday night. The restaurant would become even busier as the evening went on.

With all the people in the lobby, conversation had been difficult, so they weren't able to speak much until they were finally seated. The table was along the north side of the restaurant, and each one had a small, elegant lamp. Their waitress soon took their orders and then went on to other tables.

"So, did you go to college here in the city?" John asked, trying to start up the conversation again. They were both quieter than usual.

"I went to the Mercer School of Nursing downtown. It used to be Georgia Baptist until a few years ago. I lived just off-campus the entire time since it was so expensive around there, even with having three roommates."

"What made you decide to get into nursing, anyway?"

"Well, I always liked helping others feel better. Even when I was little, I'd always pretend to be a nurse or doctor or veterinarian. I thought about pre-med, but my family couldn't afford it, and I wasn't sure how well I'd like it with all the studying, paperwork, and all that. With the chronic nursing shortage, I found a government program that paid for most of the tuition in exchange for four years of service."

John nodded; most of the nurses and doctors he knew in the hospital had gone through similar tuition-service exchange programs.

"What about you?" Natalie asked. "What led you into journalism?"

He thought for a second before he replied. "To be honest, I found writing and English to be two of my better subjects in school, and I liked the idea of being a reporter when I was younger. I couldn't see myself doing much other than writing after high school, so I decided to be a Journalism major."

"Why Emory? Did you grow up here in Georgia?" she asked.

"Actually, I lived up in Alpharetta until I was twelve. My parents divorced when I was little, and my Mom moved us out to Southern California a few years after that. My father still lives in Kentucky, I think. She married well and then we moved to Costa Verde, near San Diego. Since they could afford it, they let me go wherever I wanted to for school. And since I liked the South when I was a kid, I chose Emory. It's a great school, especially for journalism."

She nodded and sat back as their soft-drinks and water arrived, along with a sizeable basket of bread.

"Did you grow up here too?" he asked. He was somewhat surprised at their small talk, but then realized that most of their previous conversations had centered around either the Cell or the hospital, neither of which they could discuss too openly in the restaurant.

"I grew up in Auburn, Alabama. Have you been there before?"

"No, but I know some guys that drive over there to the football games though. That's the real Deep South!" he said, leaning forward with a smile. "Now be honest, being from Alabama, have you ever eaten chitlins? Okra? Deep-fried pickles?"

Natalie laughed and shook her head. "No, no deep-fried pickles. I had chitlins once, but never again. My mother made us eat okra pretty often when we were little, though it was usually fried or smothered in cheese," she admitted.

"Do your parents know about your beliefs?" she asked, rather quietly.

He looked around and lowered his voice as well, even though all the couples around them appeared to be deeply involved in their own conversations.

"No, my mom would freak out. I don't know what my dad would think since I haven't talked to him in so long," he replied. "What about yours?"

"Mine are both Catholic, actually. They've attended Mass every Sunday morning all their lives. I'm not sure they'd approve of our church situation. They were very strict when I was growing up, but looking back, I'm glad they were. It helped give me a sense of the sacredness and majesty of church."

The food arrived and they silently prayed over their meal before they began eating. People weren't arrested for praying silently, at least not yet, he thought wryly.

"You know, I don't think you ever told me how you met William," she mentioned.

"Well, since we have some time now – it's almost as dramatic as how you met him," he replied, and then quickly looked around before continuing. "Back in the fall, my girlfriend broke up with me and I promptly got drunk, and I ended up staying out past Curfew. The bar closed and I woke up on the sidewalk. Anyway, one of the gangs had found me and started beating me up. They would've probably killed me if William hadn't driven them off." He considered telling her more about the Husam, but then decided not to, mainly for her own safety.

"Wow! How'd he do that?" she asked.

"It was pretty crazy – he drove right into the group. He hit one or two of them and the rest scattered. I was half-conscious at the time, and then I woke up in the hospital."

"So that's what really happened in your hit-and-run, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what happened. He hit them, and then they ran," he said, half-joking. "William met up with me after that and told me everything. After awhile, he also told me about his patrols and I started helping him. I think he was getting lonely, and it was getting harder just for one guy and everything."

"You haven't talked about that much before. Is it very dangerous?"

John thought back to the latest incident at Christmas when they'd almost been carjacked.

"Sometimes – mostly we avoid any confrontation with the gangs, and just try to get as many people off the streets as we can around Curfew."

They continued talking comfortably, though quietly, for the rest of the evening and then stayed for dessert. When it began getting late, he drove her back to her apartment and they said goodnight with a short hug.

He smiled and waved to her when he got back in the car. And even though they hadn't even kissed goodnight, it was the best date he'd ever had.

William concluded their Sunday morning meeting with a short prayer and then gave the group another handout.

"Here's the outline for our upcoming studies in Revelation. Feel free to mark it up and make notes," he said as he passed around a thin stack of papers.

"When will we be starting that?" Natalie asked.

"Oh, it'll be at least two or three weeks away, depending on when we finish up the books of John and Jude."

The group broke up and left for the week, with John and William putting everything in the room back to the way it had been before the meeting. Both were hungry after the long morning, and grabbed a quick lunch before going over to William's apartment. John had wanted to watch William do another session in the studio, and they both happened to have the day off from the hospital.

John sat down on the couch and looked over the handout while William checked his voicemail.

"What do you think about the outline? Good? Bad? Ugly?" he asked when he had finished and walked back into the living room.

"It's good. I read through the book last week but didn't understand all of it, at least many of the symbolic parts," John said. "How many times have you studied it, anyway?"

William smiled and sat down in his easy-chair nearby. "I don't know – at least twenty; I've lost count. I was on a prophecy kick for awhile until I started up the patrols. I still study it every now and then of course, but now I have other things to think about. Want to know the trick to figuring out what's really going on in the Book of Revelation?"

"Sure – what is it?"

"Revelation will only make sense to you if you realize that it's written with a series of symbols and phrases that originate in many other parts of the Bible. In fact, Revelation references all the other sixty-five books in one way or another. Most aren't too tough to track down, though some of the others are. It's a great learning exercise if you're very methodical and consistent about it. Ever use a Strong's Concordance?"

John shook his head. "No, what's that?"

William got up from the chair and retrieved a thick, worn book from the bookshelf and handed it to him. John opened it and found it to be filled with columns of numbers, words, and references like a dictionary, but with English, Greek, and Hebrew words.

"Here – I'll show you how it works. Every word in the Bible is assigned a Strong's number, a definition, and then a list of the cross-references to all the other verses of the Bible containing that same word. When you look up a particular word, you can quickly find every other verse or passage in which that same word is used. I have software that can do that for you as well, and there's some websites too, or at least there used to be."

"Why would you need to look at all the other references? Don't words have the same meaning everywhere they're used?"

"Most of the time they do, but sometimes a Greek or Hebrew word is rendered slightly differently in English. Some word definitions aren't as clear in English, the context is different, or sometimes English just doesn't have a word that's adequate to completely match the original. It helps you more fully understand what certain words mean in the context of the Bible as a whole, which is especially important for a symbolic book like Revelation. Personally, I don't think you can make much sense of Revelation unless you know the rest of the Bible extremely well, especially the Old Testament. In fact, most of the phrases and symbols used in Revelation come directly from the Old Testament prophetical books."

"That's interesting. What makes the prophecies in the Bible any different than those of Nostradamus or other so-called prophets? I mean, why listen to one but not another?"

William grinned. "I thought the same way, until I really began studying it. What sets Bible prophecy apart from other predictive works is its unblemished record of accuracy. Keep in mind that the study of Bible prophecy was not very widespread until earlier in the last century, but it really picked up in 1948 when Israel became a nation again."

John gave him a puzzled look, and William continued his explanation.

"Israel was prophesied over and over in the Bible to be exiled and dispersed but then resurrected as a nation in the last days. Ever hear the phrase 'the wandering Jew'? Well, they aren't wandering any more – they have their own nation in the same land as the Bible said they would. Israel is sort of God's prophetic-clock, and it happens to be the primary focus of Revelation, Armageddon, and most of the prophetic passages in the Old Testament. I'll have to show you a list of examples of all the fulfilled prophecies sometime, like Alexander and Tyre, Egypt's Folly, and so on."

"So, with all this prophetic stuff, what's supposed to happen next?" John asked, his curiosity growing.

"In my view – and many other serious Bible students – either the Rapture or the Magog Invasion," William replied.

"I remember that you spoke about the Rapture during the study on Thessalonians, but it didn't make much sense at the time (since I was new to the Bible and the whole cell church group and all). But I've never heard of the Magog Invasion," John said.

"Yes, mainly because it's not mentioned in the New Testament, which is what we've been mostly studying. The Magog Invasion is a reference to the great battle described in Ezekiel 38-39, in which a confederacy of nations in the Middle East band together and attempt to invade Israel with the purpose of plunder and wiping out the nation. Interestingly enough, it's led by Russia, and most of the nations involved in the confederacy are either Muslim nations or former Soviet republics today. Keep in mind that this was written over one thousand years before Mohammed was even born. Russia has been supplying the Iranians, Syrians, and the other Arab states for decades, while the United States typically aligned itself with Israel. Well, at least we did until the last few Presidents."

"So what happens?"

"Well, from the prophecy, no one comes to help Israel during the invasion, so God Himself does. When it looks like Israel is about to be overrun and wiped out, God sends earthquakes, hail, fire, and brimstone down upon the invading armies and destroys the invaders. And in the end, Israel plunders them from all the weapons that they recover."

"Is that Armageddon?" John asked, trying to fathom the sheer size and scope of the battle. He had heard enough about Israel in the news to know they were still a formidable force in the Middle East, especially given their tiny size in proportion to the rest of the region.

"No, Armageddon is the very last battle that occurs right before Jesus returns. The Magog Invasion most likely happens several years before that, since Israel salvages the weapons and 'burns them for seven years'. Some (like myself) surmise that this is God's way of providing for Israel's energy and defense needs during the Tribulation, which also happens to last seven years."

"I understand the defense part from the weapons, but what do you mean about their energy needs? They can't exactly get electricity by burning guns and bullets, right?"

William smiled. "They can if the weapons happen to be nuclear. If you read Ezekiel 39 carefully and with an open mind, you'll see that parts of the land appear to be contaminated, in which specialists have to go in and retrieve the bodies and weapons. There's also warnings to the tourists and visitors not to touch anything and just set down markers, which also seems to speak of some sort of contamination."

"What happens to the United States in the invasion? I mean, which side do you think we'll take?"

"No one knows, and America isn't mentioned even figuratively in the Bible from what I can tell. But there is a passing reference in the prophecy that says God will send fire upon Magog and 'those that dwell carelessly in the isles'. That could be referring to America, but could also be a number of other nations outside the Mediterranean area. Those who bless Israel will be blessed, but those who curse Israel will be cursed. Read up on some history of how different nations were prosperous when they were kind to the Jews and what happened to them when they weren't. If the President and the Congress decides not to help Israel and just watch from the sidelines, well – they wouldn't be blessing Israel, would they?"

"Yeah, but aren't there a lot of Jews in New York and up north?"

"There are still some, but many have left over the last few years for Israel – more freedom, better opportunities for themselves and their children. Most of those who haven't left are retirees who have lived their entire lives in America. There used to be a vibrant Orthodox community even here in Atlanta, but not any longer. When they saw that the US consistently stands against their ancestral land and their own people abroad, they know that anti-Semitism at home will soon follow. So they left before it got really bad – they can see which way the wind's blowing."

"Where does the Rapture fit in with this – is that at about the same time?"

"The Rapture could either happen before or after the Magog Invasion. There could also be a large conflict between Israel and her immediate neighbors before all that too, as described in Psalm 83. Also, Ezekiel 37 speaks of Israel having a great army after it's been regathered as a nation. But that's a discussion for another day. Again, no one really knows the precise order for certain. But those events should happen before Daniel's Seventieth Week."

John gave him another puzzled look, to which William reacted with a deep sigh.

"I can't believe we haven't talked about this stuff yet! What have I been teaching you all these months?" William asked with mock-chagrin.

John laughed at him and shrugged. "Just the basics, I guess. At least we have some time now."

"Yeah, I suppose we do." William retrieved an extra Bible and handed it to him. "Turn to Daniel 9 and I'll tell you all about it."

Najeev closed his phone and shut his eyes. His long reprieve from Mohammed had come to an end.

Three months after threatening to remove him, Mohammed was finally coming there to make good on his promises. Apparently there had been other, more urgent matters for him to attend to first.

He had hoped the long delay and an improved performance on his part would have made the threat of removal simply go away. But now he knew for certain that there would be no such luck.

After running the Husam cell these many months, he didn't know if he could handle the demotion. That would make him vulnerable to the others in the cell. The way he had risen in the ranks was by being smart and ruthless – by establishing a reputation for himself.

Sometimes (like today) he wanted out, but he knew full well the consequences of that. He had personally taken care of others who had tried, and he knew exactly what his comrades were capable of. He knew what he was capable of.

No, he decided, it was better to just ride it out and wait for the right opportunity to re-establish himself.

Professor Jacob Burkhart checked the security settings on his eBook-reader and did another quick search on the book he was looking for. After a moment, the results came back and he noted the bright red "Prohibited Content!" warning message that began flashing in large white lettering across the top of the screen.

He launched another module on the reader and waited for the tiny padlock icon to appear, and the annoying warning message immediately vanished. He grinned and clicked another button and then watched as the eBook began downloading. He stole a glance behind him and immediately chastised himself for being so paranoid. He was a tenured-professor, after all – he shouldn't need to worry too much there in the library. Besides, the scrambler would confuse any monitoring software that happened to be running on the network. The only reason he was downloading there was because the connection was so much faster than in his home and also because it would be harder to be traced back to him.

He didn't have too many vices other than an affinity for scotch and expensive cigars, and more recently, collecting illegal books. And while he loved his eBook-reader and its ability to hold over a million electronic books, he often missed holding a good-old fashioned paper book that one could touch, see, and smell. Sitting outside enjoying a good cigar with a reader just wasn't quite the same as with a thick, slightly-yellowed book. Those books connected their readers with another time and place that eBooks simply could not. But today, buying real books was a greater risk than he was willing to take.

When he had first bought the eBook-reader, it had taken him a few weeks to get used to it. But after a short time, he grew fond of the ability to have so many books at his fingertips and being able to search though them all instantly. He still kept all his old, real books in his house and in storage, but he had stopped buying them three years ago, except for the collector's items in his own private library. But having ink-and-paper books declared to be 'prohibited content' in his house wasn't the safest practice these days. With an eBook-reader, he could always smash it if he was caught and instantly destroy all the 'evidence'.

He hated the thought of certain books being banned from the market. The mere notion of it repulsed him to his very core. But there was little he or anyone else could do about it in the current cultural/political climate, so he rebelled by collecting as many of them as he possibly could. It added a tiny amount of excitement to his life, which he would be the first to admit could be quite dull at times. But most history professors weren't exactly known for being social activists.

Most of the illegal books he downloaded were from India, though some recent ones were from China and even Russia, depending on the book. Even though the Internet was heavily filtered in the United States, money still spoke the loudest, and some people still did what they had to in order to make a buck, even if it was by providing illegal books and other soft-contraband. The harder the United States and the other civilized nations clamped down with their bans, the faster and more diverse the black market seemed to grow.

This particular book he was downloading was called "Slouching Towards Gomorrah" by Robert Bork, a former Yale professor and federal judge. It had been on his wish-list for weeks. And while many of his fellow professors (including most of his students) would drop their jaws (or begin snoring, in the case of the students) at the book's main topic, "Modern Liberalism and American Decline", he saw the value in reading material from the 'other side of the aisle', so to speak. He prided himself on being quite moderate most of the time. And to be genuinely objective, he had always argued, one had to hear or read both sides and consider them carefully.

Now that Spring Break had started, he had decided to kick it off in his usual fashion: with a huge cigar and a new book. But since he was in the library, the cigar would have to wait until after he got home. The reader beeped, signaling that the download had completed. He opened the book in the reader to ensure it wasn't corrupted, and then filed it into his electronic library. He couldn't wait to get started on it.

He turned off the eBook-reader and put it back in his briefcase, and then left the library to go home.

John finished packing his oversized gym-bag and closed up his room before quietly going downstairs. It was early Tuesday morning, but Mrs. Weinstein was already up and reading the paper with her morning coffee.

"Where are you going to again?" she asked, after they had said 'good morning'.

"Charleston and the Low Country. I might go to Edisto Beach, since I haven't been to the East Coast yet."

"Oh, it's so beautiful there this time of year! It's the perfect time before it gets all hot and muggy. Well, good luck on your vacation. Help yourself to a cup before you go. I made plenty this morning."

"Thanks, that's a good idea," he replied and grabbed a travel cup and filled it up.

"And thank you so much for doing all that work around the house yesterday. It's so nice to have a handyman around here," she said.

He waved it off with a smile. "You're welcome. I'm just glad I didn't fall off the ladder while I was cleaning the gutters! I'll be back on Saturday or Sunday."

"Okay. I'll call William if I need anything, so don't you worry about us on your vacation."

He smiled again and thanked her for the coffee, and then headed outside. He was renting a car for the rest of the week, but he first had to take a bus to the rental car agency.

As he waited at the bus stop down the street, he rubbed the back of his stiff arms and neck. He had been working hard the last two days at the house and his muscles were sore. The gutters had taken longer and had been more of a challenge than he had expected, but he was glad he had cleared them out. From all the leaves, twigs, and debris he had removed, they probably hadn't been cleaned in years.

Spring Break at Emory had officially started (for him at least) at three o'clock the previous Friday. But while most everyone else was going to the beaches of Panama City or Daytona, he had been working hard. His last shift at the hospital had been on Sunday night, but yesterday he had finished many odd jobs there at the house. Mrs. Weinstein had made an extensive list for him the week before which had included the gutters, floor and door creaks, leaky faucets, and other maintenance tasks that had occupied his time over the last few days.

The bus arrived and he was soon on his way. The line at the car rental agency was short, and less than a half-hour later he was on the interstate driving east towards the Georgia-South Carolina border. He had been looking forward to this road-trip for the last several weeks. He wanted to get away for a few days to do some seriously thinking and praying. Also, he wanted to take stock of his life and the direction it was going. He had begun losing interest in his major lately and wondered if it was time to change to something else. Or maybe he just needed to clear his head for a while.

The drive to Charleston took just over five hours, which gave him plenty of time to consider all the events and changes that had happened to him over the last six months. He could have taken a flight east to get there faster, but he wanted to take the trip without all the hassle of going through airport security, waiting for the flight, and then renting a car in Charleston for the same price. The general rule for flying these days was that if you could drive there in less than eight hours, driving was cheaper, easier, and usually faster than flying.

He arrived at his hotel near the historic district in Charleston shortly after noontime and went down to the boardwalk along the Battery as soon as he had finished checking in. He spent the rest of the afternoon walking the old streets and admiring the grand buildings and antebellum architecture. Several old churches were still open for services on Sundays and also tours during the rest of the week, but he got the distinct impression they were now focused more on tourism than preaching. They felt more like museums than churches, he observed.

As he walked back along the Battery, he gazed out across the bay to Fort Sumter, the flashpoint of the Civil War. The secession of Alaska months before had virtually gone unanswered, and now the Texans were rattling their own sabers again. Texas was still a very independent-minded state; people in general were tired of the heavy hand of their government and the miserable economic conditions, but could do little about it. Texas just happened to be more vocal about it than most others. But aside from Alaska, none of the other states had taken action to shake themselves free.

Eying the old cannons that still pointed out towards the bay, he thought about the Civil War and tried to imagine what the city had been like at the start of it. Who would have thought that the United States would break up in the Twenty-First Century and that a state would once again secede? A generation ago, that very notion would have been unthinkable! But now the balkanization of the United States seemed more certain than ever. But instead of being divided along distinct borders between states, the nation was divided from one house to another. Not only that, but firearms were now much more restricted and there were no organized, public militias.

The next day, John went on several tours of the city and then drove out to the Low Country for a tour of some of the old plantations. The pace of life there seemed so much slower and simpler, and it reminded him of the book he had brought with him. Last week, William had given him a rather unconventional book about America's founding. It was all about the nation's spiritual heritage, which began with the Great Awakening, culminating in the Revolutionary War. Once those embers had died down, they had then reignited during the Second Great Awakening in the years before the Civil War.

When the plantation tours were over and he drove back to Charleston, he decided that he would make his best attempt to read the book (or at least part of it) over his vacation. If spiritual awakenings had preceded the call for independence in the past, then perhaps another spiritual awakening would precede the next one as well. He had been surprised by the guide on one of the tours who spoke of the nation long before independence and the Constitution had been ratified. Nearly half the nation's history had occurred before the Constitution had even been put to paper, though the land had been much more untamed.

That night as he read, John began to understand that a country was defined more by its people and their character, and not merely its form, method, and tone of government. In America, the government reflected the people, rather than the opposite as in most other nations. Or at least it used to.

And that insight made him both sad and optimistic.

William looked over his old car and grimaced as he set down the bucket of cleaning supplies. The day had come for its annual spring cleaning. And waxing. Given that it was well over ten years old, most people would wonder why he would even bother with it. But nearly each year since his sixteenth birthday, he had always waxed whatever car he owned, whether it was worth it or not.

In addition to the rusting exterior, the windows were filthy and the interior badly needed cleaning as well. He figured he might as well get it over with and spend the morning making the car sparkle as best he could. He decided to start on the inside and work his way outward; maybe the sight of all the dirt would keep him motivated. He rolled down all the windows and began vacuuming the seats and upholstery, along with the floormats.

One of the seatbelts in the back was buried deep in the seat and he painstakingly pulled it out. He reached down, feeling around for loose change or other trash items, when he felt something strange. The object seemed slender and cool to his fingertips, and it definitely wasn't trash. He put on a pair of gloves and then carefully extracted the item. It was a long, expensive-looking switchblade.

The knife was sleek and black, and still mostly clean, though judging from the debris nearby, it had been stuck in the seat for awhile. On the handle was silver, decorative lettering with elegant loops and curves. He wasn't sure, but the calligraphy looked to be either Farsi or Arabic, or possibly some other Middle Eastern language.

He immediately thought back to the incident with the man on the patrol at Christmas and the attack. He couldn't think of anyone else they had picked up who might've had such an object. As he further examined it, he realized that it might still have usable fingerprints.

William took the knife inside and carefully placed it into a clear plastic bag and then hid it. He would phone his friend at the police department and call in one of his favors, as soon as he finished cleaning the car. Maybe he'd find more unusual objects. Besides, it would give him time to think before he acted.

After all, one could only call in so many favors.

Mohammed's driver cautiously walked up to the backdoor of the abandoned factory building and knocked precisely as he had been instructed. The door immediately opened and he slipped inside. Three minutes later, he went back out to the car and then accompanied his passenger inside.

Najeev was waiting for them just inside the entrance, sweating slightly. He was nervous, but he hoped Mohammed would attribute it more to the mid-Spring humidity rather than his raw nerves.

Mohammed strode directly up to him, without even glancing around. Obviously he trusted his driver to determine that the premises were secure.

Without even the slightest greeting, Mohammed immediately delivered his news to Najeev.

"You are no longer the leader of this cell. Consider yourself to be the team leader while out on assignments, but otherwise I'm in complete authority. Do you understand?"

Najeev nodded instantly and profusely. And humbly.

"Sir, I know who he is – his name is William Bradford," Najeev blurted out, hoping that would lessen Mohammed's anger towards him, or at least distract him.

"Do you know where he lives?"

"No, but I have a short list of known associates."

"Good. Permanently removing Mr. Bradford from our affairs will be the first order of business," Mohammed said.

And for the first time ever, Najeev saw Mohammed smile, though he knew it wasn't intended for him.

On the third day of his vacation, John drove out to Edisto Beach, which was about an hour down the coast from Charleston. He hadn't been to the beach in over two years, even though he had lived nearly half his life in California.

There were no major highways to Edisto, so he ended up seeing much more of the typical Low Country than he had during the last few days on the tours. Old, rundown homes were haphazardly scattered about; some were close to the road while others were set further back on long gravel roads. Many appeared to be little more than shacks, and he saw poverty even worse than that he was used to in Decatur and other parts of Atlanta. The sights almost reminded him of the sharecropper shacks after the Civil War. Some of them appeared to be little more than plywood walls covered with tin roofs, with probably packed dirt as their only foundations.

He had been thinking more about Natalie, but he still wanted to take things slow with her. And he had the feeling that she felt the same. After all, he still had at least two more years of school and plenty of other things to think about now. But he liked her well enough, and he hoped they could continue building their friendship and relationship.

The vacation had also helped him decide more about his future in the Cell. He had never been one to teach a group, much less lead one, but he had done well in his Speech classes back in high school. And then that started him thinking about William's studio. He liked the idea of broadcasting on the Internet, but he didn't feel nearly as excited about it as he did with writing. Perhaps his calling was more in that than in broadcasting.

In the book that William had given him, he had been surprised to learn that the cry for independence had begun in the early 1760's with little more than the tireless efforts of one man: Samuel Adams. Adams was an early American journalist who had written essay after essay on constitutional rights and how they were daily being trampled by the British Crown and Parliament. He had pounded away on them week after week, month after month, and year after year. Adams had played a leading role in pressuring the British to repeal the Stamp Acts and also in organizing the infamous Boston Tea Party.

Upon reading that, John realized what excited him: imagining his thoughts in print and changing people's hearts and minds towards God, freedom, and the country. Today, the media and the government usually seemed to work hand in hand, and he didn't feel that he could work as a journalist in a typical media environment and be honest about what he believed, thought and felt. Perhaps he could start an underground paper of sorts like Samuel Adams had done and write about true American freedom, or at least speak about the rising tide of religious persecution in 'free' America.

After he checked into a hotel on the Edisto strip, he went for a long walk on the beach and thought more about college and his writing career. Sooner or later, he felt that people would finally get fed up with the massive welfare state the country had become and do something about it. Or it would inevitably collapse. Due to the decades of massive deficit spending, the United States was quickly becoming a second-world nation.

Late that afternoon, he went to one of the sports-bars on the beach and ordered a beer with his dinner while he watched a basketball game. He felt slightly odd about drinking again, especially after hearing how alcohol had ruined William's life before, but he had ordered it more out of habit than anything else.  He hadn't had a beer nor watched more than ten minutes of a game in months. There was loud rock music playing next door, and he was startled at how much like raw noise it sounded rather than music. But what struck him as even more odd was that he had been listening to that same music most of his life up until after his conversion.

But after nearly an hour at the sports-bar, he found he just didn't have much of a thirst for beer nor sports as he'd had before. Perhaps William was right: maybe he was becoming a new creation. He didn't even bother finishing his beer before he went back to his hotel room to do some more reading on the balcony overlooking the beach.

As he was walking back along the beach to the hotel, something lying half-buried in the sand caught his eye and he stooped down to see what it was. To his surprise, it was a small pearl. He picked it up, carefully wiped it off, and put it in his pocket. He had never heard of anyone finding a pearl on the beach before, and he felt almost certain that God had intended for him to find it. Earlier that day, he had been looking for unconventional souvenir to commemorate his vacation, and realized that this would be more memorable than anything he would ever find in the tourist shops.

After his two days in Edisto were finished, John drove back home to Atlanta, relaxed and rested.

Philip Clyburn cautiously looked around. There was no one else nearby except for two mothers and their small children. Another man emerged from further up the sidewalk and approached him.

"So Phil, what'd you find?" William asked quietly as soon as they sat down on the park bench.

Philip checked around them again and then reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to William for him to look over. Along with the paper, he passed him a small plastic bag with a peculiar object in it – the switchblade.

"More than you probably want to know. The knife had a partial print on the top of the handle. From that, I was able to ID the likely owner: Najeev Essam, or rather, Tyrone Bigsby, before his name was changed," Philip said.

"A convert, huh?"

"Yeah, your friend there has quite a history too. Some minor gang activity when he was younger, and then he spent a year or so in prison when he was twenty-one after a drug bust. Just before his release, he legally changed his name, probably to fit his new beliefs. Either that or the fact that prisoners with Islamic names typically fare better than others in there that don't. You change your name and you immediately acquire something of a 'reputation'."

"No kidding," William said.

"It gets better – turns out he also recently worked out on the street for James Hargood, up until two years ago."

"Who's Hargood?"

Philip took another cautious glance around before he responded.

"James Hargood used to work for the Atlanta Police Department, until he was hired onto the executive team of FAAHAD in Washington."

"FAAHAD? You mean the Federal Anti-Hate Agency?"

"That's the one. Be careful – I hear they had a big budget increase there last year, with more funds directed towards the enforcement department."

"I heard that too, thanks. Did Hargood used to be a cop?"

"I don't think so, at least not recently. He worked downtown in an office when he was at the APD. Probably in the upper management or the bureaucracy, I figure," Philip replied. He nervously checked his watch.

"What about Bigsby – how could he work for the APD with his criminal record?" William asked.

"He was an informant, by the way it looks."

"Ah, a snitch. That's good to know. Thanks again for the detective work – I owe you one."

"Let's just call it even. We didn't talk about this, okay?" Philip stated, motioning toward the sheet and the knife that William was holding. "Anything that even remotely involves FAAHAD creeps me out."

"Talk about what?" William replied with a grin.

Chapter 9 - Courage

"The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people."  – The Tenth Amendment to the United States Constitution

"Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us..." – Hebrews 12:1

John looked over the small group gathering in the room and mentally reviewed the main points of his lesson notes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny pearl from the beach to examine it for a short moment. He had cleaned and polished it when he had returned home, and was pleased to find that it had only a slight blemish on one side.

As he held his small treasure from the beach, he thought of the Parable of the Precious Pearl, one of the Seven Kingdom Parables he would soon be teaching. The others in the group had already reviewed the Parables that previous week, but he would be leading the discussion. But even after hours of study, he still didn't feel adequately prepared.

On Thursday when he and William had gone out on a patrol, William had mentioned (somewhat in passing) that the Seven Kingdom Parables of Matthew were linked to the Seven Churches of Revelation, and in order no less. The Seven Parables and Seven Churches were both historical and prophetic of the Church Age, as well as instructive as to the general spiritual conditions that would exist in each time period.

In addition to the Parables and Churches, William mentioned (again without detailed explanation at the time) that there were Seven Church Epistles in the New Testament, though several of them were in two parts and not in any specific order. The Epistles evidently provided wisdom and counsel to each of the types of Churches addressed in the Book of Revelation. The Letters to the Seven Churches admonished all the Churches to correct themselves before it was too late, and the Epistles told them how in practical terms. John hadn't had the time yet to dig into that part of the study, so he had decided not to mention the link to the Epistles, at least not this week.

Everyone was now present in the room and more or less sitting down, and he saw William give him a glance. It was time to start the meeting. John opened his Bible to the passage in Matthew and cleared his throat.

"Hello – how was everyone this week?" he asked. One after the other, the members in the group briefly spoke and they began exchanging prayer requests for a few minutes.

John then led the prayer time with the requests circling around the room, and after ten minutes he closed. He had been nervous praying out loud for the longest time, but he had grown much more comfortable praying in public after he'd begun consistently praying by himself.

He handed out the study-sheet of notes and questions he had prepared beforehand and everyone glanced over it for a moment, and then he began the study.

"Since we'll be moving into the Book of Revelation and the Seven Churches in a few weeks, today we're going to examine the Seven Kingdom Parables in Matthew. There are dozens of parables which the Lord Jesus gave, but these Seven were the first, at least in the New Testament."

"What's the purpose of a parable?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically.

"To reveal spiritual truths in everyday settings," Janice said.

"Good – that's certainly true. Parables are used to dispense wisdom and truth in the form of short stories that are easily remembered. These seven parables are set apart because each of them compares 'the kingdom of heaven' to scenes or objects most people are familiar with, which is why they're often referred to as the 'Kingdom Parables'."

"What does the phrase 'the kingdom of heaven' mean?" Natalie asked.

"Maybe it's what the world will be like after Jesus returns," Janice suggested.

John nodded and listened as a few others offered their suggestions as well. William kept silent, though John knew he had already studied them in depth and had drawn his own conclusions.

"Those are good answers," he answered. "Some say they apply to the Millennium, or to the time in the future when Jesus reigns on the earth. But I tend to disagree, and you'll see why after we go through each of these in detail. Notice in verse thirty-five, Matthew mentions that Jesus' speaking in parables fulfilled several Old Testament prophecies, and that He was revealing truths had previously been hidden from the world. One 'mystery' that we discovered in the Book of Ephesians was the Church itself. Therefore, I've concluded that the 'kingdom of heaven' He talks about here is all about the Church, or at least the Church Age."

"The first two parables – the Parable of the Sower and the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares – are both privately explained by Jesus to the disciples after He spoke them publicly. But the other five, He has chosen to leave to our interpretation, most likely because the disciples had told him that they understood what He had meant."

"Why in the world did they do that?" asked Nathan, another new member.

John shrugged. "The next few parables seem straightforward at first glance, but when you really get into them, they become much more profound. And some would even say 'upsetting'."

Janice, one of the newer members in the group, gave John a puzzled look and spoke up. "What do you mean? When I read them, I took them to mean that the Gospel (or the Church) would start small and then spread and grow into something great."

John smiled and nodded. "That's how I read them at first too, until I looked at them closer and read some commentaries on them. The interpretation of these parables is completely dependent upon your hermeneutics, and how much you respect the text and the consistency of the terms used in the Bible. And for these two parables in particular – the Parable of the Mustard Seed and the Parable of the Leaven – you can easily come to completely different conclusions if you're not careful."

John reached for his water and took a short drink.

"The first one about the mustard seed sounds wonderful, unless you realize that mustard seeds grow into small, seasonable shrubs that quickly spread, but never grow into trees. Mustard is biting and irritating, like the Word of God or the Gospel, and it's small and simple, also much like the Gospel. However, the catch in the parable is that it then grows into an enormous tree – the symbol of an organization or a hierarchy – that the birds later come to dwell in. And if we're being consistent with our hermeneutics, the birds are symbols of demons or evil ones which were defined by Jesus in the first parable."

"So what are you saying – the Gospel gets twisted?" Nathan asked.

"Yes, in a sense. It's more that He's saying that the Church or Christianity will begin small, simple, and intense but once mature, it will grow into something abnormal and complex that becomes corrupted by Satan or his workers from the inside."

John continued reading.

"The next one, the Parable of the Leaven, is similar – leaven is always a symbol of sin or pride in the Bible. Also, the 'three measures of meal' is the fellowship offering, and symbolic of the relationship between God and His people. So the picture here is of someone who's preparing the fellowship meal and secretly introducing sin into the relationship, until the entire relationship is corrupted and unacceptable to God."

Nathan and Janice both peered at their Bibles intensely, and John continued.

"The next two are somewhat paired as the previous set were, but the interpretation of the 'treasure' is not quite as clear as the 'pearl'. In each of these parables, the man spoken of is Jesus – the Son of Man. The treasure is not the Gospel or His Word, since He admonishes us specifically not to hide or try to buy it. The treasure then, is likely Israel, which is referred to as God's inheritance or His treasure several places in the Old Testament. Jesus gave all He had to purchase us (and Israel) and thereby 'purchased' the world with His blood."

"The Pearl of Great Price is similar to the Parable of the Hidden Treasure, but is very Gentile in nature. Pearls were not esteemed by the Jews as precious, but they did sell them to the Gentiles around them. The pearl is symbolic of the Church in that it starts as a small irritant in its 'unclean' host, and then grows gradually over time and becomes a precious jewel. In both parables, it is Jesus, the Man, who is doing the buying. Also, His Church is a single, united body of believers, much like the one pearl. You can cut all other jewels and they still retain value though divided, but not a pearl."

"The last parable, the Parable of the Dragnet, is about the end of the age – the time of judgment. The dragnet is not defined, but it can be thought of as the Second Coming or the Judgment, which will sweep everyone away to stand before God. Then the righteous – the believers who are left – will be separated from the wicked and then the wicked will be cast into Hell. Notice that the righteous are also gathered into vessels – or chambers, like when we'll be taken to Heaven."

"What about the last one – verse fifty-two? Is that a parable too?" Natalie asked.

John glanced down at his notes. "That's a good question. I don't think it is, because Jesus is saying that the scribe – not the kingdom of heaven – is the one who's bringing out things new and things old. It may be a word of instruction that Jesus wants us to study both the Old Testament and the New Testament, or to use both the Scriptures prior to His arrival and those who would come after. It could also concern the study of the Old Covenant that God made with Israel and the New Covenant He made with the Redeemed. Note that Jesus decrees that the disciples are 'scribes' in other places in the Gospels. Next week, we'll get into the Seven Churches and see how they relate to the Seven Kingdom Parables and some other passages in the New Testament."

With his study concluded, John answered (as best he could) a few more questions and then he closed the meeting with a short prayer.

John and William walked into Maggie's Diner and looked for an open booth near the back. It was one of the few public places in the northeast part of the city they felt comfortable speaking freely. They saw several familiar faces when they walked in, though there were a few they didn't recognize. Most of the customers were truckers and farmers and other salt-of-the-earth folks.

A waitress who had served them before walked up and seated them away from the strangers. John figured she had overheard pieces of their prior conversations and understood they needed more privacy than most of the other patrons. They had made it a point to tip extra well – and always in cash – each time they went to the diner.

"So," John began, "how'd I do on my first message?"

William grinned and thanked the waitress as she returned to deliver their water and coffee.

"It was pretty good for your first discussion. I could tell you had studied it and put in your time. You seemed a little nervous at the start, but it went away after you got rolling. A little more practice in front of your mirror and the group should take care of that."

"Great, that's a relief. I didn't catch anyone dozing off, so I thought I at least kept everyone's attention."

"Yeah, the group's too small for that to happen very often. The content and delivery were both good, but I noticed that you needed to further the discussion more in places and get others involved."

"Like how?" John asked with a slight frown.

"Don't get me wrong – it was good, but it got a little preachy at times. I thought about it when we were tidying up afterwards, and I think it mostly came from inexperience. After leading the group a few times, you become more aware of when to help others get involved and then when to teach (or preach). For this lesson, it needed just a little less preaching."

"Do you want me to do it over?" he joked, making William grin as well.

"No, it was fine. Keep in mind that I've been doing this for awhile and that I know more about what tends to work for groups like ours and what doesn't. It just takes time and practice."

John nodded and took a drink of his water and thought about what his friend had said.

"I haven't had much of a chance to look at the links between the Seven Churches, the Parables, and the Church Epistles yet," he admitted.

"I thought that was good about how you mentioned that near the end and set it up for the next session. I have some notes that might help you out with the Seven Churches also."

"That would be great!" John replied.

"Well, do you want to try it again next week? Since you mentioned the link, you can take the Seven Churches study too, if you want," William offered. "Those are more straight-forward than some of the Parables were. To answer one of the questions you had asked, 'why did Jesus speak in parables so often?' – do you really understand why?"

"I think so. I thought it was to make His listeners think more about what He was saying. You know, to engage them more."

"I'm sure that was part of it. But in Matthew 13 and Luke 8, His disciples wondered the same thing, and they asked Him why He started speaking only in parables to the crowds. Anyway, He responded that it was both to reveal and conceal truth. He was dispensing truth to those who can 'hear' Him and who would act on those truths, but those who are spiritually deaf or lazy just hear a clever riddle. Notice that in Matthew 12, He had been speaking plainly until the Pharisees accused Him of being a son of the devil or having a demon in Him. From that point on, Jesus wrapped most of His public messages in parables. Those who had 'ears to hear' understood what He was saying, while the others did not."

John nodded and thought about that for a short while; he would have to look into it further when he had some free time later on.

"Have you thought any more about the next division?" John asked.

William shrugged. "Not really – it's a few months away, unless more people start coming. It seems like we're slowing down a little now. I'm not quite sure why yet though."

Their food arrived and they both discreetly bowed their heads and prayed over their meal.

"How's the study in Revelation going?" William asked.

"Pretty well, I guess. Though with preparing for the study last week I haven't had the time to get into it as deeply as I've wanted to. But I've been listening to those MP3's you gave me, and they've been very helpful. I've also started using the Strong's like you suggested too, but only on a few of the verses."

"You should listen to the Seventy Weeks of Daniel study before you get too far into Revelation," William suggested. "I should've had you do that first. I sometimes have to get into the Greek and Hebrew for certain parts of the Revelation study, but I don't think you need to do that at this point – at least not yet. We already have too much else going on for you to start learning two languages.

John grinned and nodded in agreement and began eating. He was hungry after the meeting that day, and had ordered more than usual.

They continued eating their lunch and John told him all about his vacation.

Jacob Burkhart turned off his eBook-reader and set it down on the coffee-table in front of him. "Slouching Towards Gomorrah" had been a long book, but he had enjoyed it.

He reached down and pulled out a fresh cigar from his elegant mahogany humidor, which also served as the lampstand for his favorite reading light. He lit the cigar and sat back in his leather chair as he took a deep puff, savoring the taste and smell of the rolled tobacco. Next to reading, cigars were one of life's simple little pleasures that he just couldn't do without, even if it was illegal.

His supply of cigars was running low – he would need to get another box or two soon. He smoked one after every 'intellectual' book he read, a long tradition (others would say 'bad habit') he had picked up during his grad-school days. He didn't want to think about the long drive to Savannah to pick them up, especially since he should have done it over Spring Break. He hoped his supply would last until summer vacation began; he had yet to break tradition and go without one after a good read.

The book he had finished had given him a great deal to consider, or 'ruminate over', as he preferred to think of it. Most of the book had examined the various cultural trends and shifts in the United States since 1900, especially with first-hand accounts of the Cultural Revolution in the 1960's. Like most university professors, he had always been fascinated with the Sixties, but he didn't have quite as much nostalgia for those days as some of his colleagues. The Sixties were often though of as the 'golden age' of the American university culture.

The study on the declining nature of democratic government was insightful, and the examination of how democracies tend to drift towards either radical egalitarianism (i.e. equality) or radical liberty. In America and Great Britain, both trends had occurred simultaneously within a very short period of time. And depending on which force 'ran its course' the fastest, the democracy would either turn into a socialist/fascist state or an unstable, chaotic state. In both outcomes, eventually a dictator or dictatorial group would then rise to restore order to the society.

He thought back to what another great thinker, Alexander Tyler of the late 18th Century, had observed from his own careful study of democracies: "A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government.  It can only exist until the voters discover they can vote themselves largess from the public treasury. From that moment on, the majority always votes for the candidates promising them the most benefits from the public treasury, with the result that a democracy always collapses over loose fiscal policy, always followed by a dictatorship."

And sadly, especially after reading this last book, he agreed with Tyler all the more – that was precisely what had happened to all the once-great Western democracies, including the United States. And oddly enough, all the Western democracies seemed to be poised just at the 'precipice' – when they eventually fell, it was likely that one great dictator would arise to take control and restore order to them all. But as to whom that dictator could possibly be, he knew of no one on the immediate horizon. There were simply no strong leaders in the West as there once had been.

Another famous proverb of Tyler's that came to mind was his Cycle of Democracy: "From bondage to spiritual faith, from spiritual faith to great courage, from courage to liberty, from liberty to abundance, from abundance to selfishness, from selfishness to apathy, from apathy to dependence, from dependency back again into bondage." It seemed to him that America and the West were moving into the 'bondage' stage of the cycle.

A significant portion of the book had also dealt with the anti-American activities, views, and writings of the radical, political Left and how they had essentially hijacked traditional liberalism during and after the Vietnam War. And unfortunately, the Left had decided that the Democratic Party (though it had started both the Communism-containment policies and the Vietnam War) was the quickest, easiest political route to have their dreams turned into reality. And then by pressing into the various cultural institutions such as the broadcast media, film industry, law, politics, and education at every level, they took over the very institutions they had initially sought and sworn to overthrow. But instead of overthrowing them, they remolded them according to their beliefs and imaginations.

As Jacob puffed on his cigar, he considered the irony of some of the current policies of the political Left. They were nearly indistinguishable from the traditional Statists. Smoking and tobacco use in any form was now terribly taxed (and outlawed in most public places, including homes), but the hard-drugs had mostly been legalized (but also heavily taxed, of course). And though many in the government wanted to outlaw tobacco, they couldn't because it simply brought in too much desperately-needed tax revenue. On one hand, the Left was vehemently vocal in their anti-tobacco campaigns, but at the same time had demanded the legalization of the much more dangerous, addictive, and even life-threatening recreational drugs.

The Statists had incubated their cultural revolution in the most logical place: the universities. The university environment had always been isolated from typical supply-and-demand economics, free markets, and even common-sense to some extent, but it had been completely overwhelmed with the Baby Boomer generation that swept into college in the 1960's. The universities proved to be the ideal environment for the more radical forces to germinate and take root, and when the students graduated and moved back out into the culture at large, they took their radical beliefs with them into all the institutions in which they entered.

The Cultural Revolution had begun in the universities, and it was very likely that future revolutions would begin there as well, unless the education system completely collapsed or was taken over by the government. In other nations such as Iran and Pakistan, revolutions had begun in the universities as well. And that was one of the major reasons why complete control of the education system was of critical and eternal importance to the Left. Antonio Gramsci's 'long march through the institutions' had started in the most logical place in America, and had taken less than a generation to achieve its goals.

When he stepped back and was honest with himself, he saw that there was very little real freedom in education today – only public (or state) and state-registered schools were allowed. Homeschooling and even virtual primary education had been outlawed nearly a decade ago. It was not uncommon to hear of parents being arrested and their children put into state-approved foster care if the parents were found guilty of homeschooling their children (though such reports rarely made the nightly news or the morning papers). And of course, the children were immediately placed into a state education institution to be readjusted to the public education system.

As he puffed on the cigar, he concluded that all-in-all, the book had been a good read, though he didn't agree with all the book's points or the author's opinions. But regardless, it had certainly given him much to contemplate in his study of American history.

A faint sound stirred William from his sleep. At first, he couldn't recognize what it was until it sounded again. He opened his eyes and rolled over – it was coming from his phone on the nightstand. The phone displayed the caller's name as 'Henry'.

"Hello, Henry?" he answered.

"William! I – I think I'm having a heart-attack!" he said breathlessly as his voice broke. "Hurry!" he rasped.

"I'm on my way! Sit down and take a couple aspirin. I'll be over in a few minutes!" he exclaimed and put the phone down. He rushed to get dressed and then grabbed his phone. He made a quick note in the logbook that he was going out on an emergency and then put it back before he ran out the door.

As he sped over to Henry's house, William checked the battery-display on the defibrillator. It was only half-charged, which he hoped would be enough to help his old friend. He couldn't remember the last time he'd visited Henry, and he felt bad about that. Fortunately, he remembered where he lived, and it wasn't far away.

He drove faster than normal, but was careful to keep off the wider, busier streets to avoid the police. It was long past Curfew, and he couldn't afford to be stopped. Especially not after Franklin, the last heart-attack victim he'd been too late to help.

William parked at the curb directly in front of the house and ran up to the front door with the defibrillator and medical kit. He found it locked and hurriedly kicked it in, hurting his foot in the process. But getting to Henry was more important than any damage to his body or the house.

He rushed into the living room, limping slightly. He found Henry lying back on the couch, holding his chest and sweating profusely. He had a terrified look on his face, but thankfully he was still alive.

"Henry! I'm here – how are you feeling?" William quickly asked. He pushed the coffee table out of the way to have more room to examine him. He put the defibrillator and his medical kit on the floor next to the couch and took out a stethoscope.

"Not so good – it hurts here," Henry said, rubbing his chest and left shoulder.

William opened Henry's shirt and began listening to his heart. A moment later, he gave him a puzzled look and then looked down at his watch. Henry's heart sounded normal. It was beating fast, but it had a normal cardiac rhythm. He decided to re-check his heart-rate.

If he hadn't been so focused on his watch and Henry's vital signs, William might have noticed Henry nervously glance towards the dining room while he was being examined. And William might have noticed the three men quickly emerge from their hiding places there.

He heard a strange sound, and as he turned to say something to Henry, he was struck on the back of the head with something hard and was knocked to the ground. He rolled over onto his side and held the back of his head. His vision blurred and he shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

He looked up to see three men dressed in black clothing, with each holding a gun. Their heads and the lower half of their faces were covered as well. One of the men moved next to Henry, the other watched the door, and the last one, the tallest of the group, stepped forward to speak. William gave Henry a bewildered, angry look: a look of betrayal.

"We knew you'd come to help your friend. You just can't help yourself. Don't blame him though, he had a little pressure," the leader stated.

"I'm sorry Will, they were going to kill my son and his family if I didn't do what they said," Henry stammered.

"Shut up!" the man standing closest to him yelled, pointing his gun at him.

William collected himself as best he could and overcame his anger at Henry. Fear had already replaced it.

"What do you want?" he asked the taller one who appeared to be the leader.

"You, of course. We told you there'd be trouble. You should've listened to us. Both you and your friend," the leader replied.

"What are you going to do?"

"We have some plans for you," he said. And though his face was still mostly covered, William could almost see him smiling from ear-to-ear.

William took a deep breath and tried to push his fear away. He was badly outnumbered, and they had guns. He looked at Henry and decided to intercede for him. Maybe one of them would make it out of there alive.

"Please, let Henry go. He has nothing to do with us. He's just an old friend."

"Unfortunately, I can't do that. Henry here – he's not going to make it."

William frowned. "Why's that?"

"He's going to have a heart attack," the leader replied, and reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe.

Henry began struggling to sit up and was immediately pushed back down by his captor. The one watching the door came over to restrain him, and it was at that point that William saw an opportunity. The leader uncapped the syringe and began to bend over to inject Henry with the light-pink fluid.

William lunged forward as fast as he could, but the leader was expecting him to do just that. He whirled and smashed William on the side of the head with the butt of his gun.

He was unconscious before he even hit the floor.

William awoke abruptly when a rough, heavy hand slapped him across the face. He immediately recoiled in anticipation of the next blow, but he found himself firmly tied to a metal chair. He was trapped.

"Wake up," his assailant ordered as he slapped him again.

William blinked his eyes and tried to focus. The room was dark except for a bright light over his head which further blinded him. The man leaned in close to his face so he could see him, and then yanked his head back by his hair. From the eyes and voice, he knew it was the same man who had been the leader at Henry's house. Though now he was not wearing a mask.

"Is this him?" the man asked. William then became aware of a second man in the room, standing in the shadows.

The other man stepped forward. William immediately recognized him as the one who had attacked him and John in the car months before.

"Yeah, that's him for sure," he said.

The man holding his head back by his hair pulled it back even further and motioned the observer closer with his free hand.

Immediately the one who had identified him rushed forward and smashed his fist into William's mouth, snapping his head back. And then while he was still reeling in the chair, he was slugged twice more in the gut. William gasped for breath and the man punched him in the face again.

"That's enough. If I need you again, I'll send for you," his captor said. "Don't be so inept next time, or you'll find yourself sitting where he is." The other man turned on his heels and left as ordered, rubbing his newly raw knuckles on the way out. William continued to gasp breathlessly.

"I have some questions for you, but first we're going to have some entertainment. Or rather, one of us will," he said with a sickening grin. He pushed William's head forward and then removed a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and slowly, methodically put them on.

The man then pulled a small table closer to him. William managed to glance up and saw his old defibrillator sitting on the table, along with a black garbage bag. He thought that was rather odd, but the pain and the fear were clouding his thinking.

"I spoke with a friend of yours the other day," the interrogator mentioned as he reached into the plastic bag. "But he wasn't very talkative. I'm afraid he won't be saying much at all from now on."

As he said that, he removed the object from the bag. Inside was another plastic bag, but this one was transparent. And inside that bag was the severed head of Philip Clyburn.

William wanted to vomit as he realized what had likely occurred: their attacker had probably discovered his knife was missing and had put an alert on his file in the APD, in case someone did a fingerprint search on him. That was how they had found Phil, and then eventually how they had found him.

"I see you know how to use one of these," the man said, flipping on the power switch of the defibrillator. "I do as well, but not quite in the same way." He picked up the two paddles.

It was at that moment that William realized what was going to be done to him. Fear threatened to overwhelm him and he began to tremble uncontrollably. He clenched his teeth and bowed his head.

"Ah, yes. It would be good for you to pray. But I doubt your God will help you. From personal experience, I have yet to see any be saved, at least from me. If He does, perhaps I too will be saved. What are you – a Christian? A Jew? I doubt you're a Muslim. I'll find out soon, I promise."

William's captor turned one of the dials on the defibrillator and pressed a button on the top. The device began to whine as it started charging. William glanced at the battery level in desperate hope that it was low, but saw that it had been fully recharged.

"I'll start out with a low voltage – we wouldn't want you to expire too quickly, of course. Denounce Jesus and maybe we'll let you go."

William looked up at him with as much courage as he could muster, in spite of his terrible fear and his pounding headache. He'd heard that the torture of Christians and Jews was a growing form of entertainment at state and federal prisons and even in some city/county jails, but he couldn't have imagined this.

"Never!" he managed to utter.

"Christian it is then. I suspected as much. This will be more enjoyable than I thought. You'll want this to not crack your teeth," he said as he reached over and shoved a small wooden rod into William's mouth between his teeth.

And then without warning, he pressed the paddles to William's shoulders and pulled the trigger. Raw electricity ripped through William's upper body and tore the breath from his chest.

"Now that we've established you're a Christian, are you involved in any illegal underground churches? I believe those of your persuasion sometimes call them 'cells'. Spit out the wood when you are ready to cooperate."

William said nothing, neither did he nod nor shake his head. He was just trying to breathe. And though he desperately wanted to, he refused to push the stick out of his mouth.

"Your silence speaks, though you stubbornly refuse. Where is your cell? Where is your young friend who works with you?"

He reached forward and shocked William again, crushing him back in the chair. He stepped back and put the paddles down for a moment.

"Still won't give him up, eh? How about now?" he said as he slowly, deliberately increased the intensity on the device.

William looked up and slowly, defiantly shook his head, still trying in vain to catch his breath. His shoulders and arms were quivering and it felt like his very bones were on fire.

He leaned in close again and whispered directly into William's ear. "When I find him, I'll make sure he suffers twice as much as you will."

The man picked up the paddles and William clamped down hard on the stick. Another shock coursed through his trembling, quickly weakening body.

William screamed as loud as he could into the wood.

John called William's phone one more time with the same result: no answer. That was the sixth time he had called him in as many hours. William always answered his phone – even in the middle of the night, and he always made sure it was charged. He was starting to worry about him.

He decided to skip his first class that morning to go check up on him. Since William worked the second shift at the hospital and did patrols or recordings afterwards, he usually slept most of the morning. He tried his phone again halfway to the apartment, but still no answer. He had already called the hospital, but he wasn't there either.

John checked for his car in the parking lot and found it gone. That gave him a glimmer of hope – maybe William was out somewhere and his cell-battery had died. But then he remembered that he always kept a charger (along with an extra cell-battery) in the car. Also, William nearly always told someone if he was doing something outside of his normal routine, mainly for the protection of the others in the Cell.

Since William had given him a spare key to his apartment a few weeks ago, he let himself in and took a look around. William's keys and wallet were gone (as he had expected), and he found the studio door locked tight from the outside. He quickly checked inside the studio and found no evidence that he had made a recording the previous night. Lastly, he glanced into the bedroom, which he found little that appeared out of place except his laundry. His bed was unmade, which told him that William had likely been woken up and had left in a hurry.

The glimmer of hope he'd had earlier faded, and he decided he would find little else there in the apartment. He checked it over one more time and then locked the door. He would check the handful of diners and coffee-shops William frequented next, but he doubted he'd be there.

He called Natalie and told her his concerns for William, and asked her if she could check around at the hospital while he continued looking for him. She agreed and mentioned that she'd have the rest of the Cell check in and ask them if they'd seen or heard anything from William in the last twenty-four hours.

He would keep trying to reach his friend, but if he didn't find him soon – well, he didn't want to think about that possibility just yet.

William's breaths came out in loud, desperate rasps. His entire body felt weak and watery, and his face and jaw muscles were bruised and very sore. His head and temples throbbed from being repeatedly shocked and struck. Sometimes different muscles would spasm uncontrollably from the numerous shocks he'd received. He never could feel the spasms coming on, but when they did he had to clench his teeth together hard, and that made his jaw muscles even sorer.

The man who had been torturing him had left him alone awhile ago, but he'd gotten very little sleep. He knew he had slipped in and out of consciousness several times and was losing his sense of time. He was terribly hungry and thirsty, but he refused to ask for anything. He wanted to stay strong and not talk – to not give in to them.

He flinched as he heard the door open, knowing there would be more questions and suffering to endure soon. But this time, the man was not alone – another came in with him.

"Good evening, William. This is Rafiq, an associate of mine. He's going to help me loosen your tongue," the man threatened.

William glanced up and saw a man with Arabic features standing next to his interrogator. He also noticed that strapped to his side was a long, sheathed knife. A machete.

"We already know you're in a cell – in fact, given your age and your stubborn silence so far, you're probably the leader. We will find it one way or another, whether you tell us or not. You don't have to suffer any more. You don't have to lose your life for nothing."

He leaned down close to William and whispered harshly into his right ear.

"Where is it?  Who else is involved? I have your phone – it's simply a matter of time."

But William held firm and remained silent. He shut his eyes tight and bowed his head. He was no longer able to do much, but he could do that. No matter what they did to him, prayer was the one thing they could not take away.

"He likes to pray," his captor sneered to the other and then slugged William across the face. But William didn't even look up, and returned to where he was and continued praying.

"I'm tired of your stubbornness. I can see that you will only waste more of my time – valuable time which I can spend searching for your precious cell. And your young friend. This is your last chance."

William gulped hard and gathered his courage. He believed his tormentor, in that this would likely be his final opportunity. He wanted to stay silent, but the Spirit within him finally compelled him to speak. And what came out of his mouth surprised even him.

"I would like to speak with the other man, Najeev, alone," William said.

Mohammed gave him an irritated look and motioned for Rafiq to go get him. A moment later, he returned with Najeev.

"Your friend wants to speak with you," he said as he stepped back to let Najeev stand closer to the chair. He motioned for Rafiq to step back with him to the far corner of the room.

William looked up at Najeev and began speaking in a soft voice so the others could not hear. "Tyrone, I know what's going to happen to me, and I want you to know that I forgive you."

Stunned at what he heard, Najeev stepped back and looked over to the others. A mixed look of fear and surprise crossed his face.

"What did he say?" Mohammed demanded angrily as he strode forward to them.

"He said that he forgives me," Najeev replied to Mohammed, not mentioning that William knew his real name.

"I forgive you, too – no matter what else you do to me," William said, looking up at him.

"That's quite touching, but I do not need nor want your forgiveness," Mohammed sneered down at him. He motioned for Najeev to immediately leave the room. When the door closed, he turned William and continued. "Now, who else is in your cell?"

William closed his eyes for a moment, seeking what to say next. When he looked up, he did his best to show no more fear.

"For fifty-six years have I been my Lord's servant and He has done me no wrong. How can I now blaspheme my King who saved me?" William replied. "And how can I betray those He has placed in my care?"

His captor stared at him long and hard. And then he laughed – a cruel, malicious laugh.

"Very well, you have said all you needed to," he replied. Mohammed knew there would be consequences for what would happen next. There always were. But he had hated this man for months, along with the rest of his kind – the underground Christians – for much longer.

"Now you will spend your final few moments with Rafiq, who will show you what will happen to the rest of your cell once we find them – which we will, of course. It's merely a matter of time." He nodded to Rafiq as he strode to the door. He opened it, and then he paused and turned back to William.

"Do you know what Rafiq's name means in Arabic? It means 'kind friend'. You will find that he is anything but that." And then he closed the door behind him.

A moment later, Mohammed began hearing the sounds of fist against flesh and bone, and then William screaming. He quietly stayed by the door and heard loud gurgling, choking noises, followed by a dull thump on the floor.

And then only silence. He smiled – the interrogation was over.

As he walked away, he pulled William's phone from his pocket and began scanning through the call log. He'd start with the local numbers that were most frequently used first. If William protected his cell like he did his own, he would likely have only the contact information for one or two people, rather than the entire cell.

He had grown to enjoy this task that had been appointed to him, probably too much for his own good, he felt at times. But no matter. He didn't believe in forgiveness. Or redemption.

He hoped there'd be more interrogations soon – starting with the rest of William's cell.

John was walking home from his morning classes when his phone buzzed. A prayer instantly leapt from within him as he checked the phone's display. It was William! Relief swept over him and he answered it. He hadn't seen nor spoken to him in nearly three days.

"Hey, where have you been? I've been looking all over the place for you!" he said breathlessly. But no one replied, at least not at first.

"This is not William," a cold voice responded. "But you may pick up him up from behind the hardware store at St. Charles and Highland." The caller paused for a moment before he continued. "And you will find his head nearby as well, if you look hard enough." And then the connection went dead.

John stepped backwards and shook his head, even though he was still holding the phone. Tears began to flood his eyes and he covered them. He couldn't believe it and sat down on the ground. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't.

He immediately wanted to rush to the location to see if it was true – to see if his friend was truly dead. And then he realized that it could very well be a trap. Maybe William wasn't really dead and it was merely a ploy to capture him.

But deep down in his heart, he knew it was true.

He squeezed his eyes tight for a minute to restrain another wave of tears that threatened to burst out. He wanted to let them, but he needed to think first. He shook his head and then abruptly stood up and began walking fast.

After he had gone north several blocks, he found a bus stop and checked the time. He would need to leave as soon as possible after calling the police.

"911 – what is your emergency?"

"My friend William Bradford has been killed. The man who called me said that his body can be found behind the hardware store at the corner of St. Charles and Highland," John said. "He also said that his head was close-by."

"Sir, what is your name?" the dispatcher asked.

John blinked the tears from his eyes and turned off the phone.

He remembered from one of William's lessons on electronic security that phones could be easily traced once someone had the number. Though he regretted having to discard his phone, he would need to get a new one soon anyway, along with a new number.

After he removed the back-cover of the phone, he took out the SIM card and tucked it safely into his pocket. He'd have to get it cloned after he bought a replacement phone.

He heard a loud rumble at the top of the street and saw a bus coming.

He quickly dropped the phone on the ground and stomped on it, and then kicked it off the sidewalk just as the bus pulled up to the stop. He stepped onto the bus and paid the fare without saying a word.

Where it was going, he didn't know. And at that moment, he didn't care.

John was the very last passenger to exit the subway train. As he stepped out onto the platform, he stopped and stared blankly towards the long escalator at the far end of the island. And even though there were dozens of people around him, all he saw was the tall column of moving stairs that seemed to ascend directly into the bedrock above.

How he had gotten all the way downtown to the Peachtree Center Station from the bus stop near Emory, he couldn't remember. All he knew was his cloud of anger and grief. Someone bumped into him from behind, and he realized he had been just standing there in the way. He mumbled a brusque apology and began walking towards the escalator.

He remembered the first time he had encountered that same escalator; at one time it had been the longest in the Southeast. He'd only been seven years old when he first saw it and the very sight of it had terrified him. He had been so scared that he hadn't even been able to step on, until his father and mother had reassured him several times that it was perfectly safe. He recalled that his father had nicknamed it 'the Stairway to Heaven' to help him get over his fears (or probably just to distract him). Ironically, that song came into his mind nearly every time he rode it after he had moved back there.

As he stepped on, he remembered to not look down behind him, in spite of his numb state of mind. He still became dizzy if he looked back down into the tunnel, and he clutched the moving rail harder than normal. And rather than looking up towards the growing surface-light above him, he just stared at the metal steps ahead of him.

He felt completely numb, yet he wanted to lash out at the same time. He wanted to release his tears and anger, but felt like he just couldn't. He feared that if he started to unleash those feelings, he might not be able to restrain them.

His best friend – the one who’d had such a profound effect on his life this last year – had been murdered in one of the most brutal, cruel ways possible. He wanted to go see his body, but he still had the presence of mind to know that he couldn't.

What were William's last thoughts when he died? Had he felt fear and terror, or had he felt courage? Did he give up his faith in his final moments? Had he finished what he had frequently called 'the race'?

What was he supposed to do now? Would he be next? Was he in danger? Were his friends and family in danger? He didn't want to even attempt to answer those questions – he just couldn't think clearly in his current condition.

A silent rage abruptly surged from deep within him. He wanted to find every member of that Husam cell and murder them. He wanted justice – no, he wanted more. He wanted revenge. That's what they deserved for their ruthlessness and cruelty. He wanted to make them pay for what they had done to his friend, and to him.

And then as he looked up at the steadily growing light ahead of him, he suddenly became enraged at Someone he had not expected, nor intended. He became enraged at God.

How could He allow this to happen? Why would God do this to someone who loved Him so much? Hadn't William given everything he'd had, and more? Hadn't William already suffered enough?

When William was drawing his last breath, what was He doing? Was He just watching, ignoring his cries for help? Didn't Jesus even care about one of His own people who had sacrificed so much for Him? Did Jesus even really care about him?

How could God take away his best friend? How could He do this to him?

As he reached the top of the escalator and emerged into full light of day, a faint voice whispered in his mind.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints, for there awaits a crown of glory for them."

And in the moment those words began to sink into his mind, his rage was suddenly replaced with uncontrollable grief. Tears began streaming down his face and he quickly rushed towards the nearest restroom. He entered the last empty stall, locked the door, and then broke down in tears. John slipped to the floor with his back against the wall and buried his face in his arms.

After the first wave of grief passed, he was about to get up when another one struck. And as his tears were beginning to subside, the Voice spoke to him again.

"As Jesus was dying on the cross, did He seek revenge or forgiveness for His adversaries? And since William had been reborn into His Body, wouldn't he have done the same?"

And then he began to consider the Spirit's words.

What would Jesus have done? What did Jesus do on the cross? He forgave his enemies, even as they were pounding the spikes into His arms. Even as they were beating the crown of thorns into His brow.

John blinked the tears out of his eyes, and knew He was right – William would have forgiven them despite how he felt, despite how they were treating him. And he should forgive them.

He bowed his head, closed his eyes and asked God for forgiveness for his anger and doubt and thoughts of vengeance. And then he did his best to forgive the Husam as well.

As he forgave his enemies, his thoughts of revenge and anger began to dissipate and were replaced with both grief at his friend's passing, but also joy that he was now in Heaven with his Lord. William was finally in Heaven, where he had wanted to be for so long. Only his earthly tent had been destroyed, not the person. Not his friend.

With that realization, John stood up from the restroom floor, wiped his eyes, and then left the stall to clean himself up. And as he went back down the long escalator towards the subway platform, a broad smile broke out on his face as another thought crossed his mind: William was finally home.

He still wanted to see the body – he had to. Perhaps Natalie or someone at the hospital could get a copy of the death certificate once it was released.

Chapter 10 - Farewell

"We have no government armed with power capable of contending with human passions unbridled by morality and religion. Avarice, ambition, revenge, or gallantry, would break the strongest cords of our Constitution as a whale goes through a net. Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other." – John Adams

"For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." – Romans 8:38-39

Natalie glanced down the hallway behind her – it was still deserted. John was supposed to meet her on the fourth floor of the hospital, and she hoped he wouldn't be late. A moment later, she saw him approach.

"Here's the police report on William," she said quietly as she handed him the printout. "It came in earlier today, but I wasn't able to get access to it until half an hour ago."

"Thanks for getting a copy of it for me," he replied. "I don't want you to risk your job."

"It's okay. I'm sure you'd do the same for me. I know that he would've too."

"Does this say where his body is?"

"Yeah, it's over at the Fulton County Medical Examiner's Office." she answered, pointing to the bottom of the form.

"Okay, I'll go over there as soon as I can."

"Won't that be dangerous?" she asked.

"Maybe. Don't worry – I'll be careful," he replied with a weak grin. "Are you doing alright?"

Natalie shrugged her shoulders, but he could tell she was just as upset and grief-stricken as he was. He looked down at the sheet and glanced over it for a moment.

"I still can't believe what happened to him," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know," he said, gently taking her hand in his. "I know."

"I'd better get back," she said. She looked down at their hands and slowly pulled away.

John nodded and watched her walk away. He wasn't sure what was happening between them, but this wasn't the time to think about it. There was just too much going on right now.

He folded the paper and stuffed it into his back-pocket and then headed for the stairs. He usually took the elevators but he didn't want to be seen at the hospital since it was his day off. He was in no mood to deal with any questions from nosy floor monitors.

After he left the hospital, he took a bus to the nearest train station and was soon on his way to the Fulton County Medical Examiner's office. When he got off the train, he walked the rest of the distance to the office. Along the way, he stopped and swapped out his driver's license with the fake-ID he kept hidden in his wallet. William had helped him make it after one of his training sessions in the studio, in the event that they were caught by the police or robbed while on a patrol.

He looked over the information and then quickly put his wallet back in his pocket. He also removed all his credit cards and his Student ID, just in case security looked through it.

Ten minutes later, he found the Medical Examiner's office and strode inside. A lone security guard sat behind the front desk, looking very bored.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm here to identify a body."

"Are you a friend or relative of the deceased?" the guard inquired, pushing the sign-in clipboard forward to him to register.

"Friend," John replied softly.

"Please enter your information on the next line, and I'll need to see your identification as well."

"Okay," John replied as he took out the fake-ID and handed it to him. The guard briefly looked it over and ran it through the scanner. The scanner beeped just as John finished signing in. He tried not to appear nervous, but was very relieved when the guard handed the driver's license back without any reaction.

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson," he said and gave him a visitor's badge. "The body is on the second floor, Room E-10. I'll call ahead and let the assistant know you're on your way up."

John nodded and then clipped the guest badge to his shirt. He took the elevator to the second floor and soon found the room. He tried the door handle and found it locked, and then remembered his badge. He waved it in front of the access-panel next to the door and heard the door-lock release.

He opened the door and went inside, and found the assistant behind his desk. He was an older, overweight man about William's age, he noted. The room smelled of heavy antiseptic and was cold.

"Hello, I'm here to identify the body of William Bradford," John said.

"Yes, Security told me you were on your way up. Mr. Johnson, right? Here, you may want this," he said grimly as he handed him a small wax-paper bag. John realized it was a barf-bag and immediately felt his stomach turn.

The assistant checked his computer and then walked him back to the long stainless steel wall where the bodies were kept. He stopped about a quarter of the way and opened a compartment door. He tugged on the front of the rack and it smoothly rolled out. On the rack was a standard black plastic body-bag.

"Are you ready?" he asked as he reached for the zipper on the top of the bag.

John clutched his barf-bag and nodded with a gulp. His mouth was dry and he felt his stomach threaten to heave again.

The assistant unzipped the bag down about halfway and spread it open wide. When John took the first look, he immediately turned away and covered his mouth in astonishment, but he didn't throw up. He closed his eyes for a moment and slowly turned around to look at it again.

Though it was difficult at first to recognize him under the terrible wounds on his face, it was indeed William. His head had been crudely severed, and though his body had been cleaned earlier, he could still see dark bloody tissue at the edges of William’s neck and head. There were several fist-sized red marks on his shoulders and chest. And on his jaw and face were at least three large bruises, along with several deep lacerations.

Tears flooded his eyes and he barely held them back. He managed to nod. It was obvious that William had been tortured and then slain in one of the most brutal ways possible. Feelings of rage and hatred threatened to overwhelm him again, but the Spirit gently reminded him of William's his own words and of forgiveness, and the feelings began to dissipate. But the sadness and grief remained.

"It's him," John acknowledged.

The attendant nodded with a frown of condolence.

"What are these marks here?" John asked, pointing to William's chest.

"They're burn marks consistent with uncovered paddles from a defibrillator. He was probably shocked with one or some other electronic medical device," the attendant replied. "I'm sorry you had to see him like this. Would you like to be left alone for a few minutes?"

John nodded as best he could and stared down at his friend's tortured body. The assistant went back to his desk, presumably to log the positive identification of the victim.

He stayed and looked at him for a short time, and then he bowed his head, saying one last prayer for his friend.  His feelings oscillated between crushing grief and infuriating rage at what had been done to this kind, gentle giant of the faith.

But as he looked at the body, he knew that William himself was no longer there, and he was reminded that what he was looking at was merely an empty shell – the earthly tent that had formerly housed his best friend and mentor; the man who had led him to the Savior.

After another long moment, John took one last look at William and then said goodbye to his friend.

Najeev pulled his car up the curb and put on the hazard signals. He checked his phone again – this was the place. He turned off the ignition and stepped out to look around. This was the final location they had traced John's phone to.

The old man had covered his tracks well. He'd only had a handful of contacts in his phone, and all the entries had been just first names. Where there were duplicates, they had been followed by a simple number. If there had been some last names, he could have easily tracked them all down days ago.

He hadn't slept very well last night, and that further contributed to his irritation and short temper. But it wasn't the messy task of dumping the body that had upset him, but the last words William had said. He hadn't heard his real name in years, but that had definitely gotten his attention (as probably intended). But when that tortured man said that he forgave him, despite all he had done, it had cut him to his very core.

He had been replaying those words over and over in his mind, and he wanted to be rid of them. But it had only gotten worse since they had dumped his body. He hoped that wouldn't start haunting him too.

Since William's phone had proven to be nearly useless, they had been forced to put a trace on the phone call they had made to John. This was the last place it had been detected by any of the towers in the city. Either he had removed the battery from the phone or he had gotten rid of it.

He looked around and soon noticed a few odd shards of plastic embedded between two sections of the sidewalk. He walked over to the gutter near the street and found more pieces. He squatted down and looked over the scattered debris, trying to identify it.

Najeev picked up one of the larger pieces and saw the emblem of a popular phone manufacturer. And then he realized the third possibility of what could have happened: the phone had been intentionally destroyed.

He swore and quickly got back into his car and drove away. He needed a drink.

John took a deep breath and slowly opened the door to William's apartment and then locked it behind him. As he went inside, he suddenly felt as if he was trespassing on someplace sacred, especially now since he had seen exactly how William had been martyred. He wasn't looking forward to what he had to do there, but it needed to be done. And he was the only one available to do it.

He immediately went back to the studio and opened one of the drawer cabinets. Among the numerous notes, personal financial papers, and other files, he found a folder at the back marked "Will" with several notarized papers inside.

As he took the folder out and began reading the papers, grief for his friend swept over him, and he was forced to stop. He sat down in William's studio and let the moment pass before he finished reading the will.

His first task – the one he had been dreading the most – was to call William's ex-wife to tell her what had happened. He wanted to put it off, but then decided to just get it over with. It was better that a friend tell her than someone else. He had also thought about buying a disposable phone to make the call, but then realized that his phone records were already traceable back to William anyway. He was getting used to his new phone, but still missed his old one.

He checked the time, but figured it wouldn't really matter when he called. He read the will again and then decided it was time to call her. He took a deep breath and dialed the number.

"Hello?" an older female voice answered.

"Is this Susan Walker?" John asked.

"Yes, who is this?"

"Hello, my name is John Carver and I'm a friend of William's. Has anyone else contacted you about him yet?"

"No, why?"

John's voice trembled, but he swallowed hard and continued. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but William was murdered two days ago."

"Murdered! Are you serious? Do – do you know for certain it was him?"

"Yes – I identified his body earlier this afternoon. I'm very sorry," he apologized.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I'm not entirely certain, but it looks like he was kidnapped three days ago. And from the condition of his body, it was evident that he was tortured before he was killed."

She was silent for a moment before she continued. He could hear her voice tighten.

"How did he die?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, I want to. He was my husband for twelve years. I have to know."

John swallowed hard again. "He was beheaded."

"Beheaded? Who would do such a thing?" Susan exclaimed.

"I don't know," he lied. He was certain of the group behind the murder. "I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from the police or the news."

"Why?"

"Because they'll likely say he was part of a religious extremist group and that it was done by an adversary."

"Was he?" she asked.

"No – the only thing he was guilty of was being a Christian. You knew that he was one, right?" he said.

"Yes, he tried to speak to me about it a few times after we divorced and he had sobered up. I listened, but it just wasn't for me."

"Does he have any other family I should tell? Parents or brothers and sisters?"

"He has a brother, but they rarely kept in touch. I'll try to find him and tell him. Both his parents died of cancer before we divorced," she said.

"If I may, he was very sorry about what happened between the two of you. I don't know if he still loved you, but he told me once that the divorce was one of his biggest regrets. In fact, he left everything he had to you and Megan," he stated.

Susan was quiet for a long moment. "He was going to come visit her later this summer. How am I supposed to tell her what happened?"

"I don't know, but I do know that William is in Heaven now," he reassured her. "What do you want me to do with his belongings and the rest of the stuff in his apartment?"

"I don't have time to fly out there and go through it, at least not right now," she said.

"How about I put it into storage until you can?"

"Okay. What are you going to do with his body?"

"His will specified that he wanted to be cremated, though the Medical Examiner's office will most likely want to keep it until the investigation is finished."

He waited for her to respond, but she didn't. After another uncomfortable moment passed, he decided to continue and then hopefully bring it to a close.

"I'll send you the information to the storage unit once I've cleaned out his belongings," he said.

"Won't the police search his apartment since he was murdered?"

"Not likely. He was renting everything under another name, by the way it looks." She didn't reply again, and he continued before there was more uncomfortable silence. "I'm very sorry about William," he repeated.

"Thank you. I need to go," she said, and then managed a brief goodbye.

John hung up the phone and then put the will back in the filing cabinet. As he was leaving the studio, he spied an old family picture on the desk and picked it up. It was of William with his wife and daughter.

He sat down and took a long look at the photo before he carefully put it back.

A noise outside woke him and John sat up on the couch and blinked, momentarily confused as to where he was. Then he realized he must have fallen asleep by accident. He hadn't meant to, but it had been another long and trying day.

He rubbed his eyes and stared at the cardboard box sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf. That was why he had stopped and sat down – he had gone out to buy a stack of packing boxes, since William hadn't had any in the apartment. He decided to resume packing, but first he needed some coffee.

After making a strong pot and pouring himself a cup, he resumed packing the books from the shelves in the bedroom. Among the numerous books, he discovered a thick notebook full of William's handwriting in it, along with places, dates, and times. He realized it was William's old logbook, but he didn't have the heart to read it, at least not that night. He set it aside and continued working on the books.

He painstakingly marked each box he packed, since everything would be going into semi-permanent storage. He doubted that William's ex-wife would ever come to Atlanta to retrieve his belongings, or she would eventually have them shipped. Depending on when he'd go home next, he might offer to drive them out to her. He figured that she had gotten everything she wanted in their divorce. Besides, William only had two earthly treasures as far as he could tell (at least from his apartment): his studio equipment and his books. His real treasures – his most precious investments – had been in Heaven.

He wanted to pack up the studio after the bookshelves, especially since the Christian books, which were sure to be classified as hate literature if the police ever found them. Most of the medical supplies had been distributed two weeks ago, and he had no idea when the next shipment was due to arrive. But after spending fifteen minutes in the studio, he realized it would be better to pack the studio after he was more rested and alert. Between the numerous wires, components, and the computer equipment, he would need much more time and care to pack it properly.

As he was looking over the filing cabinet, he remembered William's mail and wrote a note to himself to pick it up the next time he was around. He would also have to check on his bills and pay them as needed, at least until he was finished packing up the apartment and moving everything into storage. It wouldn't do to have the bill-collectors start coming around before he was finished. He couldn't use a moving truck either, which would cause the neighbors to take notice and ask questions that he didn't want to answer. He would have to move it all himself, he realized, one box at a time.

He went back to William's bedroom and began boxing up more books and small items of memorabilia. He found numerous pictures of his wife, daughter, and their family scattered about the room and hidden between stacked books and other odd places. He still felt like he was invading his friend's privacy, but he had no other choice. It had to be done.

While packing away the books, he discovered one that rattled slightly when he picked it up. It was one of the thicker hardback books on the shelf, and somehow felt heavier than a typical book. When he opened it, he found that it had been hollowed out and inside was a small wooden case with Matthew 26:53 etched onto the lid: "Jesus said, 'Put your sword back into its place; for all those who take up the sword shall perish by the sword.'"

He frowned, since it was a rather strange verse to inscribe on a box, and especially hidden inside a book.

His curiosity finally drew him to open the case, and when he did, he found a sleek black 9mm pistol inside, which looked like it had never been used. He nearly gasped when he realized it had probably been hidden there the entire time he had known William. Why had he never taken it with them on their patrols? If he would have kept it in the car, would it have prevented him from being kidnapped? Would he still be alive today if it had been with him?

Ironically, the book that the gun had been hidden in was called "War and Peace". John closed it up and then put the heavy book into his backpack.

Two hours later, John finally called it a night. He had wanted to finish packing the rest of William's personal items, but he was too exhausted. He decided to go back to the Weinstein's and crash in his room, at least for the next few hours. He didn't want Mrs. Weinstein needlessly worrying about him. Or worse, her calling the police to go find him.

He put William's notebook into his backpack and headed home for the night.

The next Sunday morning, John looked over the group in the basement of the hospital. Due to the manner of William's murder, he was certain there would be more questions than he had first anticipated.

He assumed that everyone had heard of what had happened to William by now, though he didn't quite know for certain. Understanding how strange rumors can become, he had already decided to sit everyone down and tell them as much as he could.

Unlike most of their meetings, the mood of the Cell was quiet and somber. It was easy to see that everyone was frightened, but he was scared for a different reason than they were. He was scared because now they all seemed to be looking to him for guidance, leadership, and reassurance.

And then John remembered what William had mentioned in passing only a few weeks before: that after William himself, he was the most senior member of the Cell.

He didn't want that responsibility or the burden of looking out for the Cell, but he knew he had to. Aside from Natalie, most of the group members were newborn Christians, only a few months old in their fledgling faith. And he knew they were as frightened as he was, if not more-so. Persecution had taken one of their own, even if it hadn't come directly from the government.

John took a seat and the four others in the room ceased their quiet conversations and turned to him. He didn't know where to start, but he figured that it would be best to begin with the news about William. He cleared his throat and slowly began speaking.

"Good morning everyone. Though I think you've all heard about William by now, I wanted to tell you first-hand what happened," he said soberly.

The four in the room with him: Janice, Nathan, Roger, and Natalie gave him their full attention as he began. He recounted what he knew of the kidnapping and the phone call, along with his identification of William's body and its condition. Janice sobbed quietly as he spoke, and both Natalie and Nathan wiped their eyes frequently. Roger looked too stunned to react much, at least visibly.

After John was finished, he offered to take questions from them.

"What are we going to do now? Do you think it's safe to keep meeting like this?" Janice asked.

John nodded and looked at them carefully. "If everyone agrees, we can keep meeting here as usual, but I think we'll need to be more careful. If we start to see more pressure, we can re-evaluate or move the meetings to another location."

"What about bringing in new visitors and such?" Nathan asked. "Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"I think we should – it's what William would've wanted. However, what we should do is discuss inviting new members before they're actually brought in. We can't do background checks on people (not that it would help much if they're serious on infiltrating us). Besides, the Bible doesn't say to test or interview anyone before we bring them into the fellowship. Those kinds of tests or rebukes would happen only if they cause dissention or bring sin or false teaching into the group. William ran an open group, and I think we should continue that."

"We should have a memorial service for him," Janice suggested. Everyone heartily agreed with her.

"The Medical Examiner's office won't be releasing his body until their investigation is finished, and when the body is released, it'll probably be cremated and given to his ex-wife in California," he replied.

"Well, we could put together a 'memory box' for him – you know, like a box full of the things we remembered most about him and that were special to him," she said.

"There's a famous battlefield park up at Kennesaw – he would've liked that," Natalie mentioned. "Each of us could bring something to remember him by."

Janice nodded, along with the rest of the group.

"Okay, how about we all meet there at the park entrance this time next Saturday instead of here, and we'll have a quiet memorial for him. If anyone needs a ride up there, let me know and we'll make arrangements," he said.

"I'll bring sandwiches and slaw for everyone, so we can make it a picnic," Janice offered, and the others said they would bring other food items as well.

"Great – with that settled, how about we open with prayer? William had planned to move into the Book of Revelation this morning, but in light of the current circumstances, I think we should spend the rest of the remaining time in prayer or fellowship."

The rest of the group agreed and everyone bowed their heads as John led them in prayer. And almost without knowing it, he became the new leader of the Cell.

Jessica Nelson skimmed the newspaper as she sipped her morning cappuccino. There were more wildfires springing up near Malibu, as there often were in a dry year. Much of Southern California was threatened during the summer and fall when the hot Santa Ana winds blew.

The phone rang and she jumped in her chair – eight-thirty was early for a phone call. But when she saw who it was from, she immediately answered it.

"Good morning, John – this is a surprise!" she said.

"Hi Mom. I'm not calling too early, am I?" he asked.

"No, it's okay; I was just reading the paper. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Actually, the main reason I'm calling is to tell you about something that happened here a few days ago. A good friend of mine was murdered."

"What? What happened?"

"He was kidnapped and tortured – I don't know for how long, but at least for a few days. And then they decapitated him. I had to identify the body last week."

"Was he from your school?" she asked, still stunned at the news.

"No, he wasn't from school, he was a personal friend." There was a long pause, and then he continued. "I met him about nine months ago, and I worked with him at the hospital."

"Are you safe?"

"I don't know – that's the other reason I wanted to call you and tell you what's going on. The reason he was killed was because he was a Christian."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"Because I'm a Christian as well, and we went to the same church," he responded.

She didn't know what to say – it was shocking enough to hear that one of her son's friends had been murdered, but that John was a Christian was even more astonishing. Didn't he know what most people in America thought of Christians these days?

"What kind of church is it? It's not a cult or something, is it?" she asked.

"No, nothing like that. But it is one that's not registered."

Though she wasn't religious, she understood what that meant. California had been one of the first states to adopt strong anti-hate legislation, and also the first state to require certain churches to be registered. She knew that in some countries, Christians were targeted for persecution, but in the United States they were usually just fined or briefly jailed. But with all the bombings this last year, the Feds had been clamping down harder.

"Are you in danger of being arrested?"

"Yeah, but that's not really what I'm worried about. It's the Husam – they're a militant organization that Atlanta has turned a blind-eye towards. I'm certain that they were the ones who killed William."

"And you're worried that they might go after you next?"

"Yes. Mom, if something happens to me – well, I wanted you to know exactly why and what I'm involved in."

"Why can't you just walk away from it and practice your religion privately?" she asked. "Wouldn't that be much safer?"

"Because I run the group now that William's gone. The people there are my responsibility. And besides, the Bill of Rights protects the private practice of religion. Why shouldn't Christians be allowed to freely assemble to worship just like every other group?"

"You're taking a terrible risk – can you go to the police and tell them what's going on?"

"No, because there are some on the police force that are sympathetic towards the Husam. I wouldn't even know where to begin in finding out who I could trust. And I don't think they would be able to do much about the Husam anyway."

"I still think you should walk away from it before you get hurt or worse," she said.

"I know, but I can't. I just wanted to tell you what's going on here."

"Okay – are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I have to go. I love you, Mom," he said solemnly.

"I love you, too," she replied and then she slowly hung up the phone.

She tried to get back to her paper, but ended up just staring blankly at it. She couldn't believe that John's life could be in danger over something as trivial as his private, personal beliefs.

What was this country coming to?

Four days later, John walked into William's studio and sat down behind the microphone with a tall glass of water. It was almost time to pack everything up. But there was one last broadcast that needed to be made.

He had been wondering what do to with the studio for the last few days, and he had left that room for last. He would need to borrow Roger's pickup again to move all the equipment once he had it all disassembled and boxed up. Roger had volunteered to take over William's contraband distribution network, and they had moved out the few remaining supplies two days ago.

Though he didn't really want to, he had come to the conclusion last week that he owed it to William and his audience to produce one final broadcast. He had decided to tell what had happened to William and then do a tribute of sorts for him. He wished he could take calls from the listeners like real radio talk-shows had used to, but William had never gotten around to setting that up.

John looked down at the notebook of instructions he had taken over the several sessions that William had spent with him in the studio. He breathed a long sigh and began going through the steps, turning on the equipment exactly as he had noted. He did a quick test to ensure that everything was working properly and then began recording the session.

He felt nervous and self-conscious at first, and had to restart the session three times before he finally got into the rhythm of it. Hopefully his initial 'this is my first broadcast' disclaimer would be an adequate excuse. He read from the sheet he had written up over the last few days and did his best to stick to his notes.

He started the session by introducing himself and telling briefly what had happened to William and how he had been found. And then he told the basics of William's life, such as his birthplace, where he had grown up, his career as a radio talk-show host, his family, and his long battle with alcoholism. The second segment described his recovery and salvation (as best as John could remember it) and his underground ministry in the studio, the church, and out on the streets.

The third segment of the broadcast John spent telling how he had personally come to know William and how he had helped him become a Christian. He told nothing specifically of the Cell, but mentioned briefly that William had been the leader of an underground church which had divided and spread several times. 'Sow, grow, divide' had been their motto, one of William's better-known sayings.

He found it more difficult than he had anticipated when he began the final segment, which covered in detail William's capture, death, and discovery. He described the Husam and what they had learned about them, in the hopes that the audience would take heed of the warning and be more cautious. Perhaps they could avoid the fate that had come to his friend.

He ended the last segment with a Scripture reading from 2 Corinthians 4: "But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us. We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are always delivered to death for Jesus' sake, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh."

And then he did the final sign-off of William's show and distributed the broadcast onto the Internet.

The following Saturday morning, the five current members of the Cell gathered in front of the Welcome Center at Kennesaw Mountain National Park. This was the first time they had met outside their small room in the basement of the hospital. And they all wished that it had been under better circumstances.

Everyone had brought backpacks containing small items or memorabilia that reminded them of William, as well as the other items they had agreed upon in their previous meeting. Natalie had brought a large white semi-quartz rock that would serve as William's grave marker, John had a small shovel and waterproof metal lockbox, and the others had brought the lunch items.

John had studied the trails at the Kennesaw Mountain earlier the day before and led them up one of the less-frequented paths on the east side of the mountain. Even though William's body wasn't there, John wanted his memorial facing the general direction of Israel, to which his Lord would one day return in glory and power.

Three-quarters of the way up the mountain, John took them a short distance off the path and then around a bend where they could have a quiet service without being disturbed (or discovered). They cleared a small patch of ground and then sat down to eat their lunch, though their mood was much the same as it had been the previous week.

When they were finished eating and resting from the hike, John found a spot near an old oak tree and began digging a small hole, just large enough to place the lockbox of memorabilia a foot or so under the soil. When it was deep enough, he brushed himself off and stepped back.

Roger opened the service with a short prayer, and then they each took turns putting the items they had dedicated to William into the box. John put in a few of the pictures of William's family that he had kept with his books, along with the microphone from his studio. Lastly, they placed in the box an old worn Bible that John had found in William's apartment.

He closed up the lockbox and sealed it, and then took out a sheet of paper and began reading out loud from Romans 8.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified."

John paused for a moment and looked up at the group.

"What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all – how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died - more than that, who was raised to life – is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?"

When he had come to the word 'persecution', his voice cracked and he had to stop for another moment. He wiped his eyes and gathered himself so he could finish. The others wept quietly along with him.

"As it is written: 'For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.' No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

As he finished reading, he bent down and picked up a handful of soil and gently sprinkled it into the small grave.

"Goodbye, William. We'll meet again one day. In Jesus' Name, Amen."

The others followed after him, sprinkling in dirt and saying their goodbyes as well. When they were finished, John refilled the small hole and replaced the sod, and then Natalie set the white rock that she had brought over the site.

William's earthly tenure was now complete.

Chapter 11 - Continuity

"If we abide by the principles taught in the Bible, our country will go on prospering and to prosper; but if we and our posterity neglect its instruction and authority, no man can tell how sudden a catastrophe may overwhelm us and bury all our glory in profound obscurity." – Daniel Webster

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." – Romans 8:28

John pushed the wide floor-broom down the long hallway of the third floor. He had two more floors to sweep before he tackled the restrooms, which was the one task he disliked the most of all his janitorial duties.

As strange as it sounded, he almost liked being a janitor more than an orderly, though the tasks were more menial (in a sense) and less glamorous. The day after it had become known at the hospital that William had died, John had requested to transfer out of his orderly position and take over the janitorial duties. The hospital had authorized the transfer immediately, and John had switched over in less than a week.

Sometimes he felt strange about sweeping the same floors that William had worked only weeks before, but there was also something rather comforting about it, as if a peculiar baton of sorts had been passed to him. The same was true of the Cell's leadership role he had acquired, which was the main reason John had requested the immediate transfer at the hospital. And though cleaning restrooms and mopping floors wasn't anything close to his dream job, his position would help keep the Cell in its present meeting location.

Besides, the janitorial duties gave him more time to think and plan, and also to pray. He often used two or three days of his work-week to mentally prepare for that week's Bible study. Last week had been their Passover/Easter service at the Cell, and this week they were continuing the study in Revelation. Since Easter Sunday was one of the busier Sunday mornings of the year, they had held their meeting just after dawn (before most people awoke) and then went out for an early breakfast.

After he had finished packing up William's apartment two weeks ago, he had started going through as many of his friend's broadcasts, writings, and blogs on his computer as he could find. In fact, he had been listening to old sermons on his earphones during the long nightshifts in the hospital. He was beginning to feel even closer to William now than when he had been alive. And at times, that thought made him sad, but in another sense, it felt as if his friend were still there with him.

He thought about Natalie at times, but William's death had brought their relationship to a standstill. He still liked her, but he just didn't feel like he had the time and capacity to focus on a relationship. They still saw each other at the weekly group meetings, but they no longer had lunch together in the cafeteria, since their shifts at the hospital no longer overlapped. Maybe something would change over the next few months, but he didn't feel the need to pursue it on anything more than the friendship level, at least for the time being.

His classes would be winding down soon, and that would be a huge relief. When he wasn't working, he was spending most of his time studying. More and more, he felt that his classes were becoming less of a priority, but the term was almost over and Finals Week was approaching. The semester exams were just over a month away, and with everything that had happened over the last few weeks, he felt as if the semester had gone by in a whirlwind. He wanted to finish strong, but that meant studying. Lots and lots of studying.

John yawned as he finished the floor and then took his cleaning cart up to the next floor and resumed sweeping. Usually as long as his mind was engaged, he could push on. His break was another forty-five minutes away and he needed to stay awake and focused on his tasks.

He put in his ear-buds and pressed the button on his MP3 player, and then heard the familiar voice of his friend begin speaking. As he listened, he remembered William's notebook he had found while he'd been packing the books, and decided to read it before he forgot it again.

Ellen heard a noise in the kitchen and slowly rose from her easy-chair, but left the television on. Her joints had been flaring up the last few weeks, and she had noticed that it was becoming harder for her to get around, especially up and down the stairs. Fortunately, she and Charles had converted one of the downstairs rooms into their bedroom several years ago.

She walked into the kitchen and found John fixing a sandwich. The floor creaked beneath her feet and made John look up.

"Hello there, we haven't seen much of you these days," she said with a smile.

"Good evening, Mrs. Weinstein. I hope I didn't wake you – I usually try to be extra quiet when I come in late."

"Oh, that's alright. How have you been?"

"Very busy – between the new shift at the hospital and my schoolwork, I'm here just long enough to sleep most of the time." He finished making the sandwich and set the knife in the sink.

"I remember those days, but when I was your age, I already had two toddlers on my hands!" she exclaimed.

He smiled and nodded. Though he felt tired and slightly impatient to get up to his room, he decided to stay and talk with her. Relationships were more important than research, and even sleep at times.

"Are you ever going to call me by my first name?"

He grinned. "Probably not – it wouldn't be proper."

"I still can't believe what happened to William – who could've done such a thing? I just don't know what this city is coming to," she said, shaking her head.

"I don't know," he replied. "But I'm sure the police will find out who did it." He knew it was a lie, but he didn't want to worry her more than she already was.

"I hope so. What a horrible way to die." She glanced up at the old clock hanging on the wall. "Oh my, it's later than I thought. I'll see you in the morning. I still do miss the Late Show," she said with a heavy sigh.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Weinstein," he replied as she turned and went back out to the living room.

John ate his sandwich in the kitchen rather than in his room (which he usually did when he was actually there) and stared blankly out into the dark backyard. There was a small garden and a handful of old flowerbeds out there, though it hadn't been kept up very well the last few years. He decided to do some work in it for her once his classes were finished. Maybe that would lift her spirits a bit.

After he finished eating, he went upstairs to his room and sat down on the edge of his bed. He let his eyes close for a moment and fought the urge to lie down and go to sleep. Though it was his night off, he still had much to do. And he had learned the hard way not to change his sleeping schedule too much. He checked to see that his door was closed and then reached far under the mattress and pulled out William's notebook.

He began skimming through it and noticed that the entries were rather sparse in the beginning. But several months before they had met, the entries became more and more frequent and detailed. William had been meticulous in his documentation, including descriptions of those he had helped and the numbers, sizes, and even automobile makes and models of any encounters he had with the Husam. When he found the entry that described his own encounter with the Husam, he shuddered as he remembered the pain and terror of the attack.

When he reached the entries for the final week of William's life, he took special note of the very last entry – it said he had been rushing out for an emergency for someone named 'Henry'. He chided himself for not reading the journal from the end first, but he had wanted to read it chronologically from the beginning. He didn't know Henry's last name, but he realized what had likely happened. Either William was kidnapped on the way there or on the way back. Or he had been set-up.

John took out his laptop and did a quick Internet search on the area deaths during the week that William had gone missing. He found only one person named 'Henry' who had died that week. The man had died of a cardiac arrest in his home later the same night that William had last been seen. John figured he had guessed correctly: it had been a set-up.

As he read the last entry again, he became filled with anger and grief over William and what had happened to him. He wanted revenge, though he knew it wasn't the Christian way. And he had already forgiven them – he couldn't let himself regress to his earlier rage. But he couldn't help feeling it – he still wanted those who had killed William to be brought to justice. And he knew there was nothing wrong with seeking justice.

He made up his mind: he would finish what William had started, but he no longer wanted to just observe and record the actions of the Husam. He wanted to confront them, but he wasn't quite sure how, at least not yet. He re-read the entry that mentioned Phil Clyburn and James Hargood; that seemed worth pursuing. Perhaps a few more Internet searches would reveal something.

But first, he would have to copy everything that William had written in the notebook, in case the house was raided and it was found. And he decided to begin keeping his own notebook as well, in case something happened to him as it had to William.

He flipped back to the first page of the notebook, sat down in front of his laptop, and began typing as quickly as he could.

After he had typed for nearly an hour, he stood up and stretched for a minute, and then decided to wander downstairs for a change of scenery. He went to the kitchen and got a glass of ice-water to take a short break.

While in the kitchen, he noticed a copy of the day's newspaper still lying on the table. He picked it up and began absently flipping through it. The newspaper reminded him of how long it had been since he had seriously thought about what he was going to do after he graduated, even though that was another two years away.

He still liked writing, but he understood now that there was really very little freedom and independence in the modern 'free' press. Much of the media was closely associated with the government, though not explicitly state-controlled as in many countries. Apparently the federal bailouts to the newspapers and other media-outlets years before had been all that was needed to buy and keep their loyalty. Though of course, the newspapers were still losing money due to the Internet and the declining elderly population.

There were a number of independent voices in the underground media, and he felt somewhat inclined to join that. He had also recently considered joining the Journalist Freedom Society, a nation-wide media professionals group, until he had discovered that they were anything but what their name described. After the public had grown distrustful of the Associated Press newswires years ago, a new 'media accreditation' organization had been needed.

The Society had been formed soon after the media bailouts nearly a decade before, with the intention of keeping media outlets independent of the government and having an objective, non-biased voice in reporting the news and current events. Many journalists, reporters, and writers had immediately joined and hailed the initiatives of the group, but within only a few years, the Society became the primary source for silencing dissent and speech which was not politically correct, nor inline with that of the federal government.

He wasn't sure quite how that alliance (some would say 'sell-out') had taken place, but he understood that getting any of his work published would mean compromising his principles and watering down his true thoughts and opinions, if not burying the facts he dug up along the way. If he couldn't report the truth and speak his mind, what was the point of even trying to publish them? Maybe an opportunity would provide itself when the time was right.

After he finished browsing the paper, he went back upstairs to continue copying the notebook.

John walked towards the Quad and took a deep breath. It was the beginning of Finals Week, and his nerves were already frazzled. He had just finished his Economics exam and was hoping he hadn't blown it too badly. The temperature was becoming hotter and more humid too, and within minutes he found himself perspiring.

He had been studying nearly non-stop for the last eight days, and he had taken the entire previous week off from the hospital. Fortunately, his supervisor was very understanding and gave him that flexibility, especially since the hospital was accustomed to having students work for them part-time.

As he was crossing the Quad, he recognized someone walking in his direction and decided to greet him. It was Professor Burkhart.

"Good morning, Professor," he said with a smile.

His impromptu greeting caught the middle-aged man by surprise, but he recovered quickly.

"Oh, hello. You're in one of my classes, aren't you?"

"Yes, I've been in your American History 201 class all year," John replied.

"Ah, that's right – you're one of those brave souls who have taken both semesters of it. How's your Finals Week going?"

"So far, so good. I have your exam in two days."

"I hope you've been studying, especially that Civil War section," he said.

"Yes, sir – I have," John answered with a smile, recalling that they had spent nearly two months on the Civil War (with several weeks focused on it from the South's perspective).

"Well, it was good to see you. Good luck on Thursday," the professor said.

"Thank you, Professor," John replied and then they continued on their separate ways.

The phone in Mohammed's pocket buzzed three times in rapid succession. He immediately sat up and checked the number before closing the door. It was his employer.

"This is Mohammed," he answered. There was a short delay, and he realized his voice-print was being confirmed.

"It's me," the voice responded.

Though the phone connection was highly secure, the voice on the other end was scrambled. Since he knew he could not be seen by the caller, Mohammed grinned at the response. James Hargood had always been paranoid, regardless of how powerful he had become. He never wanted his name used during any of their meetings. After all, others could be listening in on their conversations.

"Your handling of Clyburn and Bradford was atrocious. People even here are asking questions," Hargood said. "Questions neither of us want to answer."

Mohammed's grin quickly faded as Hargood continued berating him.

"I understand the message you were trying to send, but it has generated far too much publicity. You should have made them vanish without a trace rather than make a gruesome spectacle of them."

"Yes, sir," was all that Mohammed could manage in reply. He hated calling anyone 'sir' just as much as those who reported to him likely did.

"Also, it has come to my attention that someone in your district has been doing numerous Internet searches on my name, along with several public background checks. I will send you an encrypted text message with their IP address. Track them down and silence them. Do it right this time."

"Yes, sir. You can be certain of that," he promised.

"I will not speak with you about this matter again. The next time I call you, be sure to have whoever is checking into me and my background taken care of. Do you understand?"

"I understand completely. I'll take care of it."

Mohammed heard the connection drop and he ended his side of it as well. He hadn't been frightened in a long time, but the conversation had made him quite uncomfortable. Hargood now ran in powerful circles and had a wide variety of resources at his disposal. Hargood may not be as ruthless and creative as he was, but he knew people who were.

He knew full well that everyone was replaceable. Even himself, Mohammed thought grimly.

John adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back on the neatly trimmed grass. He couldn't remember the last time he had studied outside, but the weather was too beautiful to stay indoors. He badly needed another vacation. The sun was bright and a late afternoon breeze rustled gently through the full leaves. The air smelled fresh and sweet, and John soon found himself getting drowsy.

He'd had two exams that day – Journalism and Advanced Writing – and he felt he had done well on both of them. He didn't need to ace either one, he just needed to do well enough to keep his GPA up. He only had one exam left that week, and that was in American History. He felt comfortable with the review material, but he still needed to study up on the specific dates, places, and people. He let his eyes slip closed for a moment in the warm sunlight.

"Hey John – time to rise and shine!  How have you been?" he heard a familiar voice say. He looked up to see his old roommate Justin standing right in front of him. He blinked and got to his feet.

"Hi Justin, I'm good, just taking a break from finals. How are you?" John said as they shook hands.

"I couldn't be better! I only have one more test tomorrow, but it'll be cake. Some buddies of mine found copies of the old tests and we've been studying off those. That makes life a lot easier! The stupid Sociology prof shuffles the questions around every year or two, but they're more or less the same. Do you want a copy?"

"No thanks," John replied. "How's the new roommate working out?"

"Oh, he's great – we party and hang out all the time. You should stop by sometime and we'll hit a bar or something. Oh, your religion allows that, right?"

John shrugged slightly to be polite, but knew he likely wouldn't be dropping by.

"Are you still working at the hospital?"

"Yeah, I'm going to be switching to full-time there soon for the summer."

"What do you do there again?" Justin asked.

"I'm now in the janitorial group, usually on the night shift."

"That sounds exciting, if not really disgusting."

"What are you doing this summer? Are you going to stay here in the city?" John asked.

"Nah, I'm going home to North Carolina. Probably just hang out on the beach, do some serious surfing, and a whole lot of drinking. I may get a job just to keep my mom off my back – you know how that is."

"Sounds like a plan," John replied with an awkward grin and glanced down at his books in the grass.

"Well, I have to go. Some buddies and I are meeting at a pub over in Midtown in an hour. Have a good summer!"

"You too, Justin. See you around," he said as they shook hands again.

John watched him leave and then sat back down on the grass, thinking about his old roommate. Perhaps he had been wrong to move out when he did. What if he should have stayed? If anything, he could have been a witness for him or at least a good example of a believer in Christ.

As he stared blankly up at the clouds, he felt suddenly alone as he thought about Justin and his old life. He had not spoken with nor seen any of his former friends since he'd moved out of his old apartment. Had it been worth it?

And then he thought of William and his new circle of friends in the Cell and at the hospital. They were real people living real lives, not the fantasy of college life filled with endless partying, ball-games, and drinking.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time he had prayed, really prayed rather than just a fleeting request here and there. He had been so busy lately that his relationship with the Lord had been pushed behind many other things. As he thought about it, he realized why he suddenly felt alone: he'd been neglecting his closest, truest Friend.

John vowed to set aside time from then on after he woke up every morning and spend it with God. Giving Him the first portion of the day was the least he could do.

John arrived at the basement of the hospital early the next Sunday and began setting everything up. The meeting would begin in just over a half-hour. Other than the various sounds of the equipment in the basement, it was completely silent. He got down on his knees, bowed his head low, and began to pray.

His prayer life had been improving over the past few days, since his decision to set aside regular time for it every day. He had decided to have his main prayer time soon after he woke up in the morning, and then a shorter prayer time at lunch and then again when he went to bed. So far, he had only missed one or two sessions, and he could tell that the habit was beginning to take root.

Before he knew it, there was a knock at the door and he finished his prayer to go answer it. Janice was there, and he greeted her with a sisterly hug after he opened the door. Five minutes later, Nathan and Natalie arrived as well, and then lastly came Roger. And he had brought with him a short Asian teenage boy.

"This is Zhang, a friend of mine," Roger said. "He's here on a student visa from China."

"Welcome, Zhang – it's nice to meet you," John said, shaking his hand.

"Zhang is interested in becoming a member in our group. It seems that he's used to our style of worship from his homeland."

John smiled and nodded. Zhang would be the first new member to join their group since William's death.

"I spend summer here with exchange family. In China, we are persecuted too. Yes, police beat us and put us in prison or work-camps, sometimes big factories," Zhang said. "Sorry, my English is not so good."

"You're doing great, actually. Welcome to the group," John replied. "How long have you been a Christian?"

"Since I was twelve year old. I get baptized when I was thirteen. Soon I will be sixteen," he said proudly.

John welcomed him again, and soon they began their meeting. After the introductions and the prayer-time, they brought Zhang up to speed with the group and the study. They were nearly halfway through the Book of Revelation; this week they were studying the Two Witnesses.

After the study had finished, John realized that if they got a few more members, it would be time to divide soon. And he also realized that Natalie would likely be the one to split off, or perhaps Roger. He would have to talk to her about it the next time he saw her at the hospital.

John watched the car pass by him as he walked along the old, cracked sidewalk toward the Weinstein house. It was the same black car that he had noticed on the way home the day before. He repeated the license plate to himself several times to memorize it. Unfortunately, he had no way of finding out who the car was registered to. Not that the information would likely be valid anyway.

He abruptly turned onto a side-street and took a different way home. Over the last several days, he had felt he was being followed, but now he was certain. He zigzagged up another street just to be safe, and then fifteen minutes later made it home. He greeted Mrs. Weinstein on his way up to his room. For their sake, he might have to move again soon.

He was still working out his plans to confront the Husam, but he clearly understood that he was just one man against an entire armed group, if not a network of cells. But the Husam cells needed money, since it was likely that few of their members had fulltime jobs during the day. Perhaps their money trail was worth pursuing, but he had neither the contacts nor the means to do so on his own.

He put his backpack down on the desk near his laptop, and then laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to bring down the Husam, but more and more he didn't think he could do it; he just didn't have the information nor the resources he needed. Maybe he should focus on exposing FAAHAD (the Federal Agency Against Hate And Discrimination) and their questionable policies. And then he immediately realized how foolish that idea sounded: attempting to take on an entire government agency rather than an underground cell. Yet one motivating factor was that the agency was subject to the rule of law while the Husam was not.

But first, he needed an insurance policy of sorts, regardless of which path he took. Knowing that he was being followed had now made that a priority. John realized that he didn't actually need to have the hard evidence if he was captured, he just needed to make them think that he did. Mentioning the name and position of James Hargood should do the trick, along with the threat of taking all his evidence public (even if he didn't have much). He had the upper-hand, even if it wasn't very substantial.

John went over to the desk and flipped open his laptop. Since the semester had ended, he'd been spending hours researching FAAHAD, especially their new enforcement policies. Sometimes he did the research on his laptop at home, but more often he'd been using the resources at the Emory Law Library, since it stayed open long hours, especially on the weekends. Another caveat was that they provided free access to numerous legal databases and other information that he would have had to pay for otherwise.

He had not studied the Constitution in detail, but the new FAAHAD powers seemed to clearly violate the First Amendment, especially the right to assemble. However, since no one really had a voice to oppose their policies, no one had tried to stop them – yet. If he understood the legislation and mandates correctly, it appeared that FAAHAD could now arrest and detain anyone they suspected of either organizing or attending an unregistered religious group. No warrants were needed to breakup a meeting, regardless of whether it involved private property or not.

At first, he was shocked that FAAHAD had been granted such sweeping powers, but then he realized that the agency had likely just seized them in order to satisfy their mandate: to breakup hate groups (usually also classified as 'religious extremists', 'fundamentalists', or 'evangelicals') and to prevent them from re-organizing and spreading their messages of 'hate'.

The powers of FAAHAD would only further increase because everyone was afraid of the federal government and its myriad of agencies. There were no religious or conservative legal groups comparable to the ACLU; the handful that had existed years ago had been among the first to be marginalized when the anti-hate legislation had been ratified. Also, the federal agencies were monitored by other agencies or limited by legislative directives.

In reality, the agencies were governed by a bloated bureaucracy of various administrators and regulators within the federal government. By their very nature, there were typically few checks and balances on federal bureaucracies anyway. Few of the agencies that now existed could have ever been imagined by the Founding Fathers, especially since the Tenth Amendment specifically precluded them.

He doubted that many people even knew of what was going on in the agencies such as FAAHAD, but at times he wondered if they even cared any more. Many who had the spirit and energy to take a stand against the federal government had left the country over the last ten years. Many more had just given up and were simply trying to live their lives as best they could under the bleak circumstances.

But the more he read and compared the Constitution and the Federalist Papers to FAAHAD's mandates, the more he was convinced that he had a case. It was time to expose the link between FAAHAD and the Husam cells (which he knew flowed through James Hargood). Perhaps exposing FAAHAD's policies publicly would also neutralize the Husam.

The time had come to take the fight to them.

James Hargood looked over the report he had just received in his secure email. The office door was closed and his assistant was still at lunch. He re-read the report and leaned back in his chair to consider its contents. And its implications.

The Husam network in Atlanta was becoming a growing liability. Its expenses were rising while its returns appeared to be consistently diminishing. They had performed well in the early months and years of their existence in battling the inner-city gangs and doing what the police and anti-gang teams legally could not.

Gang violence was lower than it had been in years, but he'd begun to sense that the Husam was getting out of control. He had been reading and hearing more about them lately, and that was never a good sign. He oversaw several other Husam-like networks in four other cities, and they had been not getting any similar attention.

With no authority structure or chain of command (aside from the money that somehow found its way down through the network), he couldn't exactly issue an order or memo to change all their behaviors and protocols. He had his own handful of contacts, which had their own contacts, and on down the line. The only way he could effectively rein them in would be by pulling on their purse strings. And pulling on them hard.

Being autonomous was part of the Husam's very nature, as the broad network of cells had battled the gangs on their own turf and in their own way. And they had won. They were still relatively unknown except in Atlanta, but that had been changing for well over the past twelve months. They kept the streets safe in a sense, but by fear and intimidation. They enforced the Curfew times in several inner-city districts particularly plagued by gang violence, but soon the police could assume those duties.

In addition to the gang suppression in the inner cities, the Husam's other great achievement had been the Green Zone Bombings two months before the last Presidential Election. The President had been steadily falling in the polls until then, but had jumped into a much more comfortable lead immediately afterwards and had gone on to win re-election easily. Once again, his favorite theorem had been verified: the use of fear was a very effective way of manipulating the public.

One of the tricks in his business was to know when to close up shop. He had created a 'street tiger' of sorts, and he understood that sooner or later, a tiger (or any other wild animal) could turn on its master without warning and end up destroying them both. And the Husam was just as untamable. A tiger was a tiger.

Perhaps the time had come to reduce the size and scope of the network, one tooth at a time. Or perhaps several teeth at a time.

He glanced down at the lettering on the memo he had just finished drafting. FAAHAD. What a foolish, arcane name. He had always felt it was too Arabic-sounding, and that its very acronym contributed to the public's continually-low opinion ratings of the agency. Perhaps merely changing its name could improve its public perception. He would have to spend some time later thinking about new names and acronyms to suggest to the Director.

He closed the secure email browser before he forgot about it, and then turned to look out his office window. It was another sunny, beautiful late-Spring day in the Green Zone of Washington D.C. Pedestrians were busy going to and from their offices and enjoying the warm weather.

As he watched the people below, he saw a group of well-dressed men in suits walking quickly away from the Capitol Complex, followed by several women in burqas a short distance behind them. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly time for the mid-day Adhan to sound; the group was likely on their way to the Capitol Mosque.

He frowned for a brief moment, as he realized he had been noticing more and more women in the city wearing the traditional Muslim outer covering. Personally, he didn't care for that dehumanizing custom, nor did he like to hear the daily calls for salat, especially the ones early in the morning. But allies were allies, he supposed, and all cultures change over time.

And in America, change was in the air.

John picked up his tray of food from the counter and walked over to where Natalie was sitting and joined her. It felt like months since the last time they had been in the cafeteria together.

"Hi – how's your shift going tonight?" he asked.

"Okay, it's quiet for a change," she replied. "Did you start working fulltime yet?"

"Yeah, I started that two days ago. I'm going to need a lot more books-on-tape to make it through a full shift now."

They began eating and chatting about their jobs at the hospital and the latest news. After they had run out of small-talk, she became quiet.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he replied.

"What's going on with us?" she asked, lifting her eyes to look at him.

He put down his fork and looked up at her with a slight frown.

"I don't know. Ever since William died – I just don't know. I'm sorry if it's been weird."

"It's okay, I've been feeling the same way. Maybe it's better for now that we just leave things as they are," she suggested.

"Well, now that I'm working fulltime, we could meet here more often," he suggested.

She smiled and nodded, "I'd like that."

He smiled back at her and continued eating.

"Now it's my turn – may I ask you something?"

Natalie nodded.

"I've been thinking a lot about what happened to William, and you may need to take over for me soon," he said quietly. "If we get a few more members, we'll need to split the Cell anyway. Would you feel comfortable doing that?"

"I guess so. What are you planning?" she asked.

"Something big. I'm tired of hiding – I want to try to stop the Husam," he said as bravely as he could manage.

"How?" From her concerned look, he knew she was worried.

"I don't know yet, but I'm working on it," he replied and gave her a mischievous smile.

Chapter 12 - Reprisals

"We have staked the whole future of American civilization, not upon the power of government, far from it. We’ve staked the future of all our political institutions upon our capacity…to sustain ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God." – James Madison

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." – Romans 8:18

John reviewed the document for the third time – it contained all the information from William's old notebook that was relevant to the Husam, James Hargood, and FAAHAD. Admittedly, it wasn't much more than names, dates, and places, but hopefully it would be enough to serve his purposes.

He still felt he was being watched when he was in public, though he hadn't seen any cars following him lately. Yesterday he had noticed that a man had briefly observed him while he was sweeping the third floor at the hospital, and then he nearly ran into him again on the fourth floor an hour later.

So far, there had been no outright confrontation from him nor them, but he knew that sooner or later, they would try something. He had told Natalie what was happening when he had first noticed the cars following him, and they had agreed not to have lunch in the cafeteria until he was certain he was safe.

He closed the document on his laptop and made several copies of the file. One copy he saved to an encrypted flash drive that fit on his key-ring, another he sent to two new email accounts he had created online. And another copy he loaded into a special website which he had subscribed to earlier that week.

This particular website allowed their subscribers to setup any number of email addresses, along with documents or content to send to those addresses. It also had a scheduler that could automatically send out content to those addresses on a specific date and time. When he had first found the site, he had realized he could use it to protect himself should he be taken like William had.

The catch for his 'insurance policy' was that every day, he would have to change the date to the next day at some point, or the information would automatically be sent out to the hundreds of media contacts, reporters, and news agencies he had painstakingly entered into the site. But it was a small price to pay for such a valuable insurance policy.

He would just have to remember to update the scheduler's date every day, though it really wasn't that much of an inconvenience. However, it did have a mobile interface, so he could update it from his phone. He hoped he would only have to maintain it for a month or two, but only time would tell.

The insurance wasn't much, but it would serve its purpose. Besides, having one meager insurance policy was better than having none at all.

His shift was just about over, John thought to himself as he slowly pushed his janitor's cart down the long hallway. He had been there long enough to know when his shift was finished by his work progress rather than by a clock.

Not only that, but it was the end of his workweek, and he was looking forward to a few days off. He hadn't noticed anyone watching him either on the street or at the hospital for the last day or two, but he was being careful not to let down his guard. He secretly hoped they had given up their observation of him. It was stressful having to constantly look over one's shoulder.

The next Cell meeting was three days away, and he still hadn't finished his studies and handouts for it yet. They were now studying the middle of the Tribulation in the Book of Revelation and the Book of Daniel. Since that time was one of the major turning points in Bible prophecy, it had been described in detail, and in several different places in the Scriptures. They would be studying the mid-point of the Tribulation for the next month; this week they were studying the desecration of the future Temple in Jerusalem.

John opened the janitor's closet and pushed the cart inside. He made sure that all the bottles of the cleaning chemicals were closed and then thoroughly washed his hands. Another long day was over, and he was looking forward to finally getting some sleep.

As he emerged from the closet and closed the door, he noticed a man walking towards him. He had a larger build, was dressed well, and appeared to be in his late thirties. The man looked friendly enough, but it was very late for visitors in this wing of the hospital.

"Are you John Carver?" the man asked as he approached.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"My name is Jack Smith. Did you used to work with William Bradford?" he said.

"Yeah," John replied somewhat suspiciously as they shook hands. "How did you know William?"

"I knew him from his old radio days. I recently read about his death on the Internet. Anyway, I have some memorabilia and books to give to his family, but I don't know how to get in touch with them."

"Oh, his ex-wife and daughter live in California – they moved away years ago. I suppose I can send it to them for you."

"That would be great! I have the boxes in my car downstairs," he said gratefully.

"Okay, I'll follow you out," John said, his suspicions beginning to diminish.

They went down to the parking lot, which was deserted except for a handful of cars. Jack led him to one of the cars near the far side of the lot, the place where it was the darkest. The hair on the back of John's neck immediately stood up, and he suddenly felt as if he was walking into a trap.

"They're in the backseat – I can drive them over to your car, if you like."

"No thanks, I'll figure out how to get them home," John said, trying to think of what he could do if it was a set-up.

"Suit yourself," Jack answered and then opened the back driver's side door. John looked in and saw two medium-sized boxes; maybe it was safe after all. Jack leaned over and took out the first box and set it on the trunk, and then reached in for the second.

But this time when he turned around, he was pointing a handgun at John. Immediately another man from the other side of the car stood up and pointed a gun at him as well.

"We're going to take a little drive," Jack said with a wicked grin.

John blinked his eyes rapidly as the blindfold was removed. He found himself in a large dimly-lit room with no windows and only one metal door. There was a small drain near the center of the room, close to his feet. The shift in light he had noticed before had been from the fluorescent lights above him.

For a while during the long car-ride, he had tried to keep track of the turns and directions. But after twenty minutes of that, he had given up. He didn't think they had driven on the interstate, but it was difficult to tell. There were many highways in Atlanta that were often winding, changed speed limits, and even sometimes changed directions. He decided it would be better to just try to estimate the basic time-range.

After thirty to forty minutes, the car stopped and the man in the backseat pulled him out and led him up a small flight of steps. He heard someone knock on a metal door which had opened with a loud creak. He was led by the arm and then shoved roughly inside. Though blindfolded, he could still perceive the change in lighting. Inside the building was much darker than outside, and John felt his spirits sink when he heard the door clang shut.

The floor felt hard and smooth like concrete, and he surmised that he was in a large factory or a warehouse. A few moments later, the light had brightened slightly and he was pushed into a metal chair. His arms were yanked back behind him and then tied to the chair. From his position and how his hands had been tied, he had no idea how he could possibly escape. He was completely helpless. And then the man behind him had removed his blindfold.

He had been praying most of the time since he had been taken from the hospital parking lot. In fact, he had begun praying soon after he had given up trying to figure out where they were going. He had resolved that only the Lord would be able to bring him out of his situation, if it was His will. But with knowing what had happened to William, he was filled with terror at the thought of what might be done to him next.

An athletic-looking man with Middle Eastern features strode into the room and stood over him. John looked up at him with a blank expression on his face. He didn't want to appear defiant, but he didn't want to seem afraid either, even though he was terrified.

"You were a friend of William Bradford, correct?" the man asked.

John swallowed hard and nodded.

"Does it frighten you to know that he was killed in this very room? In fact, he was sitting in the same chair you are now when he drew his last breath."

John said nothing but fought back a sudden surge of anger and rage that welled from deep within him. But after a moment, it soon changed back to fear.

"Your friend suffered greatly – and needlessly. He could have simply answered my questions and been set free, but he stubbornly refused. It is my sincere desire that you will not be as foolish as your predecessor."

Though John wanted to ask him who he was and what he wanted, he knew his interrogator would tell him very little voluntarily. He needed to focus on remaining strong. And tight-lipped.

"We know you are the member of an illegal underground church, but I am more concerned with your recent investigation of James Hargood. Tell me what you know of him," the man ordered.

John stared blankly at the floor. The man drew a knife from his pocket and pressed it against John's cheek. He tried to pull back as he felt the blade, but there was nowhere to go. He began to tremble and a cold sweat broke out on his brow.

"What do you know?" he whispered fiercely.

John gulped and closed his eyes. At that moment, he felt a courage he had never known before rise inside him. Whatever happened to him, he knew the final outcome and the reward that was waiting for him. The promised eternity of glory that awaited him far exceeded these few passing moments of torment. He relaxed and looked at his captor directly in the eyes.

"I know everything," John replied. "I know that Hargood funnels money from FAAHAD to this cell and others like it to enforce the Curfew and keep the gangs weak. And to intimidate Christians."

"And how did you discover this?"

"Who are you?" John asked, trying to remain on the offensive.

The man's eyes gleamed with malice. "My name is Mohammed, but that matters little. And if you must know, it was I who gave the order to take your friend and then have him beheaded." He paused to let that information sink in. "Now, how did you learn about James Hargood?"

John did not reply, but glared back at him.

"Very well. Like your friend, you know too much for your own good. And now you will be joining him, wherever he may be."

But rather than fear and dismay, John smiled, which was the one reaction Mohammed had not expected. And then John spoke.

"I don't think I will. You see, I've been documenting everything I can about your group and its connections to FAAHAD and James Hargood. And if something happens to me, all the information I've collected will be immediately made public. And I don't think any of you – especially Hargood – want that to happen. In fact, if I am missing for nine more hours, you can expect Hargood to be calling you, if I know anything about him. And I doubt he'll be very pleased once his phone begins ringing off the hook back in Washington."

"We'll see," Mohammed replied with his dark eyes blazing, and then promptly walked out the door.

John stared after him, and then bowed his head and began to pray.

A short time later, Mohammed strode back into the room, but this time with two other men who seemed just as menacing as he was. John hoped they wouldn't torture him, but he had resolved to hold out as long as he could.

He felt calmer now than he had earlier, having prayed fervently after Mohammed had left the room. Time was ticking away, and they knew that as well as he did. He estimated that he had just over eight hours before he had to reset the timer on the website.

"Look at me," Mohammed ordered.

John briefly glanced up at him but did not move his head.

"I said look at me!" he shouted, and one of the men yanked John's head back by his hair. "You have put me and my employer in a very uncomfortable situation."

John wanted to react, but managed to neither smile nor glare. His neck had been terribly wrenched and his throat was fully exposed to his captor.

"We will let you go, but under two conditions. One, that you vow to never release the information you have. And two, that you cease all investigation activities concerning Hargood and FAAHAD. If you violate either of these conditions, we will find you and make you suffer more than you can possibly imagine. And then I will personally do to you what I did to your friend. But I will be slower, and not nearly as merciful."

John still said nothing, but blinked to acknowledge that he understood. He wanted to swallow but was unable to.

Mohammed leaned in close to his ear and roughly grabbed his jaw, to further intensify his threat.

"And know this for certain: we'll be watching you," he rasped fiercely into his ear.

The man behind him released his hair and slapped his head forward as Mohammed stepped back.

"Drop him off where you found him," Mohammed ordered.

John eyed him as Mohammed spun around and headed for the door. And then everything went black as the blindfold was suddenly pushed back over his eyes and tied around his head.

Najeev barged into Mohammed's office and slammed the door. Mohammed glared up at him; there could only be one reason for his unthinkable intrusion. One day he hoped to show Najeev how much he truly despised him.

"Jefferson just told me that you're taking Carver back to the hospital – are you crazy? You can't just let him go!" Najeev exclaimed.

Mohammed stood up and gave him another menacing look.

"I can do with him whatever I see fit. Hargood has put me in charge of the Husam operations, not a bungling fool such as you," he replied.

"Weren't you supposed to get rid of him?"

"You don't have to worry – Carver will no longer be a problem. We came to an 'understanding', you might say."

"And what could that possibly be?" Najeev demanded.

"Carver has information that could expose Hargood and FAAHAD's role in funding our network here. I doubt that anyone would want that to be made public."

"So why didn't you just torture it out of him like the others?"

"There are some people that torture is not as effective on as it is on others."

"How do you know?"

"I could tell. I saw no fear in his eyes. Like his friend."

Najeev shook his head. "Next time, you should let me take a crack at him before you let him go. I bet I could've made him talk."

"You are little more than a dog on a leash. You know nothing about these Christians, or what some of them are willing to withstand to protect their beliefs or those they hold dear to them."

"Faith is for fools," Najeev replied, and then stormed out of the office.

Yes, Mohammed thought as a wicked smile crossed his face. One day, he would make certain that Najeev learned firsthand exactly what he thought of him.

Natalie glanced over the chart as she walked down the hall. She looked up and saw John discreetly give her a nod, and she continued walking past him, with neither of them saying a word to the other.

Just over an hour later, she walked into the cafeteria and saw him sitting with his tray in the far corner. The cafeteria was busier than usual, but his smile reassured her that it was safe for them to be seen together. She walked up to the counter and ordered her food and then went over to sit down with him.

"I was surprised when you wanted to meet here – what's going on?" she asked.

John nodded and his expression changed from a friendly smile to one of seriousness.

"Three days ago after my shift, I had an encounter with the group that murdered William," he said.

"Are you serious? How did you get away from them?" she said in astonishment.

"I knew they'd been following me for awhile. I've been doing research on the Husam and on some of the people who finance and support their network. Anyway, the other day they grabbed me after my shift so they could ask me some questions."

"What happened?"

He smile but kept his serious tone. "Well, I have a little 'insurance policy' I put together over the last couple weeks. I told them that if something happened to me, then the policy would kick in and my research would be made public. When I mentioned that, they just decided to let me go," he said.

"That must be some insurance policy! Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Actually, I've never been happier to sweep floors and clean toilets in my life," he replied with a grin.

"So what's going to happen next? Are you going to be safe?" she asked.

"I think I am for now. They said they'd be watching me, and I'm taking that seriously." He paused and took a bite of his sandwich. "That's why I wanted us to meet tonight: I think you need to take over the group."

"Oh – are you sure? I don't know if I'm ready."

"Yeah, I know it's a little sudden, but it needs to be done. With me being watched now, I can't go to the meetings anyway."

"Okay, what do I have to do?" Natalie asked.

"For the most part, just do what you've seen William and I doing since you joined. Make sure the place is secure, start with prayer, do the study, and most of all, care for and love one another. When the group gets to be about ten people, split in half and keep growing. I'll give you a key and all the details when we have more time."

"What about the study we're in? I don't know much about that yet."

"I'll give you my notes and some of the resources I'm using. The tough part of the book is more or less finished. I know you'll do fine," he reassured her.

"When do you think you'll be back?"

"I don't know. Hopefully in few months when this stuff is brought to a close," he said, though he knew he didn't sound very convincing.

They finished eating without saying much for a few minutes.

"Do you think I should relocate the group?" she asked.

"I'm not sure – it might be safer for everyone, but we don't really have a reason to yet. With me not attending anymore, I think it'll be safe enough to stay there. I'll keep an eye on the basement meeting room, even though I won't be there. If I see someone snooping around or something out of place, I'll tell you right away. It should be okay until I start stirring things up."

"What are you going to do?"

John smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"I have a plan," he said with a mischievous grin.

Jacob opened the door and beckoned John inside, who entered and grinned as he looked around.

"Come in, John. Can I get you something to drink?" the professor asked.

"Maybe later, thanks," he replied. "This is a great house!"

"Ah, thank you. You're seeing the finished section – the rest of the house is in an eternal state of restoration, I'm afraid. Let's go on back to my study," he said as he led John to one of the rooms down the hall towards the backyard.

The professor's residence appeared just as John had imagined the house of an American history professor to look like. The house was in one of the older, nicer neighborhoods near Emory University, built around the turn of the last century or even earlier. Much of the trim and all the bookshelves were made of well-oiled dark woods, and he noticed that nearly all the shelves were packed full of books, some of which appeared to be very old.

His office was lined with the same wood trim and shelves John had seen throughout the rest of the house, but there were even more books in the study. On the desk sat a stack of papers next to a laptop with an extra-wide display. John sat down across from him at the desk.

"I hope you don't tell any other students about my meeting with you – in fact, you're one of the few students I've ever given my address to, much less invited over," Jacob said.

"I won't – thank you for agreeing to meet privately with me. I wasn't joking when I said it was a matter of great importance," John promised.

Jacob nodded and motioned for him to get started.

"Did you recently hear about a man named William Bradford? He was found beheaded nearly two months ago."

"Yes, I read it in the news. It was terrible. Why?"

"He was my best friend. It wasn't a gang-killing or a random act of violence. He was kidnapped, tortured, and then slain because of his beliefs."

The professor gave him a puzzled look.

"Because he was a Christian," John stated.

Jacob frowned as he thought of all the bombings attributed to Christians over the last few years. "Are you one as well?"

"Yes – will that be a problem for you? I don't want you to get in trouble, or to compromise your position here at the university."

"No, though most Christians are not viewed favorably any more, to say the least. Again, we'll have to keep this meeting strictly between us. Though I do have tenure, the university does not look kindly upon Christians or those who meet with them, especially those in the faculty."

John nodded and noticed that the professor's demeanor towards him had changed slightly. "You know, we aren't extreme or violent or full of hate, we are peaceful and just want to follow the Bible. Is that so wrong? Don't we have the freedom to worship and practice our religion as we please? The Bill of Rights was written for people of any faith, right?"

"Well, yes, but since TIRMA, the freedom to worship has certain stipulations," Jacob replied.

"What about the Founding Fathers? Many of them were Christians and no one sees them as extremists."

"That's a good point, though the times were very different then. Today, many of the Founders have been marginalized because of their ownership of slaves, while others are seldom mentioned at all."

"Professor, I know what the news-media says about Christians these days, especially after the Green Zone Bombings. As a Christian, I don't see how it can be true – but if it is, then they're certainly not holding to the dictates of the Bible."

Jacob leaned forward and softened his tone and then replied, "Actually, I grew up in a Christian home as well. I even considered myself one a long time ago."

"What happened?" John asked.

"Oh, a mixture of youth rebellion, evolution, political correction, and the university environment. Even when I was your age in the 1990's, it wasn't very politically correct in universities to be a Christian. And the country has changed enormously since then."

"I became one only last year. And it was William who brought me to the Lord," John said, and then he briefly recounted how William had helped him during the Husam attack and how they became friends. However, he decided not to mention the Cell nor William's ministry and studio, just to be safe.

"So, he helped you with the Husam – is that who you think is behind his death?"

"I'm certain of it, but can't prove it, of course. A friend of William's called him one night and then he was gone. The man he was going to help was found dead of a heart attack the next day. William had written in his journal that he had learned from Philip Clyburn that someone high up in FAAHAD was involved."

"Is that what this is about – exposing FAAHAD, the federal anti-hate agency?" Jacob asked, his eyes growing wide.

"I'd like to take them down a few notches, but I don't quite know how," John replied.

"Well, they're a federal agency. The only real way to counter them is through the courts."

"Really? Isn't there another agency that monitors FAAHAD?"

"Who knows? Perhaps there's a Congressional oversight committee that has some jurisdiction over them. But you might as well forget about using the Executive and the Legislative branches. The real authority of the country now (as far as the Constitution is concerned) is in the hands of the Judiciary, for better or for worse."

"Why do you say that?"

Jacob sighed. "Because with the mere stroke of a pen, a federal judge can render virtually any law, policy, or executive order as unconstitutional. The checks and balances on that branch are far fewer and less defined than the other two."

"If we decided to take FAAHAD to court, how would that work?" John asked.

"There would have to be a clear violation and arrest of course, and then one would have to issue a petition for an injunction against them, and then get it upheld by the courts."

"Wouldn't FAAHAD try to stop the injunction first?"

"Maybe, but most bureaucrats are cowards, in my humble opinion. They don't like to take risks, especially risks that would endanger their power. If the case is public enough, they won't do anything too underhanded."

"Your bio online mentioned that you used to practice law, right?"

"Yes, but that was a long time ago – why?" Jacob questioned.

"Because I'd like you to be my lawyer," John stated.

"For what?"

"To defend me in court."

Jacob gave him a look of both disbelief and amusement.

"I have a feeling I'm going to be arrested soon," John said with a grin.

Professor Burkhart walked up to John and sat down next to him on the stone bench. The Quad was busier than normal for a summer day, but that was the way they wanted it. It was another hot day in June and the sun was bright overhead.

"Good afternoon, Professor," John said, glancing over at him from behind his sunglasses.

"Hello, John. You know, I've been here almost twenty years, and I never have gotten used to these humid summers."

"Yeah, even the trees sweat here in the middle of the summer."

For a short moment, they sat and watched the students crossing the Quad.

"So, have you made up your mind to represent me?" John asked.

"I'm afraid I have – I'll do it," Jacob said with a heavy sigh. "I have to warn you though, I may be a bit rusty around the courtroom."

"That's okay. I'd rather have a professor who knows the Constitution and American history inside and out than a slick trial lawyer any day. "

"Are you still being watched?"

"Yup. I'm pretty sure the guy sitting against the tree over there to your left has been tailing me today. They seem to change them around every other day or two, so it's hard to be certain."

"What's next in your plan? Are you really going to get yourself arrested?" Jacob asked.

John nodded. "Have you started preparing the petition? I think we should get that drafted and reviewed first. Do you know of someone you can consult with on that?"

"I have a few favors I can call in. You know, I've been thinking – if this works, it's going to upset a lot of apple-carts in Washington. And if it doesn't work, you're going to spend at least a year or two in jail. Are you sure this will be worth the risk?"

"I've made up my mind. The only reason they've been able to get away with this stuff for so long is because everyone's afraid to stand up to them," John replied.

"Okay. You're the client – let's roll," Jacob said with a look of uneasy determination.

Chapter 13 - Trials

"It cannot be emphasized too clearly and too often that this nation was founded, not by religionists, but by Christians; not on religion, but on the gospel of Jesus Christ. For this very reason, peoples of other faiths have been afforded asylum, prosperity, and freedom of worship here." – Patrick Henry

"Justice is turned back, and righteousness stands afar off; for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter. So truth fails, and he who departs from evil makes himself a prey." – Isaiah 59:14-15

John looked over the apartment and reviewed his list. There was still so much to do. His disposable phone chimed and he promptly checked it. The professor was calling.

"This is John," he answered.

"It's me," the professor replied. "The documents are ready and have been reviewed per your request."

"Great – what about the bailbond?"

"That's ready as well. How soon are you going to do this?" Jacob asked.

"Probably tonight, or tomorrow at the latest since I have those days off."

"Okay, I'll make sure I'm available from this point on. Let me know if your schedule changes," Jacob said.

"Sure thing. Thanks again," John said and then he flipped the phone closed.

He sat down on the old sofa he had bought from the second-hand store two days ago. It was nasty looking and old, but it had been cheap, just like all the other furniture he had purchased. He had moved some old clothes and other miscellaneous items like soap, toiletries, and dishes into the apartment yesterday, and he just needed to finish setting it up. He knew it was a waste, but he had also bought some food and other household items to make the place look 'lived in'. He hadn't liked taking out so much cash from his checking account, but he didn't want anything traceable back to his credit cards.

His real residence was still at the Weinstein house, but he didn't want them to get in trouble with anything he was doing. Since he was renting a room from them and got all his mail from a P.O. box, he had no permanent residential address. In fact, as far as Mrs. Weinstein knew, he was on vacation for the next week. He had rented the apartment only a few days before and fortunately they had accepted cash.

The plan was to create a fake cell and get arrested, which would hopefully be the easy part. After he was arrested and then released on bail, he and the professor would have just-cause to file the petition for the injunction against FAAHAD. He just had to make sure it didn't look like too much of a set-up.

The folding chairs leaned against the wall, waiting to be set up for the 'meeting'. A handful of old Bibles were hidden in one of the kitchen cupboards, along with a stack of handouts containing several passages declared to be 'hate' verses. He had hidden the materials as soon as he'd moved in – it wouldn't be good to be arrested before he was completely ready. When he thought about it, he was more bothered about having the Bibles confiscated than him being arrested.

John soon began putting the finishing touches on the apartment. He emptied some of the soap and shampoo down the drain so the bottles wouldn't be completely full, and then threw some of the clothes into the hamper. He left the dirty dishes in the sink and made sure the sponge and soap looked used as well. The only thing missing was the dust and dirt to really make it look lived in, but he figured it was good enough.

When it was nearly seven o'clock, John took one last look around and decided that everything was ready. He took a deep breath and then made up his mind that he might as well get it over with. He knelt down in front of the sofa and then spent the next half-hour in prayer. When he was finished, he set up all seven chairs in a basic circle, put the Bibles on them (opened all to the same passage), and then placed the handouts in each of the Bibles.

He took a small video transmitter out of his pocket, turned it on, and then placed it inside the vent nearest to the door in the living room. He had tested and marked out its location earlier to ensure it would capture the entire room. The receiver was just outside the patio in the bushes for Jacob to retrieve later. With what they were attempting to do, it was better to be safe than sorry, he supposed.

Then he took the disposable phone into the hall outside his apartment door (and outside the range of the recorder's microphone) and called the police.

"911 – what is your emergency?" the dispatcher asked.

"Hey, fifteen minutes ago, I saw a bunch of people going into this apartment in my building carrying some books or something. Then I heard them singing and playing loud Gospel music and now some guy is shouting some hate speech. I can hear him all the way outside!" he said. John tried to speak with as much of a Southern drawl as he could, and he hoped it sounded convincing enough over the phone. "I thought all that Christian stuff was illegal. It sounds like they're having a church service over here!"

"What is the address of the disturbance?"

"Uh, it's 3473 East Mulberry in Decatur, apartment #105. You'd better get here soon before they leave!"

"We'll send a patrol car over immediately. What is your name and how can we contact you?"

"I don't wanna give my name – you know how those right-wingers are. They may come after me with their guns or something!"

"Okay, some officers will be right over," the dispatcher replied.

John closed the phone and walked out to the nearest trashcan. He crushed the disposable phone on the sidewalk and then threw it away, making sure it was under some garbage for safe measure. And then he went back to the apartment and waited for the police.

A few minutes later, he heard sounds outside the door. He took one last look at everything and waited for the police to pound on the door.

"This is the police! Open your door immediately!"

He hurriedly messed up some of the chairs and knocked two of them over, and then opened the patio's sliding glass door to make it look like a couple of people had run out in a hurry. He even made sounds of running footsteps out on the patio before he went to the front door.

"Just a minute!" he shouted as he made some more noise inside the living room.

John looked through the peep-hole and saw two police officers standing outside with angry looks on their faces. He opened the door. One officer was tall and thin, while the other was at least six inches shorter and stocky.

"Yes, may I help you, officer?" John asked.

"We received a call from one of your neighbors saying you're operating an illegal church in your apartment. Mind if we have a look around?" the stockier officer requested.

"Do you have warrant?"

"Under Federal Statute 73721, no warrant is required to search a private residence for hate literature or to disband an illegal assembly gathered to promote hate, intolerance, or public uprisings," the tall officer stated, quoting the statute nearly verbatim.

"So I'd be okay if I had drugs, but not if I have Bibles or a prayer meeting?" John asked with a slight tone of sarcasm. "Are you aware of the Fourth Amendment's protection against unreasonable search and seizure and the First Amendment's protection of the people to peaceably assemble and freely practice their religion?"

"Step aside or you'll be arrested for interfering with a police investigation," the taller officer said.

John then did as he was told and stepped back, allowing them into the apartment. As soon as they entered, the officer who had done most of the talking shook his head. From the chairs, Bibles, and the open patio doors, it was clear what had happened.

"Search the rest of the apartment!" the officer commanded.

"He was stalling us so the rest could get away. They're probably long gone by now," the other replied, walking towards the back bedroom.

"Fine. Bag and tag everything you find," the lead officer ordered, looking over the rest of the apartment. He strode directly over to John and gave him a menacing glare, apparently doing little to contain his disgust for him.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your head," the officer demanded.

John immediately complied and the officer began putting him in handcuffs.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..." the officer said.

John remained emotionless but smiled to himself as his Miranda rights were read to him. Going to a court of law was exactly what he was counting on.

John opened his eyes as he heard thick footsteps approaching his cell. He looked up to see two guards standing outside. His knees ached from praying, even though he was kneeling on a pillow. At least they couldn't arrest him for praying while in jail, he supposed.

"John Carver, you've been released on bail. Please come with us," the guard ordered as he slid back the heavy cell door.

John slowly stood up and then left his cell. He hadn't even been there long enough to be offered a book to pass the time with. He guessed he'd only been there five or six hours, or at least that was how long it felt. The guard began walking towards the front of the detention area while the other fell in behind John.

He was processed at the front desk and then sent to the release area, where he found Professor Burkhart waiting for him. Another guard behind the desk took out an ankle bracelet, keyed in one of the numbers from John's release form, and then came around to the front to secure it to his ankle. John glanced down at his leg and watched as the little red LED on the unit began to blink.

After the guard returned to his desk and continued processing him, John turned to the professor. "What took you so long?" he asked him with a grin.

Jacob smirked. "I filed the petition on the way here, right after I arranged your bail. That's some bank account you have!"

"Yeah, that's next year's tuition and then some. Let's get out of here – jail is no fun."

John waited until they had left the building before he spoke again. "Did you get the recording?" he said in a quiet voice.

"Yeah, I already made copies of it as well; it took longer than I thought it would. That was good thinking, on your part."

"Thanks. It's too bad we can't trust the police anymore."

"You did a good job setting everything up – I was impressed. If you get out of this one, maybe we could come up with another case," Jacob suggested, half-joking.

"No thanks, this will be enough," John replied wryly. "I was arrested and all I got was this flashy ankle bracelet."

But Jacob didn't find it very funny. Soon it would be his turn to get to work.

Jacob sat down with his sandwich next to John in the Quad. It was another beautiful summer's day in Atlanta, and he had news to share. He noticed that John was wearing shorts, apparently not too concerned about showing the tracker strapped to his ankle.

"I received a phone call from a federal judge today – they've decided to hear your case and our petition for an injunction against FAAHAD," Jacob said. "Given how backed up the courts are these days, the judge will hear both at the same court date."

"That's great!" John replied. "When will the hearing be?"

"They didn't say – it could be later this month, or a few months from now."

"What about our request for federal protection?" John asked.

"I'm still waiting to hear back on that, but given the public nature of our case, I feel fairly certain it will be granted."

"That's good. I haven't seen anyone following me since I was arrested. Maybe they've backed off."

"Perhaps, but who knows?"

Jacob looked over at the building at the far side of the Quad. He loved the sights of the elegant marble and stone buildings, with tall oaks and dogwoods scattered in their midst.

"So tell me: how do you honestly feel about all this – getting arrested and going to court and everything?" he asked.

John grinned. "To be honest, I feel like the Apostle Paul demanding to appeal to Caesar."

"Wasn't he convicted and put to death?" Jacob mentioned sarcastically.

"Yeah, but I try not to think about that part of it too often," John replied. "They can't do that yet, can they?"

He glanced over to Jacob, half-joking though unfortunately, half-serious.

Mohammed's phone buzzed three times and he motioned for Najeev to be silent when he answered it. Normally he excluded him from any conversations he had with Hargood, but he was becoming suspicious of Najeev, even though he was an imbecile.

His predominant philosophy in life was: 'Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.' The proverb had served him quite well over the years.

"Yes, sir?" he said.

"Have you heard about what Carver has done?" Hargood inquired angrily. As usual, his voice was scrambled, but his anger was still quite apparent.

"No. We're only watching him every other day or so."

"Well, that's obviously not good enough. He was arrested two weeks ago and now he and his lawyer have filed an injunction against my agency!"

"What? Arrested by who?"

"The police! Who else can arrest anyone? That doesn't matter. The lawsuit is my main concern now."

"What do you want us to do?" Mohammed asked. Najeev wanted to speak, but a glare from Mohammed immediately silenced him.

"Nothing, at least for the moment. He also filed for federal protection, so now he's watched all the time anyway. Maybe continue following him more closely, both him and his lawyer. Let him know you're there but do not have any interaction with him. Perhaps the increased pressure will make him withdraw the suit."

"What about getting to the judge?" Mohammed asked.

"You can forget that – Judge Jameson has an exceptional record. If there was even a hint of a bribe or threat, he'd order a full investigation of us all. Don't even bother following him."

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Know this: if I go down, you're all going down with me! You think about that for awhile, especially before you do something stupid again," Hargood exclaimed and then abruptly closed the connection.

"That went well," Najeev observed as Mohammed put his phone away.

"It seldom does lately."

"I think we should go after Carver anyway – you know, to make him understand again who he's dealing with."

"No," answered Mohammed. "We'll do exactly as Hargood has ordered. I'm tired of him blaming us for everything that goes wrong. And we won't touch Carver's family or his friends either, unless he says to."

"Why? Hargood should let us do what we do best," he complained.

"We'll observe as ordered and nothing else. Now that he's gone public with the arrest and court case, the Feds will be watching him very closely. Not to mention that he could be soon under federal protection, since it's a federal lawsuit. That will make it even more difficult to watch him without being detected."

Najeev shook his head in frustration and left the office.

A month and a half later, the court-case for the charges against John Carver and hearing for the injunction against FAAHAD began.

"All rise," the bailiff ordered, and everyone in the courtroom rose from their chairs. "The Honorable Samuel Jameson will now hear the case of the Federal Agency Against Hate And Discrimination v. John Carver."

The judge nodded to the bailiff and he stepped back to his place near the corner, and everyone sat down.

"Thank you, Bailiff." Judge Jameson pounded his gavel to begin. "This Court is now in session. The Plaintiff may issue their opening statements."

The lead counsel for FAAHAD stood and approached the bench.

"Yes, Your Honor," he replied as he buttoned his suit jacket. "Your Honor, FAAHAD's mandate is to promote peace, harmony, and tranquility among the many diverse groups, cultures, and interests in this nation. We promote tolerance and equality for all, and discrimination against none. However, the one belief principle we cannot tolerate is intolerance, whether it be targeted against a race, sexual preference, gender, marital status, or religion. FAAHAD has been empowered by TIRMA to uproot and dispel any groups that distribute hate-literature, broadcast hate-speech, or promote and spread bigotry. Mr. Carver clearly violated those laws when he was caught conducting a meeting that taught such reprehensible ideas."

"Defense, please make your opening statements," the judge said.

"Thank you, Your Honor," Jacob said as he rose and buttoned his suit-jacket. "Your Honor, we are protesting the unlawful arrest of John Carver as a violation of personal rights and freedoms. We contend that the policies of FAAHAD and their enforcement of the federal 'hate-legislation' statutes have violated his First Amendment rights, specifically the freedom to peaceably assemble and also his Fourth Amendment rights, the protection against unreasonable search and seizure. In addition to overturning the unlawful charges against my client, we have also filed an injunction for FAAHAD to immediately cease and desist all enforcement-related activities which may violate the First and Fourth Amendments of American citizens."

"Very well. Counsel, you have the floor," Judge Jameson said, motioning to the Plaintiff.

"Mr. Carver was found with an abundance of hate-literature in his possession in his apartment, along with indisputable evidence that he was operating an illegal, non-registered church. By Federal Statute 73721, all religious entities – including synagogues, mosques, and churches – must be registered with our agency. During the registration process, a thorough review of the leaders, teachers, and administrators of the entity in question is performed. After the review is completed, a license may or may not be issued, which must be posted at all times on the entity's premises. As part of the registration agreement and license, the entity agrees that a FAAHAD agent may observe their assemblies at any time and conduct impromptu audits for intolerant or anti-government content. This process helps ensure that intolerance, bigotry, and other forms of hate and discrimination are not espoused nor spread in our society, as they so often were in the past."

The lead counsel turned to the judge and continued his argument.

"Your Honor, if the policies that FAAHAD has put in place had been present in Germany in the 1930's, the Weimar Republic could have stopped the spread of Nazism in its infancy. It's well-documented that American Christians in particular are often linked with right-wing extremist groups to frequently protest common-sense laws and government policies. In addition, Christian groups also fight, both in words and in actions, against any individual or group that goes against their antiquated, fundamentalist doctrines and beliefs. The examples of this hate, bigotry, and violence are frequent and numerous, ranging from brutal attacks on the doctors who provide women's health services, GLBT groups, Equality in Marriage supporters, and the like. Many of the recent bombings in our own great nation's capital have been linked to Christian terrorists and similar right-wing extremists."

"Defense, you may respond," the judge said.

Jacob hastily stood up from his chair. "Your Honor, the vast majority of Christians in this country have always been peaceful. In any religion with millions of people in society, there are bound to be handful of extremists. In reality, most Christians lately don't even protest these anti-religious laws! Wasn't it the Christian patriots who played a significant role in freeing this country two-hundred and fifty years ago? We are not here to pass judgment on the subject or contents of Mr. Carver's meeting, but the individual rights of those assembled. In our society today, traditional literature has become controversial. How could we have been freed without the right to peaceably assemble?"

"Objection! Are you saying that our United States government can be likened to that of 18th Century England?" FAAHAD's counsel retorted. "We have a president, but no king, and especially no King George!"

"Overruled," the judge replied.

The Defense continued. "Your Honor, tyranny can come from any nation, legislative body, president, or even a judge. Tyranny comes from those in authority, not the citizenry. And yes, tyranny can even come from Washington – remember the Trail of Tears? When any government agency suppresses the rights of an individual or group, it's tyranny, even if that agency has the best of intentions for the nation as a whole."

Jacob held up a piece of paper and continued addressing the Court.

"Your Honor, the First Amendment is very clear about the right of individuals to peaceably assemble, whether they're Nazis, Communists, Muslims, or Christians. It doesn't matter what they believe, teach, preach, or meet about, as long as they do so peaceably and non-seditiously. In 'DeJonge v. Oregon' in 1937, the Supreme Court overturned the state's conviction against a Communist member and declared that (and I quote), 'peaceable assembly for lawful discussion cannot be made a crime.' Why can an avowed Communist have the right to assemble but not a Christian?"

"Again, more recently in 1978, a federal court ruled in Smith v. Collin that a Chicago suburb had to permit the American Nazi Party to march even through neighborhoods inhabited by 70,000 Jewish residents, many of whom were Holocaust survivors. The federal court held that, 'if these civil rights are to remain vital for all, they must protect not only those society deems acceptable, but also those whose ideas it quite justifiably rejects and despises.'"

"Objection, Your Honor!" FAAHAD's counsel declared. "Those were political groups, not religious ones. Political speech and assembly is protected, but not religious-hate groups!"

"What do you think the Nazi's were, if not both political and religious? Also I'd like to point out that the Nazi Party was a socialist party, not a conservative one. Your Honor, I contend that Nazism and Communism are variants of the religion of secular humanism disguised as political movements," Jacob retorted. "Most Christians were not politically active until the abortion rulings and then the legalization of gay marriage. Both of which they lost in the courts, by the way. Were there riots after those Supreme Court rulings? No, so what is there to fear from the Christians, Counselor – prayer meetings?"

The attorney for FAAHAD fell silent for the moment and uttered no further objections, but both Jacob and John could see him fuming. The first argument had just been won in their favor. But it was only one point in a long match.

John yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was bored, and he had been for weeks. That was perhaps the worst part about being in a federal safe-house: the sheer boredom that seemed to drag on endlessly for day after day.

He seldom left the safe-house now, even though he was sure the Husam wouldn't try anything given all the publicity with the court proceedings. He glanced up at the calendar – it was July 20th. The summer was already half over! Independence Day had come and gone, and he'd been forced to watch the annual fireworks on television. He could hear them in the distance outside, but all the trees blocked any possible view of the annual festivities.

To stay busy (or at least mentally engaged to some extent), he'd been taking advanced writing classes online. He had also started working on a book based on some of his and William's 'adventures'. He was also writing about the trial in his journal. He wasn't sure if he would ever try to have it published, but he wanted to capture the last year in writing while it was relatively fresh in his mind. Besides, he didn't really have anything better to do to pass the time between court appearances.

He was still employed by the hospital though on an indefinite leave of absence due to the trial. He knew it was sad, if not somewhat pathetic, but he missed doing his work there. At least he had felt productive most of the time, even if it involved doing some of the most menial (and sometimes disgusting) of tasks.

He also greatly missed his family in the Cell – he'd not heard any news from them in weeks. Next to the boredom, the loneliness was tough on him as well. Natalie had relocated the meeting place of the Cell soon after their last conversation, and had not told him where. And for their own safety, he didn't want to know, at least not until the trial was over. He had suggested moving their meetings for their own safety before he was taken into federal custody, in case any investigators began searching the hospital for other signs of illegal activity associated with him.

They had been to court several times since the trial had begun, but he still saw Jacob every few days. When he did go out in public, he knew he was being watched, but he never really felt threatened. Jacob had mentioned the same for himself soon after the beginning of the trial. Jacob had even gone to the trouble of having a high-end security system installed in his home.

He had tried to convince Jacob that they should also file a petition for an injunction against the mandatory church registration statutes, but Jacob had thought it would be too much to go after all at once and the judge would just throw it out. Let's just fight one battle at a time, he had said.

Emotionally, John often felt like a pendulum that was constantly swinging back and forth between optimism and pessimism, between hope and futility. The case could go either way.

If they lost the petition against FAAHAD and the charges against him stood, he could face up to three years in jail if they then chose to convict him. Three years of his life would be gone! And that was if he survived prison itself. Islam was now the majority belief system in most prisons, and they often treated Christians worse than rapists and child molesters. He'd heard stories about how guards or even wardens could be easily bought off and look the other way as an inmate was permanently injured or even killed.

But if they won the case, it could change life for Christians throughout the country. The ruling could end up restoring some of their basic freedom to worship.

And that possibility made all the boredom, loneliness, and even the danger worth it.

Mohammed swore furiously in Arabic and slammed his fist on the desk. There must be some mistake – all the money in the Husam accounts had vanished! He checked and rechecked several others, and they too were empty.

Something was happening with Hargood and he needed to find out what. He pulled the handgun from his desk drawer and checked it over to make sure it was loaded and ready.

He rose from his desk and checked outside, tucking the gun into the back of his pants. Ted and Orlando were playing cards near the door, their usual pastime. Jefferson was watching television nearby, and Najeev was on his phone. The others wouldn't be in until later. He didn't have to worry, at least not yet.

He checked the battery on his phone and grabbed a set of keys from his desk and headed towards the door. Ted was about to stand up when he waved him away.

"I have an errand to run. I expect to be back within the hour," he said. Ted and Orlando both nodded and resumed their game. Najeev glanced up at him and continued talking on his phone.

He took one of the larger vehicles parked outside and drove away, in a hurry but not enough to raise an alarm. He checked behind him to make sure he wasn't being followed, and then drove down several side-streets before entering the freeway. He sped south for ten minutes before he took out his phone and dialed the number.

"I've been expecting your call," answered James Hargood. His voice was scrambled as usual, but Mohammed could still detect the tone of anger in his terse greeting.

"Where's all the money?" Mohammed demanded. He was upset, but tried not to let it show as much as he wanted to. Hargood was still his employer, after all.

"I moved it this morning – all of it. Consider the Atlanta-branch of the Husam network and all its activities to be suspended indefinitely, as of this morning."

"How can you do this? You don't even know the outcome of the trial yet," he protested.

"I don't answer to you or anyone! I gave you a job to do and you screwed it up! I'm cutting my losses and covering my trails. You will get no more directives nor funding from me or my office."

"But sir –"

"You should have killed Carver when you had the chance, do you understand me? I told you to make him disappear and you let him live!"

"I can fix it – I'll remove him tonight," Mohammed pleaded.

"No! That would only make things worse – that would turn it from a court case into a full-blown federal investigation! You can't kill someone in federal custody without consequences."

"But surely there must be a way to turn this around or make an example of him. Think of all the work we have done!"

"Fine. If Carver loses the trial and is sentenced to prison, it'll be easy enough to get rid of him in there. But if he wins –" Hargood said, letting the thought trail off. "I may reconsider my decision to terminate your network."

"How do you want me to do it?"

"I don't care. Surprise me!" Hargood declared, and then the line went dead.

Mohammed wiped his sweaty brow. His employer was very well-connected. And given his position in the federal agency, he had immense resources at his disposal. Resources that could make life very unpleasant for those in his line of work. In the underground, loyalty was a rare commodity. And when the money dried up, loose ends were usually eliminated very quickly.

He drove for another fifteen minutes down the freeway, checking his rearview mirror often and changing lanes every half-mile or so. Finally, he exited the freeway, drove for a short time, and then turned around and got back on the freeway.

He quickly glanced down at his phone as he flipped through his contacts list. He found the one he was looking for and he selected the number for his 'resource'. He had only called him once within the last six months, and wasn't looking forward to using him again. The man was very expensive, but he always got the job done. And that's what he needed most right now.

"Hello?" Abdul answered.

"This is Mohammed. I have some business for you to take care of."

Judge Jameson finished reviewing his notes and then glanced over his spectacles at the legal team of FAAHAD.

"The Court is now ready to hear the closing arguments in FAAHAD v. John Carver. Plaintiff, are you ready?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the lead counsel replied as he stood up and buttoned his expensive suit jacket. "Your Honor, FAAHAD's mandate is to promote peace, harmony, and tranquility among all the diverse groups, cultures, and interests in the nation. We promote tolerance and equality for all, and discrimination against none. As stated in our opening statements, the one belief system we cannot tolerate is intolerance. It is for this purpose that FAAHAD was commissioned and we have upheld both our mandates and the law in order to protect the good people of this country."

"The Defense has mentioned the Founding Fathers several times and what they believed in their arguments. But with all due respect, we're a much different country now than two-hundred and fifty years ago," the attorney continued. "Times change. People change. Nations change. Our laws have evolved and we have become much more tolerant than when slavery was the law of the land, when it was perfectly legal for one person to own another human being. We're no longer a nation of ninety-five percent Protestant whites, but very diverse and with much more equality. It is the primary duty and burden of government to keep the peace and privileges for all. And breaking up hate groups such as the one the Defense had organized is very beneficial to our society, even at the cost of his individual beliefs and rights. As we have seen with the Oklahoma City Bombing, September 11th, the Senate Shootings, and most recently the Green Zone Bombings, these groups must be stopped in their infancy, before their terrible plans can be manifested into actions."

The attorney for FAAHAD turned and sat back down in his seat to face the judge.

"Defense, you may proceed with your closing arguments," Judge Jameson replied.

Jacob stood up and thanked the judge, and then faced him directly. He was holding a single sheet of paper.

"Your Honor, if the Founders saw our country today, they would be both ashamed and outraged. They would be ashamed of what we've become as individuals, as a country, and the sheer monstrosity the limited federal government they created has turned into. And then they would write another Declaration of Independence, but not against King George and the Parliament, but against the President and the Congress of these United States, similar to what the great state of Alaska did less than one year ago. They would seek freedom from a government which has grown tyrannical in its quest for the ever-elusive peace and equality for all, at the expense of the individual and personal liberty."

"Regardless of how good our intentions and pure our motives, we cannot charge someone with violating the law due to their beliefs, teachings, or thoughts – the law can only be violated by their deeds and actions. I may have terrible, horrible thoughts towards the Plaintiff, the Congress, or even the President, but until I act upon those thoughts I am not guilty of breaking any written law. The same holds true with speech: I may say 'I wish so-and-so were dead', but I cannot be charged with their murder unless they are actually killed by a specific, proven action on my part."

"The true danger, Your Honor, is not of what Mr. Carver teaches or even believes, but the constantly changing standards and interpretations of the laws by our government agencies and legal system, and how its arm has grown much stronger and longer than was ever imagined, much less intended by our Founding Fathers. Mr. Carver was arrested specifically because of his Christian beliefs and the private practice of those beliefs. The laws he supposedly violated were not restricting any actions on his part, but merely his beliefs and the teachings thereof. The mandates and policies of FAAHAD may have good intentions, but they are still wrong, and completely unconstitutional. Allow me to quote what some of our Founding Fathers said about government, its limited powers, and what they believed concerning the Bible and Christianity."

"'Without morals a republic cannot subsist for any length of time; they therefore who are decrying the Christian religion, whose morality is so sublime and pure and which insures to the good eternal happiness, are undermining the solid foundation of morals, the best security for the duration of free governments.' Charles Carroll, signer of the Declaration of Independence."

"John Adams said, 'Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.'"

"And Alexander Hamilton said, 'I have carefully examined the evidences of the Christian religion, and if I was sitting as a juror upon its authenticity I would unhesitatingly give my verdict in its favor. I can prove its truth as clearly as any proposition ever submitted to the mind of man.'"

"In a May 1765 speech to the House of Burgesses, Patrick Henry said, 'It cannot be emphasized too clearly and too often that this nation was founded, not by religionists, but by Christians; not on religion, but on the gospel of Jesus Christ. For this very reason, peoples of other faiths have been afforded asylum, prosperity, and freedom of worship here.' Later, he said – and I quote – 'It is when people forget God that tyrants forge their chains.'"

"James Madison, the author of the Constitution, declared, 'We have staked the whole future of American civilization, not upon the power of government, far from it. We’ve staked the future of all our political institutions upon our capacity…to sustain ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God.'"

"And lastly, the very Father of our country, George Washington, said, 'To the distinguished character of patriot, it should be our highest glory to add the more distinguished character of Christian.' On another occasion, he said, 'It is impossible to rightly govern the world without God and Bible.' And is it not due to the possession and espousing of this same book that Mr. Carver stands accused?"

Jacob paused and put down the sheet of paper he had been reading from. He looked over at the lead counsel for FAAHAD gravely, and then back to Judge Jameson.

"Your Honor, I could go on and on with quote after quote from our nation's Founders. Christianity has not changed much over the last two-hundred and fifty years – the Bible that John Carver was arrested with is the very same version as was used by the Founders themselves. What has changed is the government and its relationship towards the people it was created to serve. It is clear to me now, Your Honor, that the federal government of these United States seems to be extremely intolerant of traditional Christianity, the very religion our Founding Fathers lived and died for. The government they founded (and its agencies) exists for the security, liberty, and benefit of the people, not the other way around."

"That is all – thank you, Your Honor," Jacob said and then sat back down.

"Thank you, Counsel," Judge Jameson responded. "This court shall reconvene in five days at three o'clock. I will render my decision at that time. The court is adjourned," the judge said as he rapped the anvil with his gavel.

Chapter 14 - Rulings

"All the miseries and evils which men suffer from vice, crime, ambition, injustice, oppression, slavery and war, proceed from their despising or neglecting the precepts contained in the Bible." – Noah Webster

"Finally, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that Day, and not to me only but also to all who have loved His appearing." – 2 Timothy 4:8

The courtroom was silent as Judge Jameson entered from his chambers and sat down behind the Bench. His face was unreadable, as most judges were before issuing a verdict. He nodded to the bailiff, who stepped forward and ordered everyone in the court to rise.

"After much thought and careful consideration, I have concluded that the enforcement policies of the Federal Agency Against Hate And Discrimination have indeed violated Mr. Carver's First Amendments rights, specifically the right to peaceably assemble. Therefore, all charges against Mr. Carver are hereby overturned."

The lawyer from FAAHAD slightly opened his mouth as if to protest the ruling, but the stony look from the judge silenced him before any words could be uttered.

"The right to peaceably assemble is fundamental to any democratic society and must not be abridged, regardless of the beliefs or opinions of the group. As long as the group has assembled peaceably and is not clearly, actively inciting public unrest, that assembly may not be constrained. Therefore the injunction against the Federal Agency Against Hate And Discrimination is hereby granted. Additionally, all enforcement regulations of this agency are to be immediately suspended, pending a full review from this Court," he ordered, and then he concluded his ruling.

The pounding of the gavel was one of the most wonderful sounds that John had ever heard. He turned and thanked Jacob profusely.

"I wasn't sure if we were going to be able to pull it off!" Jacob replied, shaking his head in amazement.

Several observers in the back of the courtroom came forward and congratulated them with words of gratitude and handshakes. A few with them were still partly in shock at the ruling, especially the lead counsel of FAAHAD and their legal team.

"So what happens now?" John asked Jacob as they continued shaking hands with the observers in the courtroom.

"Well, you can be sure that FAAHAD will appeal the case, but the judge's ruling doesn't leave them much room for debate. Rulings on First Amendment violations are still difficult to overturn in the appellate courts. Our arguments are quite sound and they'll have a very difficult time getting another judge to side against us, especially since the violations by FAAHAD were so obvious."

"Does that mean it's over?"

"It is for now, but it's more of a single battle won rather than an entire war. But this was a big step, and you can be sure that others will come forward to help support us."

"That's great!" John exclaimed.

Jacob grinned and agreed. "I think this calls for a celebration – you've been through a lot these past few months."

"It wouldn't have been possible without all those hours you put in. I know you said you were doing this pro-bono, but really, what can I pay you for all your time and effort?"

"Forget about it – I was just glad to be in a courtroom again," Jacob replied. "And winning the first one out of the gate made it all that much better!"

The courtroom began to clear out and Jacob assembled his papers and put them into his briefcase. As they left the courtroom and headed outside. John thought the very air itself smelled of freedom.

The early August weather was terribly hot and sticky, especially in the late-afternoon sunshine. John immediately tugged at his collar, already looking forward to getting out of his dark suit and into cooler clothes. Hopefully tomorrow he would get his ankle-tracker removed. With a momentary frown, he realized that his next semester of school was now only a few weeks away. What a way to spend a summer vacation, he thought.

As they descended the courthouse steps, they found several reporters standing outside, ready to interview them. Thankfully, Jacob stepped between them and John and said that they'd be happy to take questions the following day. One or two reporters pressed him, but he waved them off as he and John began walking towards the parking lot.

John pulled the phone from his pocket – he wanted to call Natalie right away to tell her what had happened with the case. He began looking for her number when he heard someone jogging up behind them. It was another reporter.

"Mr. Carver!" he called out, waving frantically in a final attempt to get a quick comment.

They stopped and Jacob stepped forward to address him. The reporter had a large television camera resting on his shoulder.

"Please, I said we'll take all your questions tomorrow," Jacob replied, holding up his hands in a pleading fashion.

But to his surprise, the reporter abruptly shoved him out of the way and rushed forward towards John. The sudden movement caught John's attention and made him look up from his phone.

And it was in that moment that he saw the sudden, unbridled look of rage on the reporter's face. It was a look of complete and utter fury. A loud, high-pitched whine began to emanate from the camera and rapidly increased in pitch.

John immediately realized what was happening and desperately lunged for the man's camera.

"Get down!" he shouted to Jacob just as the man reached him and John grabbed the camera. He heard the man yell "Allahu Akbar" at the same moment that he was able to push the camera down towards the ground. And then it erupted in his hands.

John's vision flashed white-hot for a brief instant, and then everything went black.

In the moment after John had realized the camera had exploded in front of him, he found himself in a completely different place. The sidewalk and the municipal buildings near the courthouse had all vanished, and he appeared to be in a lush garden, but there were surreal qualities about it. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming, and if he was really in a hospital ward somewhere strapped to a gurney.

There were deep blue skies above him, yet they shimmered slightly, as if they were somehow alive. He looked for the sun, only to realize that there was none shining in the sky, yet the landscape was still bright and well-lit. In the midst of the skies, he could see multitudes upon multitudes of stars that seemed much closer than normal, even though it was as light as daytime. He decided that he certainly must be dreaming.

The garden was serene and peaceful and very welcoming, and he could hear the carefree songs of numerous birds nearby. But they weren't all singing their own tunes haphazardly; they were singing in unison as if they all knew their specific melodies in a grand, unwritten symphony. For a long moment, he closed his eyes so he could completely focus on their song. If this was a dream, it was utterly unlike any he could remember.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he began trying to comprehend the other wondrous sights around him. A gentle breeze swept over the grass and slightly rustled the leaves of the nearby trees. And the trees – how could he have missed the trees? They were perfectly shaped and almost appeared to be sculpted, with their long boughs slowly curving upwards to spread forth their multitude of arms. Their leaves seemed to twinkle softly and glow almost like the tips of the grass, but he couldn't tell if the foliage itself had that luminous quality or if it was from the shimmering sky.

As he gazed around at his new surroundings, he noticed that nearly a hundred feet away was a narrow river lined with fruit trees of a sort he couldn't identify, at least not from where he stood. He began walking slowly towards the river, marveling at everything around him, but he still felt as if he were in a wonderful, magical dream. A dream he never wanted to wake up from.

He approached the tree nearest to him and stopped in awe when he saw the manner of fruit that hung from its many branches. The fruit had a crystalline appearance, being slightly opaque yet somehow luminous from within. The fruit looked so inviting, he could almost feel the tree beckoning him closer to examine it.

He was about to put his hand out towards a low-hanging piece of fruit when he remembered an old story about another magical tree in a garden. He hesitated, and then reluctantly withdrew his hand.

"Do not be afraid, John," he heard a voice say behind him. "You have been granted the right to partake of the Trees."

John turned to find a handsome, seemingly-ageless man with neatly-trimmed, dazzlingly white hair standing behind him. He had a long beard that came down nearly to the top of his chest, but it was well-kept and magnificent. He wore a seamless white robe that was nearly as blinding as his hair and beard, and it was at that moment that John realized that he was wearing a similar robe, but it didn't have the same dazzling qualities as the stranger's.

He took a step closer to the man and then noticed that he was wearing a magnificent, bejeweled crown of pure transparent gold, a crown like none other he had ever seen or could have even imagined. It was the crown that could only belong to the King of Kings. Suddenly, he had the insight that this was all very real, and not merely a wonderful, fantastic dream.

The realization of Who he stood in the presence of overwhelmed him and John pitched forward onto his face in the soft grass, not caring in the least as to how foolish he might appear to the Man or to any others who might be watching. He was trembling with dismay and weakness, but at the same time was not terrified as if from fear or terror.

He stayed facedown in the grass until the King crouched and gently touched his shoulder, bidding him to stand. The instant His fingers touched him, his strength returned and he rose to his feet.

"Welcome to the Kingdom, John, my beloved, faithful servant. I am very pleased with you. There's an old friend who's been waiting for you," Jesus said, smiling at him. And then John realized that He had been smiling all along.

From behind one of the Trees next to the river, William stepped out and began walking towards them, grinning from ear to ear. He was dressed in a robe similar to John's. He could almost read his friend's expression, as if he were saying, "What took you so long to get here?"

But William looked much different than John remembered, though somehow he still knew it was him. All the scars and wrinkles, the marks of age and sorrow and pain had been wiped clean, and his friend appeared without burden nor blemish.

When he came closer, William bowed low to the King and then rose to embrace John, and welcomed him into their Eternal Home. Both were overcome with joy when they saw one another as they were in their new selves, genuine and unmasked from the scars, wounds, fears, and evils of the old world. When they finally stepped back, the King spoke once again.

"William, when you're ready, would you kindly show John to his residence?" He asked. "You'll find that it's very close to yours. And then I believe that John would like a tour of his new Home." When He said 'home', He majestically swept His arm towards the horizon, indicating everything as far as they could see, and then beyond.

Both William and John knelt before the King and remained so for a long moment, until He beckoned them to stand once again.

Jesus gave John another welcome, and then bid them farewell.

Commander Matthew Collins relit his pipe and began puffing in the cool Alaskan air. There was a noticeable chill at night now. Autumn was coming – he could smell it. Of the four seasons, Fall was his favorite.

Overhead in the distance, the brilliant lights of the aurora borealis continued to dance in the early morning sky. Dawn was still three hours away. The black expanse to the north and east shimmered with greens, blues, and faint red streaks.

He yawned tiredly and rubbed his beard. He had neglected to get his usual amount of sleep yesterday, since he had taken his youngest son trout-fishing. His oldest boy – now in Alaska's fledgling Navy – had moved to Alaska over two years before their Independence Day and had finally convinced them to leave the States late last Spring.

At first, he had been unsure of leaving the familiarity and security of the Lower-48, but was now glad that they had. Americans with military experience were in high-demand up in Alaska, especially experienced officers such as himself. And while he missed the warmth (though not the humidity) of southern Florida, he was quickly adjusting to the northern climate.

But so far, it had been very quiet there in the north – he would've expected at least some response from the United States over Alaska's secession, especially after the latest massive discovery of oil and natural gas on the Northern Slope in July.

Alaskans as a whole were optimistic about the future, which was very refreshing after being down in the States for so long – most of his life, as a matter of fact. There was a lot of work to be done in their new nation, but it was worth it.

It felt good to be free again.

His earpiece chimed and he cleared his throat.

"Collins here," he replied as he took another puff.

"Sir, this is Sergeant Williams. Our long-range sonar buoys have just detected three American squadrons leaving Seattle that are quickly heading north!" the reporting officer exclaimed.

He felt the blood drain from his face and he removed his pipe.

"Send it to my phone immediately. I'm on my way back down now. Did you confirm that intel on the satellites yet?"

"Yes, sir – I'm sending that to you as well."

He pulled out his phone and began walking fast towards the door. He pressed a button on the touchscreen and the satellite images appeared. The squadrons were flying in formation; there was no mistaking their intentions.

"Sergeant, go to DEFCON-2 immediately, access-code Beta Gamma Four Seven One Six. Then get President Davidson and his Chief of Staff on the horn," he ordered.

"What do I tell them, sir?"

He paused for a brief moment, and then a look of resolve broke across his face.

"Tell them: 'The Americans are coming! The Americans are coming!'"

Afterword

This story roughly starts in the fall of 2020, the 400th anniversary of the Pilgrims arriving in America in 1620. In fact, if the names 'William Bradford' and 'John Carver' sound familiar, it's because they were two of the founding members of the Plymouth Colony. John Carver was the signer of the Mayflower Compact and the first governor of the colony, while William Bradford was the second.

The Pilgrims left Plymouth on September 6, 1620 with 102 settlers on board. After nearly two months of difficult sailing, they finally sighted land on November 9th. Two days later, the first governing document of the New World was drafted and signed: the Mayflower Compact. The guiding principles of this document – the furthering of the Christian faith, individual liberty, and the establishment of a free society – would lay the early foundation for another famous founding document: the Declaration of Independence.

"In the name of God, Amen. We whose names are underwritten, the loyal subjects of our dread Sovereign Lord King James, by the Grace of God of Great Britain, France and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, etc. Having undertaken, for the Glory of God and advancement of the Christian Faith and Honour of our King and Country, a Voyage to plant the First Colony in the Northern Parts of Virginia, do by these presents solemnly and mutually in the presence of God and one of another, Covenant and Combine ourselves together into a Civil Body Politic, for our better ordering and preservation and furtherance of the ends aforesaid; and by virtue hereof to enact, constitute and frame such just and equal Laws, Ordinances, Acts, Constitutions and Offices, from time to time, as shall be thought most meet and convenient for the general good of the Colony, unto which we promise all due submission and obedience. In witness whereof we have hereunder subscribed our names at Cape Cod, the 11th of November, in the year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord King James, of England, France and Ireland the eighteenth, and of Scotland the fifty-fourth. Anno Domini 1620." – The Mayflower Compact

Though this novel is a work of fiction, many of the subplots are built upon emerging trends and conditions which have already taken root in the United States of America. While the vast majority of American Christians are still free to speak and pastors to preach what they wish, there are strong undercurrents rising to restrict those freedoms. The chains of political correctness will rest heaviest on those who hold to the Bible and speak out against the crumbling morals of our society. And most of these restrictions are coming from our own elected officials under the guise of tolerance and public peace rather than sustaining truth and liberty.

As I see it, the rising tide of religious persecution in America is emanating from several different sources which could peak at the same time, and not too far in the future: unrestrained government growth in spending, scope, and regulation; judicial activism in every level of the courts; widespread apathy among churches, pastors, and Christians; and the unspoken alliance between the Socialist Democrats and the Islamicists.

But could our basic freedoms really become so restricted here in America, the one nation on earth that was founded firmly upon religious freedom and Judeo-Christian principles? Could the First Amendment really be superseded by speech-codes and other forms of political correctness?

Unfortunately, it’s already happening. Many American universities now have some form of speech-codes that prevent students from speaking on certain topics or saying certain words in the name of political correctness and tolerance. Liberal, Progressive, and Statist speakers and professors are free to speak whatever they wish, but their Conservative counterparts are not, who are often either never invited or even pressured not to speak on university campuses.

The future underground American Church becomes more and more of a reality every year, especially during election years. And if the current economic upheavals and unprecedented government expansion worsens, the pace could quickly accelerate and move in unexpected directions. During difficult times, it's quite common for the political class and the media to find or even create a scapegoat in which to blame. Consider Nero and the burning of ancient Rome. In America, is there any group more marginalized today than Bible-believing Christians who hold to traditional American conservative values?

Some of the few remaining pillars of our society which have not yet crumbled are the Bible-believing churches and conservative talk-radio, both of which could be declared illegal by the mere stroke of a pen wielded by an overreaching Judiciary at the federal level. Who could stop them? Surely not the current Congress and the President. And how would half the nation react? With thunderous applause, failing to understand that their own voices will soon be silenced with even more ease by the same means.

The discrimination against Christians and conservatives first became noticeable in the universities, then in the mass-media and then most recently in politics. 'You should keep religion and politics separate!' and 'Separation of Church and State' are the cries of the secularist. Soon it will be present in many jobs (public and private) and at many other levels of society.

The undertones of rising discrimination against Christians were clearly evident in the 2004 election and then grew even worse with the 2008 election and the gay marriage issue. If you even mentioned in passing that you were not voting for President Obama, the media considered you to be a racist or at least have racist leanings. And if you said you support traditional marriage (as it's been known for over 5000 years), you were viewed as a bigot and accused of wanting to deny others their unwritten yet somehow 'constitutional' rights! Now, Christianity is increasingly portrayed as being racist, even though it was Christians who first sought to end slavery and extend civil rights.

Most of these allegations came from the mainstream media, who love to think of themselves as the 'voice of the nation', but are really anything but that. However, of all the various religious groups in the world, the mainstream media is among those who are the most 'religiously unified' – it's just that their religion is Secularism.

How many journalists in the mainstream media today are 'open' Christians? There are none that I can think of nor name at this time, yet the percentage of the American population who say they are Christian or Christian-affiliated is as high as 76% as of 2008. How many are openly Jewish, Muslim, or Mormon? Conservative politicians, not to mention those who are openly or even marginally Christian, are closely watched for the slightest infraction by the media and are often pressured to resign when any such an infraction or misspeak occurs.

Meanwhile, liberal/Progressive journalists and politicians can get away with frequently outrageous, traitorous statements, terrible breaches of ethics, atrocious private behavior, even racist slurs, and scandal after scandal, and yet it's rarely mentioned in the 'free' press. The double-standards are many and glaring, and frequently betray the Statist-leanings of the mainstream media.

Our media frequently sides with the State because it's a symbiotic relationship – they both feed and feed off of the other. Rather than be the public ‘check’ meant to restrain government overreach and abuse, the media has become the unofficial public-relations arm of the federal government. The mainstream media frequently refuses to report or even misreports news that would’ve formerly curbed such behavior in the past. With the resignation of Richard Nixon and the ending of the Viet Nam War, the media realized they could shape public opinion rather than just report the news. And since that time, the media has taken it upon themselves to attempt to determine our political candidates and even our election outcomes.

Unrestrained Government Growth and Regulation

Because of the recent unrestrained deficit-spending and ballooning national debt, America could soon enter a period of hyperinflation and chaos that results in the election of a dictator, or at least a small group of extremely powerful, unelected, unaccountable individuals that steer the nation, rather than the people through their elected representatives. At the time this book was first published, President Obama has more than forty 'czars' who have not been vetted nor confirmed by Congress – and the amount of unaccountable power they wield is staggering. If the looming financial crisis does not occur, then the growing ranks of unaccountable bureaucrats will continue to steadily seize more liberty from individuals by political correctness, regulation, and taxation. The greater the State, the smaller the Citizen.

The Congressional Budget Office estimates that by 2019, the federal government will have to borrow money just to make the interest payments on the national debt. Once that point is reached, the government will either have to default on the debt or begin printing money like never before. More importantly, people's behavior with their money and spending will change dramatically as well in order to protect themselves and secure what remains of their evaporating wealth, as will the relationship between the government and the people.

Think it can't happen to a modern, well-educated democracy such as ours? The old Weimar Republic of Germany is a great example of what can happen to even an enlightened nation when crushed by a mountain of national debt. Germany's transition from a debt-ridden, crumbling republic into a strong dictatorship took less than fifteen years. America went from the idyllic 1950's to the rioting 1960's in a mere five years (1963 - 1968). America went from the world's largest creditor nation in the 1980's to the world's largest debtor nation at the turn of the 21st Century – less than twenty years.

How has such soft-tyranny come to prevail in this freedom-loving country? Largely through the slow, gradual growth in power and overreaching of the federal government and the Courts, along with the negligence and weakening of the States. Many People have chosen security rather than freedom. Few Americans today have heard of the Tenth Amendment, and even fewer know what it says. The Tenth Amendment declares, "The powers not delegated to the United States (the federal government) by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people."

Those who seek to expand the power of their office and/or the government (known as Statists) always find the weakest link in the system and exploit it. The Statists will always gain ground against the conservatives, because their primary goal is to increase the size and scope of the State, while Conservatives seek to reduce it. Today, does our citizenry want more 'free' public benefits or less? And how can such benefits be given without taking property from someone else?

Tragically, the United States republic has become more of a democracy than a republic. What distinguishes a democracy from a constitutional republic is primarily the Rule of Law – democracy is essentially mob/majority rule while a republic is the rule of the majority without mistreating the minorities. In a republic, your wealth cannot be voted away like it can be in a democracy. What today can prevent Congress from voting your wealth away with the stroke of a pen?

Under the Constitution that we (via our ancestors) ratified, the federal government has no right to determine our healthcare, our energy policies, our food and 'drug' regulation, our firearms, and so on. Granted, it may be beneficial for them to determine such policies, but they have no written, explicit right to them in the Constitution. The federal government simply does not have those powers – those are explicitly left up to the States, or to the people. But since no other government entity has the means nor the fortitude to halt these encroachments, the federal government continues its unrestricted expansion and seizure of state authority and personal liberty.

When States mismanage their revenue and then beg the federal government for financial assistance, Uncle Sam is more than happy to help bail them out, because with the money comes federal rules and regulations – the borrower always becomes the slave of the lender, just as Solomon declared in the Proverbs. If the States want more freedom from the federal government, they must cease asking for handouts and reassert their independence in their fiscal and regulatory responsibilities.

The Founders had always intended for the individual States to hold most of the political power, not the federal government. James Madison in Federalist Paper 45, said, "The powers delegated ... to the federal government are few and defined. Those which are to remain in the State governments are numerous and indefinite. The former [or federal power] will be exercised principally on external objects, [such] as war, peace, negotiation, and foreign commerce. ... The powers reserved to the several States will extend to all the objects which, in the ordinary course of affairs, concern the lives, liberties, and properties of the people."

But that 'war' was fought (and lost) during the Civil War, and then the final 'treaty' in that war was signed when the Seventeenth Amendment was ratified, which declared that the Senators were to be elected by the people of a State rather than determined by the State legislatures or governors. With that single amendment, the States effectively ceded much of their sovereignty over to the federal government, making them little more than large groups of people instead of independent governing entities which had their own distinct voices, sovereignty cultures, and powers in the Union. The United States of America in essence became the United STATE of America.

Judicial Activism in Our Courts

The overreaching Judiciary – not the Legislature or the President – is the entity which has foisted abortion rights, the banning of prayer in our taxpayer-funded schools/public square, and the removal of the Ten Commandments upon America. We the People have not been given a vote on any of these issues, and what laws there were concerning them have been overruled and overturned by activist judges. The greatest constitutional threat to the United States is not from the Congress nor the President, but from the Judiciary.

Once appointed to office, most judges (especially federal judges) have few restraints on their power, not to mention that of judicial review in the federal system – being able to declare any law as 'unconstitutional' – regardless of the peoples' wishes. Even more astounding, recently several state courts have issued orders to the Legislative and Executive branches to create laws and/or policies to fit their rulings. No judicial bench in America has this authority, yet some judges are seizing that power.

In their search for the 'weakest link' in the bonds of society, the secularists have discovered that by frequently shouting the improper and overused 'Separation of Church and State' charge, they can often force their adversaries to surrender by the mere threat of a lawsuit, since we have no 'loser-pays' tort system. The secularists know the law and understand that they would lose most of those cases if they ever made it to a courtroom, but with the tremendous costs of lawyers and court trials, the defendants usually find it much more cost-effective to settle out of court, or just surrender and remove the 'offending' sign, statue, or plaque. The secularists win easily nearly every time, and without ever having to go to court.

The weakest link in the Constitution has always been the Judicial branch, in which there is no explicit check-and-balance on the Judiciary other than appointment by the President then confirmation by the Senate, and the organization of the appellate court system by the Congress. Thomas Jefferson and James Madison both recognized this fatal flaw in the Constitution when Marbury v. Madison was decided, and the principle of Judicial Review took hold.

However, the Judicial branch can still be reined in by means of one or more constitutional amendments, which is covered more in depth in the Appendices. Americans and our legislatures merely need to find the will to stand up and demand such amendments be ratified to take back control of our laws from the courts.

Widespread Apathy Among Churches, Pastors, and Christians

The tepid, lukewarm, Laodician Church which is so prevalent throughout America today is the reason that most Americans would rather watch sports or go shopping on Sundays instead of attending church. If your pastor or church doesn't take a moral stand for anything, what's the point of listening to them? Isn't it cheaper and more fun to take a self-improvement course, buy a self-help book, or have some family time? When the churches actually stood for something, is it any wonder why there were so few self-help books?

The churches are the compasses of a country, and the pastors are the compasses of the churches. If our country is heading in the wrong direction, could it be that many of our pastors are heavily compromised due to their constraining church budgets, demanding social programs, and leadership councils which seem more interested in spreading tolerance than spreading the Gospel?

When I read my Bible, I don't see any passage that talks about needing buildings for a church, music programs, and staying relevant to the culture. While those facilities may be nice, aren't they serving the creature-comforts of the members more than really spreading the Gospel? And at what point do those comforts hinder the ministry of the church?

In the New Testament, all I see with regards to church organization and structure are the directives to spread the Gospel to all the world, to have one or more shepherds/pastors lead a church, and a set of elders or deacons to maintain order within the local body. Did the Gospel spread faster and have a more lasting impact when the churches met in peoples' houses in small intimate groups or in big cathedrals with large solemn congregations?

As Christians, we are directed to be invaders of the society in which we find ourselves – invaders for Christ and His teachings of loving God and loving our neighbors. The Gospel is to be offensive in nature, not defensive. Did Jesus tell His disciples to go out into the world and make disciples of all men (invade the culture) or did He tell them to set up grand meeting houses and invite the culture in (let the culture invade the church)? We are called to invade, not invite!

Concerning pastors and their congregations, do the sheep tell the shepherd where they'd like to eat, drink, and sleep, or is it that for the shepherd to decide? If the sheep refuse to obey the shepherd and would rather spend the night with the wolves, what more can a shepherd do?

In his battle to unite and enflame the Colonies, Samuel Adams regularly railed against complacent pastors who did little to associate liberty with religion, and their sleepy congregations. He properly understood that when religious principles are watered down from the pulpits, liberty is soon lost from the public square. If a people or a nation is to remain free, they must remain firmly grounded on religious, self-governing principles.

William Penn declared on January 3, 1701, “If we will not be governed by God, then we will be ruled by tyrants." And three hundred years later, that is precisely the case: we are being governed by tyrants (though they may be 'soft' tyrants) who tell us private citizens what we cannot do, say, and even think. Why? Because those who comprise our government, as well as we who put them into office, have chosen not to be personally governed by God.

One of the worst trends in Christendom today is the watering down, if not downright tolerance of sin. Many pastors avoid calling sin for what it is and therefore those in their flocks are plagued with moral ambiguity on the simplest of matters. And the less such evils are decried, the more the church begins to look like the society in which it resides, until there is little to distinguish one from the other except for the shape of the building and a sign out front.

If American liberties are to be saved, the revolution must begin in our churches, just as it did over two hundred years ago in the days of the Great Awakenings.

The Unspoken Socialist-Islamic Alliance

By far the most unlikely and surprising of the societal trends in the West is the unspoken, unwritten alliance between the Socialist Democrats (typically Leftists/Statists) and the global Islamic movement. In all the alliances of the world, this partnership certainly must be one of the most peculiar, most self-destructive arrangements.

In nearly every belief and principle, the Socialists and Islamicists are diametrically opposed to one another, from basic women's rights, to freedom of religion, to freedom of speech, and to even basic commerce. The only principle that unites this unlikely pair is that they seek to subvert and transform free nations and place themselves in complete charge of the State.

Socialism is the complete unification of Secularism and the State, while Islam is the complete unification of Mohammedism and the State. Both are totalitarian at their core, and both eventually collapse if left to themselves. In either society, there is little true freedom of speech and freedom of religion. Woman are more free under socialism, but only until they decide they want to have more children than the State allows, or they decide they would rather stay at home and school their children instead of giving them over as wards of the State.

Islam can almost be considered to be a crude form of Socialism draped in religious garb (probably a burqa), since the State still ends up controlling everyone's lives. Under Socialism, there's no separation between Atheism and the State, while in Islam, there's no separation of Mohammedism from the State.

Today, the Socialist Democrats (via their environmental/energy policies) have forced America to get her energy from Islamic nations such as Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Libya, among others. Of these nations, Saudi Arabia is adept at funding many of America's more liberal universities and programs, and thereby influences the curriculums of our universities, which then produce our energy policies, cultural programs, and primary education curriculum. One hand feeds the other. The traditional Democrat Party died in Viet Nam, when the radicals of the Sixties invaded the party.

Both radical Islam and Socialist Democracy are parasitic in nature – both find and feed on a wealthy, free, host society and transform it from the inside out. The transformation is usually rather slow and gradual, at least at first. Socialist Democracy collapses a society with class-warfare, runaway public debt, and moral anarchy while Islam uses civil chaos and barbarism to achieve the same outcome. But when both work within the same society simultaneously, the transformation can be quite rapid and astounding, as we are seeing in Western Europe and Great Britain.

When Islam and Socialist Democracy run their course (as will soon occur in Western Europe), they in turn will attempt to devour one another. However, Islam typically wins that final battle because its followers are motivated by their moral beliefs, rather than materialism and creature-comforts. In the war between those who fight for ‘Paradise’ versus those who fight for free healthcare and long vacations, who will usually win?

Interestingly enough, the surest antidote for both societal poisons of Islam and Socialist Democracy is a return to biblical Christianity and individual self-government.

America's Uncertain Future

What will America's outcome be? If current trends continue, the United States will descend into just another debt-ridden, unstable Western socialist democracy, on the order of other once great but now floundering nations such as Great Britain, Spain, Germany, and France. Since the United States today is the world's lone 'superpower', Washington and New York are the top two cities on all the hit-lists of America's enemies – remember September 11th?

In the Scriptures, I find no place that even hints of America's existence, much less being that of a superpower, in the End Times other than in one solitary, sobering place: Ezekiel 39:6 - "And I will send a fire on Magog, and among them that dwell carelessly in the isles: and they shall know that I am the LORD." Is there any better way to describe many Americans today better than "dwelling carelessly"?

Another sobering study to undertake is to examine how nations are 'blessed and cursed' with regards to how they treat the Jews and the nation of Israel. In Genesis, God explicitly promised Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (later known as Israel) that He would bless those that bless thee, and curse those that curse thee. And since that promise was made, nations rise and are sustained when they bless the Jews, but wither and fall when they curse the Jews.

Would London have been bombed and the British Empire have suffered so terribly in WWII if the British kept their promises to the Jewish settlers, or at least given them the right to defend themselves when settling the land? The British made it a capital crime for the Jews to own firearms in Palestine, but not the Arabs. Would Great Britain be in her crumbling state of decay today if her churches, pastors, and people stood by Israel rather than side with the rest of Europe and the Arabs?

And what of America? Since Israel's independence in 1948, America has nearly always stood by her and defended her, in spite of its 'costs' to us. But with the election of President Obama, he has turned against the Jewish state and America now actively negotiates on behalf of the Palestinians, rather than simply being the mediator as in the past. When our President takes the side of those who wish to regularly murder innocent Jews and who desire to push all Israel into the sea, how can America not be cursed for electing such a President?

The economic and defense policies of our elected officials have ensured the weakening of the United States at a time when leadership, strength, and resolve are needed more than ever before. While unstable nations with tyrannical rulers (North Korea, Venezuela, China, and Iran, just to name a few) are rising and rattling their sabers, the United States (by way of President Obama's leadership) is retreating from the world stage and focusing inward on domestic agendas such as cap-and-trade, green-energy, banking reform, and nationalized healthcare.

Nationalized healthcare sounds wonderful, but it tips the delicate balance between the Individual and the State far to the side of the State. There are several simple ways to reduce healthcare costs such as the allowing of interstate health insurance, tort-reform, adoption, and expansion of health-savings accounts. But the politicians don't want those solutions because that would empower the Individual rather than the State. Nationalized healthcare transforms individuals into mere subjects of the State, because the government then has the authority to determine who receives tests and treatments and in essence, who will live and who will die. Do the unborn, newborn, and elderly benefit the State? Not in the eyes of the Bureaucracy, and therefore those people are not nearly as important to treat as the Worker/Taxpayer. Do you like to be thought of as a Person or as a Worker? This is clearly not the America most of us grew up in.

But how will America make the next transition from a mild-disdain of Christians to outright hatred or persecution? It's difficult to say, though the education system, the mass-media, and politicization of all issues across all levels of society have ensured that such persecution will one day become a reality. The gay-marriage issue exposed the rage and hatred that many on the Left have towards traditional, peaceful, church-going citizens, and much more about how they feel about churches that actually stand up for common-sense, Biblical principles. At this point in time, we're allowed to privately speak and teach as we wish, but increasingly forbidden to speak out and protest in the public square.

If the trends continue as they are, the road to Christian persecution in America will be in a series of tiny steps, by issue after issue, usually slow, but sometimes very fast. Since the early 1980's with the rise (and then sudden collapse) of the Moral Majority, the Left has understood that the sleeping Christians in America can be a formidable political force once awakened and galvanized, and therefore must be rendered comatose, divided, and ineffective.

Behold, He Stands at the Door and Knocks

Where is God in all this? Why is God allowing these changes to happen in America? From His Perspective, America has repeatedly asked Him to leave us alone and let us govern ourselves, much to the contrary of the Founding Fathers. John Adams said, "We have no government armed with power capable of contending with human passions unbridled by morality and religion. Avarice, ambition, revenge, or gallantry, would break the strongest cords of our Constitution as a whale goes through a net. Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other."

In a May 1765 Speech to the House of Burgesses, Patrick Henry declared, "It cannot be emphasized too clearly and too often that this nation was founded, not by religionists, but by Christians; not on religion, but on the gospel of Jesus Christ. For this very reason, peoples of other faiths have been afforded asylum, prosperity, and freedom of worship here."

If the 'house of America' was built upon the foundation of strong Judeo-Christian principles and then the society later seeks to destroy that very foundation, won't the entire house inevitably, completely collapse? What would happen to your own house if you began tearing out its very foundation while trying to keep the house itself from collapsing?

Another reason God may be allowing America and much of the world to become seemingly unraveled is the 'gathering of the wheat and the tares.' In Matthew 13, Jesus tells the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares, and states that the tares (unbelievers or false-prophets) be allowed to grow up and mature alongside the wheat (or the believers) until the end of the age. As time draws closer to the end, the wheat and the tares will be separated and then bundled separately. The distinctions between good and evil will grow more evident, and the good will become better, while the evil will become worse. It may very well be that believers and unbelievers are being grouped in preparation for the End Times.

For much of America's history, Judeo-Christian values (or at least an acknowledgment of) reigned supreme. People regularly attended church whether they were Christians or not. But in the 1960's, the American society began to change, and people who had no interest in the Bible or Christianity began living 'more honestly' as they saw it and stopped infesting the churches. The 'tares' began to separate themselves from the 'wheat'.

The individual believers and unbelievers in the Church began to be 'winnowed', along with whole churches and entire denominations. As a result, many of the older, more historical churches are dying off, while new, more vibrant ones are taking their place, though many with little pomp and grandeur of the old churches. Picture the majority of American churches of the past as being in various shades of gray, with only a handful being black (staunchly liberal) or white (staunchly Bible-believing).

With the 1960's radicalism, abortion rulings, and the gay marriage issue, the 'gray' churches are quickly being winnowed and pushed to one side or the other. And at some point, the liberal churches will differ little from the radicalized society, and side with the predominant culture against the Bible-believing, conservative churches, calling them 'hate-filled', 'bigoted', or 'extremist'.

And depending on how far the modern liberals (who are not really 'liberal' at all, but rather Statist or Leftist in nature) seek to push their radical egalitarianism and hate-legislation, the portion of the American church that's still faithful could very well end up being driven underground.

If and when persecution does come to fruition in America, to where can we Christians flee but out to the mission-field or underground in our own land? In Europe when secularism took hold and later religious persecution occurred, many fled to the United States or to other less developed countries. But if America really turns against us, we Christians will have few places in the world left for sanctuary.

Some readers may find the idea of Alaska seceding from the United States (as told in the story) offensive or perhaps even ludicrous. However, the intention wasn't to upset or offend or even suggest that Alaska should break away, but to contrast a state whose people are more self-sufficient than most Americans are today and who value freedom and liberty more than their security and public benefits.

As Benjamin Franklin so aptly declared, "Where liberty dwells, there is my country!" If liberty fails in America, where can we go?

Is there still hope to turn back the tidal waves of secularism and humanism from completely drowning America? Most certainly! But the 'culture war' will not be won in the ballot boxes or in the streets or on the protest platforms, but in our prayer closets.

Ephesians 6:12-13 declares, "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places."

2 Chronicles 7:14 states, "If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land."

We Christians should continue to speak out against the growing cultural rot in truth and love, protest and petition our government when necessary, and vote for the candidates that best represent our personal values. There is simply no excuse for American Christians to vote for pro-death, anti-American, anti-Christian candidates – someday when we stand before Christ, we will be held accountable for our selections at the ballot-box.

But more importantly than any of those, we should pray. And we should never cease praying.

Appendices

The Missing Constitutional Amendment

In their long War Against Religion, what the Left and the secularists often fail to accomplish through the Legislative and Executive branches of government, they nearly always succeed in the Judiciary. Over time, conservatives and Christians are gradually being denied the same rights and privileges that are granted to other political and religious groups.

In this story, the judge 'came to the rescue' in the name of John Carver's First Amendment rights, but the growing trend in the Judiciary today is for the Bench to side with the State. Most judges are secularists first, judges second, and Americans last.

The overreaching Judiciary – not the Legislature or the President – gave America abortion rights, the banning of prayer in our taxpayer-funded schools, and the removal of the Ten Commandments in the public square. The greatest constitutional threat to the United States is not from the Congress nor the President, but from the Judiciary. How is it today that Christmas decorations are declared as being too religious for the public square while Ramadan, Hanukah, or even Kwanza displays are deemed as simply adding more diversity and flavor to the culture? Such rulings most-often come from unaccountable judges, not elected legislatures.

By frequently shouting the improper and overused 'Separation of Church and State' charge, the secularists seek to ensure that religion plays absolutely no role in government, especially traditional American religion. Through tax laws and hate-legislation, the government now plays an increasing role in deciding what churches and religious organizations can and cannot say, ranging from endorsements or criticisms of politicians to the basic issues of abortion, abstinence, homosexuality, and gay marriage.

But the simplest, most sweeping ways the secularists strip America of her religious heritage is through the Courts.

If America doesn't devolve into a dictatorship, it'll turn into a de facto Judiciary, in which the Court system will be the ultimate authority in the land, not the people. The Supreme Court, the federal courts, and the state courts increasingly decide which laws are constitutional, which candidate actually won an election, and which wars and military actions are 'appropriate' and/or 'legitimate'.

Once appointed, judges at any level have few restraints on their power, not to mention that of judicial review in the federal system – being able to declare any law as 'unconstitutional' – regardless of the peoples' wishes. Even more astounding, recently several state courts have issued orders to the Legislative and Executive branches to create laws and/or policies to fit their rulings. And because no legislature or governor wants to retaliate and create a 'constitutional crisis', the power of the courts continues to expand. Again, the corrupted media sides against the politicians who threaten their power and place in the State.

The weakest link in the Constitution has always been the Judicial branch, in which there is no explicit check-and-balance on the Judiciary other than appointment by the President then confirmation by the Senate, and the organization of the appellate court system by the Congress. Thomas Jefferson and James Madison both recognized this fatal flaw in the Constitution when Marbury v. Madison was decided, and spoke out against the Court.

The addition of a simple, straightforward amendment would restore the constitutional balance of power between the three branches of government and restrain the Judiciary to its proper bounds:

"The decision of any federal court may be overturned by a two-thirds majority vote in both the House and the Senate.  Any federal court justice may be removed from office by a two-thirds majority vote of the Senate and the consent of the President."

The United States from its inception is a constitutional republic and is ruled both directly and indirectly by the people, not unaccountable judges. A judge only has the authority to decide whether the case before them is based upon the written law, not to decide the validity of the law itself. The legislatures create the laws, and the judges test the laws as they relate to the people. If and when a law is bad, it's up to the people via their legislatures – not the appointed judges – to remedy the law.

How much different would our American society look if such a critical check and balance existed in the Constitution? Would we have abortion rights? Possibly, but only in the states in which the people voted to have it be so. Would we be able to read the Ten Commandments in our public squares? Probably in a handful of states and cities. Would our children be allowed to say a short prayer before graduations and football games? Most likely. America would look much more like our Founders had envisioned.

Another reasonable constitutional amendment to rein in the Courts would be to define a specific time-limit or term-limit in a judicial office. Would our Founders really have made the appointments to the Bench to be lifetime if they knew the Justices would be serving thirty, forty or even fifty years in office with little chance of ever being removed, regardless of their behavior and rulings?

How about we set the term-limit for the Supreme Court justices (and all other federal judges) to be a maximum of twenty years and then they must retire? Such an amendment would also limit the possibility of a President attempting to 'pack the Court' as FDR did, which had profound effects upon the American civilization and culture after the 1940's.

Without these two amendments to restore the proper checks upon the Judiciary, in the future it may not matter who the President or the Governors are, nor the Congressmen we elect, nor the laws our elected representatives pass. The Nine in Black and their appellate counterparts will have final – and completely constitutional – authority.

America’s Spiritual Tides

Just as every house must have a firm, solid foundation upon which to stand, so must every nation if it is to endure. And the elemental foundations of every nation are common virtues, common laws, common traditions, and typically a common language.

When the United States was only a fledgling confederation of English colonies, upon what was this foundation constructed? What forged these various and diverse peoples into a single nation? From the first colonies established on the shores of the East Coast and Massachusetts Bay, the consistent ambition of the colonists was to establish a land in which the Christian religion could be freely practiced and the spread of the Gospel would be unrestrained and undiluted by government. Later, many more colonists came to breathe the refreshing air of the personal liberty and freedom the Colonies offered to all who came to the shores of the New World.

For the next one hundred and fifty years after the colonists began to stream toward America, the Colonies remained loyal to Great Britain. And though there were grumblings from time to time, they remained on peaceful terms with their mother country. But early in the 1750's, something began to change. A cultural shift began to occur.

Before any visible, outward shift is manifested in a nation or culture, an invisible yet profound spiritual shift must occur first. The spiritual shift which occurred twice in America's early history was the Great Awakening, which spurred America into the Revolutionary War and then again in the Second Great Awakening, which culminated in the Civil War. In the previous century, there were two more spiritual shifts: that of evolutionary philosophy and its immediate offspring, secular humanism. These two latter shifts pushed the character of America closer towards that of Europe and away from her Founders, who had rejected and abandoned European philosophy, thought, and society to start a new country: a free country based upon God and the Rule of Law, not the Rule of Man.

In the first Great Awakening of the 1740's through the 1760's, the Gospel and the teachings of the Bible rang throughout the Colonies. People in the tens of thousands heard the Good News and repented and were spiritually reborn. Homes were renewed, parents were changed, families were altered, and children were raised with the wisdom of the knowledge of the Bible and what God expected of a decent, orderly society and a free people who wished to remain free.

The spiritual heritage produced by the Great Awakening eventually led to the cry for independence from an ever-encroaching British King and Parliament indifferent to the Colonies. The King, Parliament, and the British people began to consider the Colonists to be their subjects rather than their fellow citizens. And when this spiritual heritage had matured, it led to the Revolutionary War and then later gave birth to the Constitution, which this country has maintained ever since.

The Second Great Awakening of the 1800's to the 1840's eventually propelled the nation into the Civil War, the most divisive, bloodiest war America has ever experienced. Brothers fought against brothers, families against families, and neighbors against neighbors. And yet the country endured, recovered, and then prospered, unlike most nations that are overtaken by civil war.

The third spiritual change in America was more gradual and subtle, which began in the 1870's in the universities and then migrated to the secondary schools and eventually into the primary schools: the teaching of the Theory of Evolution. But the philosophy of Evolution would have never taken root if it had not first been accepted by so many English and American churches, predominantly those in the more-liberal spectrum that migrated from Britain and Europe. In many other churches, the issue was left unanswered and then ignored, in the hopes it would simply fade away.

Once the teachings of the Theory of Evolution had matured and sufficiently spread to the universities and schools, it began producing fruit, namely secular humanism, atheism, communism, Nazism, fascism, abortion, and environmentalism, just to list a few. One of the first practical actions of communists when taking over a country is to permeate evolutionary teaching through all the primary and secondary schools. And why shouldn't they? If the children grow up believing that the Highest Authority is not God or the Creator, then the Highest Authority must be the State or the Dictator.

Again, I quote William Penn and Patrick Henry: "If we will not be governed by God, then we will be ruled by tyrants" and "It is when people forget God that tyrants forge their chains." These statements become more profound as the vast cultural changes in this country are considered. Since we in America have rejected God, who must we then be ruled by? Other men or human entities who most often turn into tyrants as they grow in authority and power.

Whenever a person, culture, or nation loses their faith, it's nearly always in the same three steps, similar to how Satan led Eve astray in the Garden of Eden: Doubt in God's Word, then Denial of God's Word, and then Deification of Man (or Self). The teaching of Evolution caused the West to doubt the Bible, was soon followed by outright denial of the Bible and its teachings, and then eventually brought about the deification of man: secular humanism.

Over the last hundred years, but especially starting in the 1960's, secular humanism has risen to push Christianity out of the public square and relegate it to a minority of churches. Just before the turn of the Twentieth Century, the Supreme Court emphatically declared that the United States of America was an unabashedly Christian nation. Less than eighty years later, that same Supreme Court declared that secular humanism was now the national religion of the country. America became a different nation in less than two generations.

What happened in America to cause such an incredible shift in such a short time?

The short answer is that the Left (or the Statists) essentially took over the nation's education system at the university level during the 1960's. Their philosophy is that the State, not the individual people who comprise the State, is of the utmost importance – the individuals only exist for the benefit of the 'collective'. Their doctrines then permeated through the rest of the education system from primary school upwards, and now saturate nearly all facets of the American society. Television, newspapers, and much of the mass media further propagate and reinforce the liberal principles espoused in the universities, which today are little more than sacred temples of secular humanism.

The Marxist Antonio Grasci postulated that the West could only be de-Christianized by what he termed 'a long march through the institutions': the cinemas, theaters, schools, universities, seminaries, and the news agencies (along with television and radio). In order for the goals of secularism/statism to be made permanent, every institution that made the Western culture what it was would have to be changed from the bottom up, rather than just at the government level.

Following in Grasci's footsteps, Hitler declared, "Let me control the textbooks and I will control the state", and the Humanists, Statists, and Leftists of the Twentieth Century understood that as well, and have almost accomplished just that. In less than twenty years, America turned from nominal Christianity to fully embrace secular humanism: the worship of man.

Where and why did America take such a 'hard-left' turn in all of our public institutions?  In the 1960's – Robert Bork's "Slouching Towards Gomorrah" explains in depth what happened at the time: the pounding waves of radical individualism and radical egalitarianism finally burst through the dams of moral and cultural restraint. Yet the foundations for the rebellion of the 1960's were laid much earlier in the century, though they were held in check by WWI, the Great Depression, and then WWII. The prosperity and comforts (and therefore cultural laxity) of the 1950's were immediately followed by the cultural upheavals of the 1960's.

What happens when a generation of people who had little but was required to give much (the WWII generation) is immediately followed by a generation that had been given much yet had very little required of them? The generation that was given much takes that hard-won prosperity for granted and becomes extremely self-centered, and then licentiousness (traditionally known as 'sin') becomes widespread.

Proverbs 14:34 declares, "Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people."

At the root of all our nation's problems (and all the other nations, in fact) is the sin of its individual people. For example, when men abandon their families or a couple has a child out of wedlock, the government is often looked to in order to provide assistance for the mother and child. Government takes on the role of the 'father' or 'provider' rather than the man and therefore must grow to assume its new responsibilities and expenses.

The welfare policies of the federal government since the time of the Great Society have all but destroyed poorer minority families, especially those living in the inner cities. If Uncle Sam offers to pay unmarried women more money a month than her boyfriend makes, then why would it make sense for her to marry him? And when more money is offered for each out-of-wedlock child, then isn't that simply encouraging her to have more children and never marry? And as the children grow and mature in that environment, how can they break the cycle of poverty and dependency when that's all they've ever known?

America's problems had been insignificant (compared to today's problems) when most people self-governed and self-regulated themselves and held a healthy reverence for the Ten Commandments. But with the overstepping of the Courts, those same Ten Commandments aren't even allowed to be displayed in the public square, whether the people want them there or not. The very antidote for the poison infecting our nation has been outlawed.

If self-restraint and basic morals cannot be posted in the public square nor taught in the classroom, how can any child be expected to consistently learn them outside their home, much less put them into everyday practice when they're teenagers and then later adults?

James Madison declared, "We have staked the whole future of American civilization, not upon the power of government, far from it. We’ve staked the future of all our political institutions upon our capacity…to sustain ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God."

Also, Noah Webster said, "All the miseries and evils which men suffer from vice, crime, ambition, injustice, oppression, slavery and war, proceed from their despising or neglecting the precepts contained in the Bible."

Today, when those very same Ten Commandments cannot be taught in our schools, displayed on our monuments, nor even uttered by our teachers, what sort of future will we and our descendants have other than in tyranny and bondage? We all have a choice: submit ourselves to the unchanging laws of God, or to the ever-changing, often tyrannical laws of man.

The current upheavals in the American society can be further boiled down to the conflict between those who hold to the nation's foundations based upon the Creator versus those who want to change the foundations to be based upon those of Man. And then in the end, it comes down to which value system does the nation hold in greater regards: the rights of the Individual (as granted to all by the Creator) or the rights of the State (as granted by fellow Man).

When the Individual refuses to govern themselves, they essentially cede their rights of self-governance to the State, such as when they break the law. And this is what has been happening at every level of Western society – person by person, family by family, city by city, state by state, and in country after country.

And like any war, there cannot be peace until one side achieves complete victory over the other.

"If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?" – Psalm 11:3(NKJV)

Our Founding Fathers

Was America ever really a Christian nation? Modern scholars may protest that we never were, declaring the nation's Founding Fathers to be mostly Deists and such. But rather than brazenly declaring "we know better now", let's read what a few of the Founders actually said and wrote about what they both believed and knew to be true.

"Without morals a republic cannot subsist any length of time; they therefore who are decrying the Christian religion, whose morality is so sublime and pure (and) which insures to the good eternal happiness, are undermining the solid foundation of morals, the best security for the duration of free governments." – Charles Carroll, signer of the Declaration of Independence.

"We have no government armed with power capable of contending with human passions unbridled by morality and religion. Avarice, ambition, revenge, or gallantry, would break the strongest cords of our Constitution as a whale goes through a net. Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other." – John Adams

"I have lived, Sir, a long time, and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth–that God governs the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without His notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without His aid?" – Benjamin Franklin

"In the beginning of the contest with Britain, when we were sensible of danger, we had daily prayers in this room for Divine protection. Our prayers, Sir, were heard, and they were graciously answered… do we imagine we no longer need His assistance?" – Benjamin Franklin, at the Constitutional Convention, Thursday June 28, 1787

"Freedom is not a gift bestowed upon us by other men, but a right that belongs to us by the laws of God and nature." – Benjamin Franklin

"Man will ultimately be governed by God or by tyrants." – Benjamin Franklin. In Benjamin Franklin's 1749 plan of education for public schools in Pennsylvania, he insisted that schools teach "the excellency of the Christian religion above all others, ancient or modern."

"For my own part, I sincerely esteem it [the Constitution] a system which without the finger of God, never could have been suggested and agreed upon by such a diversity of interests." – Alexander Hamilton, in 1787 after the Constitutional Convention

"I have carefully examined the evidences of the Christian religion, and if I was sitting as a juror upon its authenticity I would unhesitatingly give my verdict in its favor. I can prove its truth as clearly as any proposition ever submitted to the mind of man." – Alexander Hamilton

"It cannot be emphasized too clearly and too often that this nation was founded, not by religionists, but by Christians; not on religion, but on the gospel of Jesus Christ. For this very reason, peoples of other faiths have been afforded asylum, prosperity, and freedom of worship here." – Patrick Henry, in his speech to the House of Burgesses in May 1765.

"It is when people forget God that tyrants forge their chains." – Patrick Henry

"Providence has given to our people the choice of their rulers, and it is the duty, as well as the privilege and interest of our Christian nation to select and prefer Christians for their rulers." – John Jay

"Of all the systems of morality, ancient or modern which have come under my observation, none appears to me so pure as that of Jesus." – Thomas Jefferson

"I am a real Christian, that is to say, a disciple of the doctrines of Jesus." – Thomas Jefferson

"[It is] God who gave us life gave us liberty. And can the liberties of a nation be thought secure when we have removed their only firm basis, a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are a gift from God? That they are not to be violated but with His wrath? Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just, and that His justice cannot sleep forever." – Thomas Jefferson

"We’ve staked our future on our ability to follow the Ten Commandments with all of our heart." – James Madison

"We have staked the whole future of American civilization, not upon the power of government, far from it. We’ve staked the future of all our political institutions upon our capacity…to sustain ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God." – James Madison, to the General Assembly of the State of Virginia in 1778.

"If we abide by the principles taught in the Bible, our country will go on prospering and to prosper; but if we and our posterity neglect its instruction and authority, no man can tell how sudden a catastrophe may overwhelm us and bury all our glory in profound obscurity." – Daniel Webster

"Finally, let us not forget the religious character of our origin. Our fathers were brought hither by their high veneration for the Christian religion. They journeyed by its light, and labored in its hope. They sought to incorporate its principles with the elements of their society, and to diffuse its influence through all their institutions, civil, political, or literary." – Daniel Webster

"The duties of men are summarily comprised in the Ten Commandments, consisting of two tables; one comprehending the duties which we owe immediately to God – the other, the duties we owe to our fellow men." – Noah Webster

"In my view, the Christian religion is the most important and one of the first things in which all children, under a free government ought to be instructed...No truth is more evident to my mind than that the Christian religion must be the basis of any government intended to secure the rights and privileges of a free people." – Noah Webster, in the preface to his American Dictionary of the English Language of 1828.

"Let it be impressed on your mind that God commands you to choose for rulers just men who will rule in the fear of God [Exodus 18:21]. . . . If the citizens neglect their duty and place unprincipled men in office, the government will soon be corrupted . . . If our government fails to secure public prosperity and happiness, it must be because the citizens neglect the Divine commands, and elect bad men to make and administer the laws." – Noah Webster, in 'The History of the United States'.

"All the miseries and evils which men suffer from vice, crime, ambition, injustice, oppression, slavery and war, proceed from their despising or neglecting the precepts contained in the Bible." – Noah Webster

"The Bible was America’s basic textbook in all fields." – Noah Webster

"Education is useless without the Bible." – Noah Webster

"The name of American, which belongs to you, in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of Patriotism, more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same religion... Reason and experience both forbid us to expect, that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle..." – George Washington in his Farewell Address to the nation.

"It is impossible to rightly govern the world without God and Bible." – George Washington

"What students would learn in American schools above all is the religion of Jesus Christ." – George Washington, in his speech to the Delaware Indian Chiefs on May 12, 1779.

"To the distinguished character of patriot, it should be our highest glory to add the more distinguished character of Christian." – George Washington, at Valley Forge on May 2, 1778.

And finally during his inauguration, George Washington, the Father of our Country, took the oath as prescribed by the Constitution but also added several religious components to that first inaugural ceremony: before taking his oath of office, he summoned a Bible upon which to take the oath, added the words "So help me God!" to the end of the oath, and then leaned over and kissed the Bible.

Our Appeal and Declaration

Why did our Founders appeal to the Creator in their cry for independence? Because the Creator is the Highest Authority over both Man and his governments. When someone cannot petition their government for a redress of grievances, they must then petition their Creator.

But what happens when a society removes (or intentionally excludes) the Creator from being the Highest Authority? The next highest authority is the State. As a society rejects the Creator, the State becomes the Provider rather than God, and the society grows increasingly dependent upon the King, the President, or the State. The power is transferred from the Individual to the State in a multitude of tiny steps.

The State inherently does not "like" God, because the State always seeks to be the Highest Authority in the land, regardless of what form of government it is. The State grows and benefits (though not the Society) when immorality thrives at all levels, be it adultery, broken homes, divorce, absent fathers, negligent mothers, orphans, drug abuse, homosexuality, murder, theft, racial tensions, religious tensions, and chaos in general.

The biggest threat to any State is personal self-governance at the Individual level. The greater each individual's self-governance is, the less government is needed to maintain order within a society. Also, the greater the individual self-government is, the more the society demands a limited government with specific, enumerated duties and responsibilities – a weaker, smaller State. The smaller the State, the greater the Individual. True freedom cannot exist while the State takes precedence over Individual Self-Government.

Where did America and the West in general first begin their decline (which we are still experiencing)? Interestingly enough, soon after the end of the Enlightenment and the introduction of Evolutionary teaching. America was born less than a century before Evolution was introduced. Once the Creator was cast aside, Chaos and Chance became God, and Truth was increasingly trampled and disregarded as evolutionary and humanist thought pervaded society.

The Founders frequently referred to God as their 'Providence'. But for many today in the secular West, the term 'Providence' is the State, not God our Creator. Notice also that 'Providence' is made up of the same root word as 'Provider'. Do we really want our neighbors or some group of distant, largely unaccountable politicians to be our Provider, or do we want God to be our Provider? That is the question that divides the West, and especially America today.

The worst kind of slavery is that in which one cannot even see or acknowledge that they are in reality a slave, all the while thinking themselves to be free. We Americans are still free, until we completely (as a nation), totally supplant the Creator with our Government, and the State becomes our Providence. However, our freedom slowly but steadily seeps away the more we demand that our government take care of us – we cannot be free and have government take care of us at the same time.

What follows is the Declaration of Independence, which I highly encourage you to read all the way through. But instead of reading it through the eyes of history as it was written by the Founders to the King of England, try reading it as though it were written to our own President, Congress, and the federal government today, our very own King Uncle Sam.

And as you read these timeless words, keep in mind that though the list of enumerated grievances were specific to King George and Parliament, similar grievances can easily be listed against our own federal government today,  concerning the armed confiscation and redistribution of our wealth, health, property, and opportunity.

IN CONGRESS, JULY 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen United States of America

When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.

But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.

Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King [of Great Britain] is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected, whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavored to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harass our people and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us in many cases, of the benefit of Trial by Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighboring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to complete the works of death, desolation, and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & Perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavored to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our British brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States, that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do.

And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

New Hampshire: Josiah Bartlett, William Whipple, Matthew Thornton

Massachusetts: John Hancock, Samuel Adams, John Adams, Robert Treat Paine, Elbridge Gerry

Rhode Island: Stephen Hopkins, William Ellery

Connecticut: Roger Sherman, Samuel Huntington, William Williams, Oliver Wolcott

New York: William Floyd, Philip Livingston, Francis Lewis, Lewis Morris

New Jersey: Richard Stockton, John Witherspoon, Francis Hopkinson, John Hart, Abraham Clark

Pennsylvania: Robert Morris, Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Morton, George Clymer, James Smith, George Taylor, James Wilson, George Ross

Delaware: Caesar Rodney, George Read, Thomas McKean

Maryland: Samuel Chase, William Paca, Thomas Stone, Charles Carroll of Carrollton

Virginia: George Wythe, Richard Henry Lee, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Harrison, Thomas Nelson, Jr., Francis Lightfoot Lee, Carter Braxton

North Carolina: William Hooper, Joseph Hewes, John Penn

South Carolina: Edward Rutledge, Thomas Heyward, Jr., Thomas Lynch, Jr., Arthur Middleton

Georgia: Button Gwinnett, Lyman Hall, George Walton

The West’s New Foundation

Every house needs a foundation, and without question, the foundation of secular humanism is the Theory of Evolution. Today, the prevailing philosophy of modern Western thought is based almost entirely upon this idea that man is 'ascending' to a higher level of 'existence'.

What began as a supposition of how lower (or more simple) species eventually rise to produce higher (or more complex) species over long periods of time has been transformed into the driving philosophy for the secularization of the civilized world. This simple, yet unproven theory soon metastasized and then swept through the religious system, education system, legal system, medical system, and then nearly every other segment in society.

The teaching of the Theory of Evolution single-handedly dethroned Christianity in a matter of years, first in Europe, and then in America. Once a nation or people have turned away from their Creator, they are then inherently freed from any self-imposed moral boundaries or guidelines that once governed their personal behavior. And after enough people have 'freed' themselves, the entire society soon follows in rebellion and chaos. If the Supreme Authority in a society is not the Creator, then obviously the Supreme Authority is every man for themselves, or a man-made institution such as the State (or the government).

Is the Theory of Evolution science, or even scientific? Unfortunately, this question wasn't really asked (much less answered) before the scientific community whole-heartedly embraced it. The Scientific Method declares that in order for a theory or idea to be considered 'scientific', observations must be made, hypotheses derived, and then repeatable, verifiable experiments performed to validate those hypotheses. If the experiments validate the hypotheses, a theory is formed. However, if the experiments demonstrate the hypothesis is invalid, then the theory must be thrown out or modified. A Theory can only become a Law/Fact when it cannot be invalidated by any repeatable experiment or condition. A Law cannot be broken, while a Theory remains only a theory law 'hoping' or 'waiting' to be proven and thereby elevated into a Law.

How does the Theory of Evolution (specifically macro-evolution, or the evolution from one species to another) measure up when it comes to the Scientific Method? Has it been tested with conclusive results? Can any part of the theory (outside of micro-evolution or intra-species adaptation) be repeatedly reproduced with experiments in a controlled environment? Conclusively – and quite embarrassingly for its multitudes of proponents – the answer is an emphatic "NO!"

So then, why does this unproven (and unprovable) theory persist and play such a prominent role in the philosophies of most scientists and societies today? Because of the misused and misinterpreted (sometimes intentionally) fossil evidence. Charles Darwin declared that his theory would live or die by the fossils of thousands of 'transitional forms'. After over 150 years of searching and billions of dollars and millions of hours spent, paleontologists have yet to find one conclusive piece of evidence that has withstood close scrutiny. And even if that one piece of evidence were found, according to Darwin's own statements, there should be millions upon millions of other fossils upon which to establish proof of the theory.

The lack of evidence for any transitional forms has been so glaring and embarrassing  for the scientific community that many evolutionists have now embraced the belief in Punctuated Equilibrium, in which evolutionary changes are numerous and rapid (thereby leaving no 'evidence' buried in the ground) rather than being gradual and slow. The rapid emergence of birds from reptiles is their most recent example, evidently since both are land creatures that hatch from eggs.

While they're at it, why not mix in some pixie-dust and a fairy or two to make the Theory of Evolution even more palpable (and understandable) to schoolchildren?

Has anyone ever observed one species emerging from or changing into another species? No, of course not. There are countless adaptations and variations within species, but never from one species to another. Turtles producing salamanders? Frogs producing birds? Cows producing goats? Apes producing humans? Some people may act like animals today, but they cannot physically turn into them.

Do any historical records exist of such evolutionary events? Can any evolutionary event be reproduced in a laboratory? Can mutations within an organism be guided – naturally or artificially – in such a way as to bridge the species-boundary? The answer to all these questions is another emphatic "NO!"

And what of the vaunted Neanderthals or other 'discovered' missing-links? Every single fossil declared to a missing-link has been found to be fraudulent, grossly misinterpreted, or simply manufactured for the benefit of the discoverer. Several times, great discoveries were made just as grant-funding was about to run out – and therefore highly suspect. If a scientist has been digging for five years and discovers a missing-link just one month before he goes broke, shouldn't that discovery be regarded with an extremely high degree of skepticism?

If all the false evidence for Evolution were removed, what exactly would be left? Nothing – zip, zero, nada. The Theory of Evolution is true (or even reasonable) only in the imagination of its proponents. Nothing in the theory is repeatable, demonstrable, observable, verifiable, or even consistent with the Scientific Method. There is literally nothing scientific about the Theory of Evolution other than being declared to be so and therefore 'true' by means of consensus by most modern scientists. But scientific consensus – regardless of how large and how qualified the scientists – does not make a theory true. Truth makes it true!

Therefore, if the Theory of Evolution is not scientific, it must then be considered to be religious in nature. The atheist or secular-scientist must believe in Evolution by faith, the same as in any other religion. Why is the Theory of Evolution so widely accepted by the media and education institutions while its opposing theory, the Theory of Creation is not? Both are belief systems, but the primary difference is that Evolution has been declared to be 'science' by its proponents. If the Theory of Evolution was not kept alive and spread through the public schools and universities by taxpayer funds, it would have never survived except in the imaginations of secularists.

And what of Evolution's founders? Were they credible scientists worthy of trust? Only one 'founder', Jean Lamarck was an educated, trained scientist. Charles Darwin (the founder of Evolution) was an apostate Divinity student, Charles Lyell (the founder of modern geology and the supposed Geologic Column) was a lawyer who utterly despised the Bible and Christianity. Darwin was heavily influenced by the writings of Lyell, who repeatedly encouraged Darwin to publish "Origin of Species" and therefore support his theoretical Geologic Column. The two must go hand-in-hand – neither theory can survive without the other.

The Theory of Evolution was crafted (whether intentionally by its founders or not) with one underlying purpose: to supplant the Bible and the Creator from Western society, and free people from the moral constraints of religion at large. It was a political movement created by several lawyers and apostate ministers under the guise of being 'scientific' and therefore 'true'. Few of the predominant founders of Evolution were scientists, but all were either humanists, atheists, or apostates. Shouldn't real science cross any and all religious boundaries and barriers?

Was this fall into secularism and casting away of the Creator by much of the world foretold in the Bible? Most assuredly, it was in 2 Peter 3:3-6: "Knowing this first: that scoffers will come in the last days, walking according to their own lusts and saying, 'Where is the promise of His coming? For since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of creation.' For this they willfully forget: that by the word of God the heavens were of old, and the earth standing out of water and in the water, by which the world that then existed perished, being flooded with water."

The key phrase in this passage is "willingly forget", which means these scoffers would actively choose to forget God on purpose, because they are "walking after their own lusts". It was their personal lusts (for money, sex, fame, pride, and/or power) that drove the first scoffers into casting off the restraining influences of the Creator. And it is these same age-old lusts that drive many who hold to the Theory of Evolution today.

If you're nothing more than an evolved animal (and not a special creation of God) don't you have the right to do whatever you wish with your body? If you're only an evolved animal, don't you in essence have the right to behave like one?

What are some of the other "proofs" that Evolution is more religious in nature rather than scientific? One glaring characteristic is the systematic exclusion of non-believers (in Evolution) from the classroom, laboratory, and science journals. Those who don't believe whole-heartedly in Evolution are perceived as a threat and therefore must not be allowed to speak. Dissention and disagreement must be silenced. That is another glaring characteristic of a state-religion, not science. Today in the West, if a professor even voices a slight doubt in the Theory of Evolution, they are marginalized or demoted, and that's if they're actually able to keep their teaching positions.

True science accepts those of any belief system into its ranks. When mostly Christians held the offices of science, they didn't exclude non-believers from research or publishing papers, because they distinguished between one's research and one's personal, private beliefs. But with the evolutionists and secularists in control, Christians or mere dissenters to their Theory are routinely marginalized, excluded, or even fired from their positions in the scientific community. If you don't believe what they believe, you're not to be allowed to speak.

And what of Truth in the arena of modern science? Isn't the very foundation of Science the search for and the discovery of Truth in the natural world? Indeed, many of the ancients gleaned and codified many of the Creator's invisible attributes from what they observed in nature. Recently, many of the renowned scientists who demanded immediate action on the Theory of Global Warming admitted to withholding, falsifying, and manipulating the data to support their theory. Following the money works every time it's tried.

Interestingly enough, the evolutionists can't even be honest about the full title of their own 'bible' written by Charles Darwin himself. The full title of "The Origin of Species" originally was, "On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life". It appears that some people were uncomfortable with the phase 'Preservation of Favoured Races' being in the title of their vaunted 'scientific' book. However, that does provide a clue why the evolutionists prefer to look for 'missing links' in Africa and among dark-skinned 'aborigines' despite all archaeological, cultural, and historical evidence that points to the Middle East as being the Cradle of Civilization.

The supposed evidence for Evolution is rife with errors, distortions, and lies, and yet these are continually taught to children in every public school in the West. Would most people willingly allow their children to be lied to on a daily basis? When they send their kids to public schools, they are.

How about we simply have the lies removed from the textbooks and teach whatever remains? Doesn't that sound more reasonable than teaching children 'facts' proven to be untrue (also known as 'lies') decades ago? What good is any theory that is supported only with errors and false evidence? Absolutely nothing, though the most likely alternative to Evolution, Special Creation, is unthinkable to the secular scientist/educator.

The education system – especially the universities which train the teachers of the rest of the system – is the primary avenue for the corruption and spread of these lies, both with the Theory of Evolution and the radical liberalism/egalitarianism/individualism of the mid-Twentieth Century. Jesus said, “But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were thrown into the sea.” How many millions of children raised in Christian homes have lost their faith from being indoctrinated in our taxpayer-funded schools?

Universities were founded and intended to seek, discern, and promote Truth in whatever form it may be. But today's universities discourage any truth, fact, or discovery that questions or casts even the slightest doubt on their secular theories or political beliefs. The teachings of Karl Marx, a man who rarely could hold a job and who even let several of his own children starve to death, pervades the modern university political science coursework, but the common sense teachings of Solomon – not to mention Jesus – cannot be mentioned. How many Bibles are in most university libraries today? How many textbooks on Marxism and Evolution?

Proverbs 1:7 declares that, "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction." Universities were founded to provide knowledge and promote learning – the acquisition of wisdom and understanding – and yet today these institutions are the primary sources for turning young people away from God. Again, upon whose neck will those millstones be tied in the End?

If the schools actively denigrate the Source of knowledge and despise wisdom and common sense, then how can they produce anything but foolishness? And that's precisely what many modern secular universities often produce today: brilliant, highly-educated fools. How many of the “Occupy Wall Street” crowd have expensive university degrees, yet behave no different than animals?

When the foundation of our education system and our science/origins is based upon lies, what can the only "fruit" they produce be? Lies from every corner of society, from the lowest 'worker' to the highest offices in the land. Evolution is bad science based upon one lie after another, and yet the lies are still found from first-grade textbooks all the way up to post-graduate-level courses.

In the last century, when communists or fascists would succeed in taking over a country, one of their first operations was to remove all teaching of Creation or ancient origins from the schools and institute the widespread teaching of Evolution instead. If the new government was to survive, the lowest foundations and beliefs of the society must be replaced and remade from the bottom up.

Evolution is the religious foundation of every secular society because it answers the Four Great Questions: 'Who am I?', 'Where did I come from?', 'Why am I here?', and 'Where will I go after I die?' But in Evolution and secularism, the answers to these questions are: 'You are dust/pond-scum', 'You got here by accident', 'You are here only to gratify your own desires', and 'You will return to dust'.

I have become convinced that the Answer to halting and reversing the widespread decline in the West is not in the political movements of liberalism or conservatism, but in restoring the Christian heritage, starting with the basic, fundamental belief in the Creator. If the West is to avert its descent into another long Dark Age, the Creator, not Man, must be restored to His rightful place in people's hearts, homes, town-squares, cities, states, and nations.

History teaches over and over that knowledge and technology rises and falls based upon the elevation or denigration of the Creator and Truth in their societies. Indeed when people ask, "Why am I here?" and the answer given is, "To gratify only your personal desires," then that's precisely what they do and the society rapidly declines and eventually collapses. Widespread individual self-gratification cannot have any other outcome.

The common, elemental root of both Judaism and Christianity (and even Islam, to a certain extent) is their belief in the Creator and absolute Truth. Thus the logical place to start in reversing the West's decline is a grassroots restoration of Creationism and a dethroning of the Evolutionary doctrines.

Let us start with the simple removal of the lies and widely-known frauds that provide the only tangible support for the Theory of Evolution from the school textbooks. If the Theory of Evolution is left with few words in the textbooks, then so be it. But the lies must be removed. You cannot admonish little Johnny to always tell the truth while subjecting him to thirteen years of fraudulent Evolutionary teaching in the public schools and then several more years of it in college.

As one thinks, so he behaves; as one believes, so he becomes. We cannot blame young people for acting like animals if they're continually taught in school that their ancestors were exactly that: animals.

Neither Creation nor Evolution is necessary to be taught in the schools – simply mention both belief systems, give the "proofs" for one, the other, or both, and move on while teaching real science, math, language, and the other subjects. Just get the lies out of the books. That isn't asking too much, is it?

The Bible holds Truth and Life to be its foremost principles, while the Theory of Evolution holds to Lies and Death. In Creation, the Creator is who creates, while in Evolution, Chaos and Death are what 'creates'. Therefore, if your society is fundamentally based upon Chaos, then when it has matured, Chaos will reign. And that is what we find today everywhere the Theory of Evolution is emphatically taught: crumbling, hopeless rot and decay.

What happens when a nation forgets, or in the case of the West, willingly chooses to forget the Creator? It quickly descends into secularism, then paganism and then anarchy, as described in another well-known passage of the Bible, Romans 1:20-25: "For since the creation of the world, His invisible attributes are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse, because, although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God, nor were thankful, but became futile in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Professing to be wise, they became fools, and changed the glory of the incorruptible God into an image made like corruptible man and birds and four-footed animals and creeping things. Therefore God also gave them up to uncleanness, in the lusts of their hearts, to dishonor their bodies among themselves, who exchanged the truth of God for the lie, and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever. Amen."

Great Britain and Western Europe were the first to succumb to Evolutionary philosophy. Great Britain more or less ruled the known world just a century ago, but look at their society today – how the mighty have fallen! Great Britain used to really be worthy of that title: 'great,' but today is plagued by rampant alcoholism, unbridled adultery, and hopelessness – the same condition the nation was in before the Great Awakening. The advancement of the Theory of Evolution and its firstborn offspring Socialism has entirely led to Great Britain's demise.

How is the United States faring? America is much too far along the same road as Great Britain and Europe, but is not yet too far gone that she cannot be turned and restored, though that road will be long and difficult.

Before any outward shift in a nation or culture becomes apparent, an invisible, yet profound spiritual shift must take place in the common people. Once the internal shift has been made, then it moves outward into society, and then on to the rest of the nation like ripples in a pool. The Great Awakening movements were clear, widespread manifestations of such shifts in America, and there's no reason why another cannot occur in our day.

2 Chronicles 7:14 - "If My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land."

Let that spiritual change begin today – with every one of us – one person at a time.

References and Recommended Reading

The Bible (New King James Version). Thomas Nelson, 1982.

Barton, David. America's Godly Heritage. WallBuilder Press, 1993.

Bennett, Dr. William J. America: The Last Best Hope (Volume I): From the Age of Discovery to a World at War. Thomas Nelson, 2007.

Bennett, Dr. William J. America: The Last Best Hope (Volume II): From a World at War to the Triumph of Freedom. Thomas Nelson, 2008.

Bloom, Allan. The Closing of the American Mind. Simon & Schuster, 1988.

Bork, Robert H. Slouching Towards Gomorrah: Modern Liberalism and American Decline. Harper Perennial, 2003.

Boyer, Rick. The Socialization Trap. The Learning Parent, 1993.

Churchill, Winston S. The Great Republic: A History of America. Modern Library, 2000.

Crosby, Jay; Bruun, Erik. Our Nation's Archive: The History of the United States in Documents. Black Dog & Leventhal Publishers, 1999.

DeMar, Gary. America's Christian Heritage. B&H Books, 2003.

Ferling, John. A Leap in the Dark: The Struggle to Create the American Republic. Oxford University Press, 2004.

Gibbs, Dr. David. One Nation Under God: Ten Things Every Christian Should Know About the Founding of America. Christian Law Association, 2005.

Griffin, G. Edward. World World Without Cancer: The Story of Vitamin B17. American Media, 1974.

Hagee, John. Jerusalem Countdown. Frontline, 2006.

Hamilton, Alexander; Madison, James; Jay, John; Scigliano, Robert. The Federalist: A Commentary on the Constitution of the United States. Modern Library, 2000.

Hillsdale College, Imprimus.

Kirk, Russell. The Conservative Mind: From Burke to Eliot. BN Publishing, 2008.

Levin, Mark R. Liberty and Tyranny: A Conservative Manifesto. Threshold Editions, 2009.

Levy, Leonard W. Original Intent and the Framer's Constitution. Ivan R. Dee, Publisher, 2000.

Marshall, Peter and Manuel, David. The Light and the Glory. Revell, 1980.

Morris, Henry. God and the Nations: What the Bible Has to Say About Civilizations-Past and Present. Master Books, 2003.

Morris, Henry. The Long War Against God: The History and Impact of the Creation/Evolution Conflict. Master Books, 2000.

Murray, Iain. The Really Inconvenient Truths: Seven Environmental Catastrophes Liberals Don't Want You to Know About–Because They Helped Cause Them. Regnery Press, 2008.

Prager, Dennis. Happiness is a Serious Problem: A Human Nature Repair Manual. Harper Paperbacks, 1998.

Sjogren, Bob;  Stearns, Bill & Amy. Run With the Vision. Bethany House, 1995.

Sjogren, Bob. Unveiled at Last. YWAM Publishing, 1988.

Skinner, Kiron K.; Anderson, Annelise; Anderson, Martin. Reagan, In His Own Hand: The Writings of Ronald Reagan that Reveal His Revolutionary Vision for America. Free Press, 2001.

Steyn, Mark. America Alone: The End of the World as We Know It. Regnery Publishing, 2006.

Stoll, Ira. Samuel Adams: A Life. Free Press, 2008.

Tocqueville, Alexis de. Democracy in America. University Of Chicago Press, 2002.

Wright, Lawrence. The Looming Tower: Al Qaeda and the Road to 9/11. Vintage, 2007.

Other Recommended Reading

Beliles, Mark A.; McDowell, Stephen K. America's Providential History (Including Biblical Principles of Education, Government, Politics, Economics, and Family Life). Providence Foundation, 1991.

Buchanan, Patrick J. The Death of the West: How Dying Populations and Immigrant Invasions Imperil Our Country and Civilization. St. Martin's Griffin, 2002.

Chernow, Ron. Alexander Hamilton. Penguin, 2005.

Federer, William J. America's God and Country: Encyclopedia of Quotations. Amerisearch, 2000.

Freeman, Douglas Southall. Washington. Scribner, 1995.

Johnson, Derric. Wonder Of America. Honor Books, 2003.

Ketcham, Ralph. James Madison: A Biography. American Political Biography Press, 2003.

Langguth, A.J. PATRIOTS: The Men Who Started the American Revolution. Simon and Schuster ,1989.

Lee, Robert Edward. The Recollections and Letters of General Robert E. Lee. Konecky & Konecky, 1998.

Lossing, Benson J. Lives of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence. WallBuilder Press, 1995.

McCullough, David. 1776. Simon & Schuster, 2006.

McCullough, David. John Adams. Simon & Schuster, 2008.

Padover, Saul K. Jefferson: A Great American's Life and Ideas. Signet, 1952.

Randall, Willard Sterne. Alexander Hamilton: A Life. Harper Perennial, 2003.

Rawles, James Wesley. Patriots: A Novel of Survival in the Coming Collapse. Ulysses Press, 2009.

Reagan, Ronald. Ronald Reagan - An American Life. Simon & Schuster, 1990.

Reagan, Ronald. The Reagan Diaries. Harper Perennial, 2009.

About the Author

Chris Hambleton resides in Denver, Colorado, where he is employed as a software developer and consultant. He has authored several websites, software applications, and other programming-related articles. His other interests include hiking, studying Bible prophecy, Creation science, and Ice Age/Post-Flood civilizations and archaeology.

To learn more about Chris Hambleton and his other books and writing, please visit his website at http://www.cwhambleton.com.

“Endeavor in Time – Race Against Disaster” (2008)

“The Cell – Twilight’s Last Gleaming” (2010)

"The Last Aliyah – Book 1 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)

"The Son of Shinar – Book 2 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)

"The Siege of Zion – Book 3 of The Time of Jacob’s Trouble" (2011)

"On the Precipice – Hosea Speaks to America" (2011)

"Ezekiel Watch – Then They Shall Know..." (2012)

"The Castors of Giza – Building the Great Pyramid" (2012)

Connect with Me Online:

Website: http://www.cwhambleton.com

Blog: http://fictionsoftware.wordpress.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/cwhambleton

Twitter: http://twitter.com/chris_hambleton

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1 - Accidents

Chapter 2 - Introductions

Chapter 3 - Patrols

Chapter 4 - The Seeker

Chapter 5 - Decisions

Chapter 6 - The Cell

Chapter 7 - New Beginnings

Chapter 8 - Revelations

Chapter 9 - Courage

Chapter 10 - Farewell

Chapter 11 - Continuity

Chapter 12 - Reprisals

Chapter 13 - Trials

Chapter 14 - Rulings

Afterword

Appendices

The Missing Constitutional Amendment

America’s Spiritual Tides

Our Founding Fathers

Our Appeal and Declaration

The West’s New Foundation

References and Recommended Reading

Other Recommended Reading

About the Author