Redemption

  The author is the exclusive owner to the rights of the work contained herein. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblances to persons, living or dead, places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Published by Richard Stephenson.

  Copyright 2015 by Richard Stephenson.

  http://www.richardstephenson.net/

  Cover Art produced by Laura Wright LaRoche at LLPix Photography.

  http://www.llpix.com/

  For Irene

  “Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”

  Archbishop Desmond Tutu (1931- )

  “The world wants to be deceived, so let it be deceived.”

  Petronius (27-66)

  “Too much knowing causes misery.”

  Lorenzo de’ Medici (1449-1492)

  Part 1 - 2038

  Eleven years after the collapse

  Four years after the Chinese War

  CHAPTER ONE

  “It is in the darkest of times that our faith is put to the test my dear brothers and sisters. In the face of suffering and death, the Lord may seem absent from our lives, but fear not, he will never forsake his children. All of us, every single one of us, have lost precious loved ones since this all began. We must have faith; above all we must trust that our heavenly father will protect those who believe in His love.”

  Father Nathan Elias paused and looked upon his congregation. The words he just spoke felt like a lie. He scanned the faces in the crowd, some looking back at him, others looking in his direction but not really looking at him. Nathan wished that someone would shout out that God didn’t exist or He was simply looking the other way while His creation destroyed itself. Such a distraction would be a refreshing change of pace.

  “You know, I have to be honest with you, it’s hard for me at times to believe in what I’m saying. I’m not perfect, I’m the same as you, I have doubts, I struggle with my faith.” Father Elias paused, not really knowing what to say next as he seldom went off script. His confession had a powerful effect as every eye in the sanctuary was locked on him, shocked by such brutal honesty. “Four years? Doesn’t it feel like forty? I have to remind myself every day that what feels like a lifetime has only been four years. We’ve lost so much and have so little to show for it. I’m sure many of us thought that The Pulse would be the most horrific event of our lives. I clung to hope that if we persevered and remained strong that we would survive. I prayed every night for our safety and that God would deliver us from despair.” Nathan closed his eyes as he felt a wave of anger wash over him. Anger is what had held his tongue for so long. He was venturing into dangerous territory and feared his words would be destructive to the very people that counted on him for guidance and stability. He pushed on, hoping the God would guide him. “Then, something that we never dreamed would happen in our lifetime found its way to our very homes – war. I always considered Howard Beck to be the greatest man of our time. After the PSA saved us from annihilation I thought salvation had come at last.” Father Elias didn’t realize it, but his voice had risen considerably. “Was it over? Had our patience finally paid off? Did our lives finally have some semblance of peace? No! It did not! We had no choice but to sit back and watch as the Chinese tried to take everything from us! Oh, we fought them with everything we had, we gave up everything for victory … and that’s exactly what we paid – everything!” Nathan felt as though a weight had been lifted, he had waited for so long to unburden himself from this torment. His rage subsided as he saw tears on the cheeks of several faces in the dirty pews in front of him. Shame overwhelmed the priest for his selfish indulgence.

  Fear quickly replaced shame in the form of an unfamiliar face. Only Nathan saw the disheveled man quietly enter the church and sit on the back pew. A combination of death and a lack of faith had diminished the size of the congregation. Three hundred people had once filled twenty rows. Now Father Elias’ flock could comfortably occupy the first five rows, which they currently did. Someone other than Father Nathan would notice the stranger only if they turned around in their seat.

  “Faith. The only thing we can cling to in these desperate times is our faith in the Lord. Let’s face it; it’s all we have left. We are being presented with the ultimate test of our faith. I am not a prophet, but I personally believe that we have all just walked off the Ark with Noah. God has wiped the wicked off the face of the earth. The old ways of greed and corruption doomed us. When we stopped loving our neighbor as ourselves we guaranteed our own failure. I don’t pretend to make sense of any of this. I know as well as all of you that men and women of faith, people who feared the Lord suffered horribly. We must have faith that it was all part of God’s plan. I believe that that the slate has been wiped clean. We have been given a chance to start anew. God has torn down the old world, the wicked one, so that we can build a new one in His name.”

  Father Elias saw smiling faces and returned them with his own. He glanced to the back row only to find the stranger was missing. Had he imagined the lost soul? He quickly dismissed the odd interruption and closed out his message with a prayer. When he said amen, the congregation rose to sing the closing song.

  The weary parishioners slowly shuffled out of the run-down building. Many of them walked the short distance to their homes; others mounted horses for a longer journey. Father Elias remained in the church as he had every Sunday for many years. The distant memory of having a fiscal budget that allowed for a janitorial staff had long left his mind. He didn’t mind spending his Sunday afternoons cleaning the church building. With water being in scarce supply, the luxury of mopping the floors only arrived when he could collect rainwater. He had been looking forward to his cleaning session all week. The town’s scout team had gone on its weekly supply run and brought Father Elias a gift – a can of Pledge. With dust rag in hand, Nathan eyed the dusty podium.

  “You ready for a proper polish old friend?”

  Nathan ascended the stage and began wiping down the lectern with care. The door at the rear of the auditorium slowly creaked open to reveal the stranger that had occupied the back row during the service. The priest eyed the man with fear. Father Elias was seventy-three years old and while he was in good health, he did not come close to having the strength of the man that was sure to be half his age. Nathan dismissed fears of violence, judging a man on his appearance had always been one of his shortcomings. However, in this case, any rational person would be struck by fear at the sight of this man. He was tall, muscular, and had the most intense eyes Nathan had ever seen. His clothing was in tatters barely clinging to his body and his feet were absent shoes. The sun had harshly weathered his face. The priest could easily dismiss all of this if it weren’t for the fact that the stranger’s hands and forearms were covered in dried blood.

  The man slowly walked down the aisle towards the priest. Nathan studied the poor soul and could not determine his intentions. It was almost as though the man had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Father Elias nervously cleared his throat. “Are you hurt, young man? Do you need help?”

  The stranger did not reply and continued walking down the aisle.

  “Mister, you don’t look so good. Are you hungry? I don’t have any food here, but I’d be pleased to have you over to my house and eat lunch with you. How does that sound?”

  The man did not speak, but for the first time looked the priest in the eye with a vacant stare.

  “Son, what brings you here? How can I help you?”

  The wanderer ignored Father Elias, sat down in the front row and studied the statue of
a crucified Jesus behind the pulpit.

  The elderly priest turned around to see what the mysterious newcomer was gazing upon. “Do you know God’s grace, my son? Is it redemption you seek?”

  For the first time, the filthy man seemed to be in the here and now. He locked eyes with Nathan and for the first time in as long as he could remember, spoke to another human being. His voice was raspy. “What did you say?”

  Father Elias slowly descended the short staircase and stood directly in front of the troubled man. “Redemption. Are you lost, my son?”

  The stranger looked into the caring eyes of the priest, searching for something to say. After he was able to escape the grasp of crushing despair, he closed his tear filled eyes and spoke. “Nothing can redeem my sins; I’m responsible for all of this. It’s all my fault.”

  “No, no, no my son. Christ paid the price for all of us; nothing you can do or ever could have done precludes you from his salvation. You only need to ask forgiveness and believe in the saving power of his grace.”

  “If you only knew.”

  “What is it you are responsible for? What burden do you carry that is so heavy? Let Christ take that burden from you.”

  “This. All of this, everything. It’s because of me.”

  The priest knelt before the man and took his hands into his. “Whatever it is you think you are responsible for, I promise you the Lord will forgive you. I’ll be with you as you take the first steps into a new life. Begin a new journey today and leave your old life behind.”

  The priest slowly freed his hands and sat down next to the man. Father Elias retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly cleaned the dried blood from his fingers. The man noticed and was grateful for the priest’s kind discretion. “Are you going to ask me about the blood?”

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Is it the reason you came here today?”

  “No.”

  “Why are you here, my son?”

  “Do you really believe what you said today? You think all of this is a part of God’s plan for us? To start over?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “You really have faith in his hell we live in? Sorry, I probably shouldn’t use that kind of language.”

  “It’s quite all right; I would say you’re not too far off the mark.”

  “You’re pretty brave for a priest.”

  “Why? Because I have faith?”

  “No, because you didn’t turn me away. I know how I look. Figured you’d be afraid of me.”

  “I spent a lot of years being afraid. At my age, it’s a waste of time to fear death. If today is the day, then so be it. I’m ready to go home when the Lord calls on me.” The two men sat in silence for a brief moment. Father Elias decided it was time to get to the point of this bizarre visit. “Why are you here, my son? You must have a reason. Let me know what it is and maybe I can help.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Father. I’ve tried everything.”

  “Tried what?”

  “It was my job to keep everyone safe and I failed.”

  “Keep who safe?”

  “Everyone. I can make it right. I know I can. I just need more time.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, my son. Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “How about we start with your name and go from there.”

  “My name is Richard. Richard Dupree.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Maxwell Harris kicked back a shot of vodka, letting it burn all the way down. It was almost three in the morning and the prospect of getting some sleep from passing out drunk was appealing. Max had a healthy supply of Ambien to fall back on; however, the local neighborhood drugstore didn’t have any in stock. In fact, the local neighborhood drugstore had gone without pretty much every drug known to man for many years, as had every pharmacy in the country. The shelves of most commercial ventures had been picked clean during the previous four years. The occasional Mom ‘n Pop store in the middle of nowhere became a goldmine for Max’s scout teams. The one hundred eighty pills of Ambien hadn’t been found in one of those goldmines, but rather in an abandoned home. Husband and wife both had prescriptions, which was fortunate for Max. Chronic pain still haunted Max as it had for decades and Ambien was the only means to decent slumber.

  Another shot disappeared down Max’s throat. He stood up and retrieved a box of matches to light the kerosene lamp on the dresser of his dirty home. He fumbled to retrieve his boots from the floor and ending up dropping one of them. Max looked back at the bed and saw his wife stirring.

  “Honey, where are you going? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Shit. I’m uhhh, just goin’ fur walk.”

  “And you’re drunk, again. Nice.”

  “Oh shut up, not drunk. Take it easy, just gobacksleep.”

  “You are drunk. You can barely talk.”

  “Gimme a break. Always on my case. Sheesh!”

  “Just don’t do anything stupid, please. These people look to you as their leader.”

  Max laughed. “Leader of what exactly? I was the leader of something that mattered. The ‘people’ you talkin’ ‘bout out there are the only morons too dumb to haul ass away from here like the restofem.” Max clumsily put on the first boot and then fell to the floor putting on the second. He laid there on the floor laughing.

  Elizabeth Harris rolled over, not wishing to engage her drunken husband. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  Max stood up and swayed back and forth for a few seconds. Once he had his bearings, he looked towards the bed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just take it easy for once in your life, go back to sleep.” Max stumbled to the front door and stood in the doorway. A blast of cold air sharpened his senses and straightened his walk. With the aide of his cane, Max strolled down the path to the north tower of the compound and climbed the ladder.

  “What’s up, boss?”

  “Can’t sleep. What was your name again?”

  “Harry.”

  “That’s right. You and your brother joined us … a month ago?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Anything going on out there?” Max looked past the perimeter towards the tree line.

  “Not a thing. Kinda creeps me out not seeing any wildlife. You’d think you’d see raccoons or squirrels or something. Just … nothing.”

  “Lots of terrible shit happened here. This place is cursed.”

  “What did happen here? No one will really give me a straight answer.”

  Max hadn’t spoken about that fateful day four years ago to anyone, not even his wife. Elizabeth tried at first to get him to open up about it, but quickly realized it was a subject that was better left alone. “Let me ask you something, Harry. What have you heard?”

  “The only consistent thing people say is to not bring it up with you.”

  “I’m not surprised. What else?”

  “I’m not sure if I believe it, but a few people said the Chinese War ended here.”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  “So why is that so terrible? We fought them on our own soil for six long years and we won.”

  “You seriously believe that?”

  “Don’t see any Chinamen around trying to kill me, so, yeah, I do. How do you see it?”

  “Kinda like a guy burning down his own house to stop a burglar and saying he came out on top.” Max glared into Harry’s eyes, daring him to disagree.

  “Never really thought of it like that. Can’t really say I can have an educated discussion on the matter. Like most people I had no idea what was at stake or how it could have played out one way or the other. All I know is the Chinese are gone and that can’t be all bad. You would know a lot more than me, not gonna argue that. I mean, after all, you were a pretty big deal. You were close with Howard Beck from the s
tart and served as vice-president when his son was running the PSA.”

  “Those days are over.”

  “Is that why you’re so pissed off? You want to be some big politician again?”

  Max balled up his fists and gritted his teeth. “You’d better choose your words carefully.”

  Harry laughed. “Or what? Whaddya gonna do? Half crippled drunks shouldn’t make threats. Look man, take it easy. You haven’t exactly cornered the market on suffering and loss. We’re all in this together. I’m on your side.”

  Max looked upon Harry’s smiling face and relaxed. “You’re right. Truth is I hated politics, probably as much as Howard.”

  “Then what is it? Why does everyone walk on eggshells around you?”

  Max paused and looked up at the moon, deep in thought. A moment passed by and he looked at Harry. “Have a good night, my friend.” Without another word, Max climbed down the ladder and stumbled away.

  Max felt his inebriation slipping away and would have no part of it. He clawed at his jacket pocket and retrieved his flask. The comforting burn of vodka on his throat solved all his problems, or at least silenced them for the time being. Max needed to do something productive to distract him from the exchange he had just had with Harry. As worthless as he felt, he was still the leader of the makeshift camp that had been hastily built after the war ended. After it was all over, he just didn’t have the will or the strength to relocate. What started out as a dozen traumatized people clinging to each other for support slowly grew into a community of close to a thousand. Max never volunteered or showed interest in being their leader; everyone just naturally looked to him given his status as vice-president of the Pacific States of America during its short existence.

  Max did have a purpose in life that kept him driven. It wasn’t his community, it wasn’t his health, which was rapidly declining thanks to his constant state of intoxication, and it wasn’t even his marriage. The reason he got out of bed in the morning was to right the things that had been done wrong on that day four years ago. Max deluded himself into thinking his quest was that of justice when in reality it was pure vengeance.