The Cell
by Chris Hambleton |  |
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With the passage of the Tolerance in Religion and Media Acts (TIRMA), churches have been forced to register and submit to content monitors, surrendering their rights to assemble and speak freely. The tea-parties and talk-radio - the last voices of opposition to the ever-expanding powers of Washington D.C. - have been all but silenced from the political process. The Spirit of America has been broken. For the first time in history, people are leaving her fair shores for better opportunities in other lands. And though the candles of many churches in America have been extinguished, tiny flames of faith flicker and begin to grow... |
 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. But that was just one of the several 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.
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 off at you."
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 cellphone 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 still 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 complete 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 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 and ravaged 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. |
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