Exodus: Book Two: Last Days Trilogy (8 page)

Wearing a towel and her brightest smile, Reggie flung open the bathroom door with an, “Ah,” she sang out, “my hair finally passed the squeak test.” She stepped into the hotel room. “Six times, Marcus. Six.” She paused when she saw him. “Marcus?”

Marcus didn’t move. He sat on the edge of the bed, his face inches from the television screen.

“Marcus?”

He turned toward her, fingers over his mouth.

Hurriedly, Reggie sat next to him on the bed. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Marcus placed his hand on her knee and gripped, then released, then gripped, as he deeply exhaled over and over. His eyes traveled back and forth from the television to Reggie.

Marcus swallowed. “Power. Control. Were they reluctant to stop him? Or didn’t they have the means? Is that why they didn’t? There has to be a reason.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“That’s because it doesn’t make sense. Though maybe in the big scheme of things it does. I guess there has to be only one leader. Or... make room for one leader. I suppose that could be it.”

“Marcus.”

“They’re all dead, Reg.”

“What? Who?” Reggie asked, growing pale.

Marcus shifted his eyes to her. “The House. The Senate. The President. The entire Democratic system...” He looked back to the television. “Dead.”

Were America not asleep, the country might have witnessed what the reporters and people did on the steps of the Capitol, the numbness and shock of the aftermath, as body after body was brought out. At the same time, as the power of presidential ascendancy dictated, the Head of the CIA, Leonard O’Neill was being sworn in as President of the United States.

That was the first order of business. It was done without ceremony. Then he would deliver his first official pronouncement to the American people.

A podium was set up not far from the Capitol steps, surrounded by microphones and a barrage of reporters.

A White House spokesmen, still choking in grief, introduced O’Neill. After simply stating, “There’s been a tragedy,” the White House spokesman announced, “Mr. President” as he moved away from the podium.

Leonard stepped forward, his eyes closed, his bowed head signaling a moment of silence.

Afterward, he shivered out a breath. “President William Nelson. The Senate. Congress. They joined today to discuss a national emergency. At approximately eight-thirty p.m., Eastern Standard Time, a chemical weapon was released into the ventilation system, killing all members of the cabinet, from what we can tell, instantly.” He held his hand up to silence the barrage of questions. “Several...” His tone rose. “Several groups have already come forward, taking credit for this action.”

“Sir!” a reporter yelled out. “Will this be your first order of business as President?”

“Before emergency cabinet members are selected, we must do what we can to take control of the situation. Right now, the FBI and CIA are compiling lists of those involved with these organizations. Arrests will be made. Procedures may not be followed. National security in this instance outweighs civil rights. We will question first, then release. If I have to do it myself, I will. This will be... a massive sweep.” Leonard tried to walk away but stopped for one more shouted question.

“In the wake of all these horrific happenings, can this massive sweep be effectively executed?”

Leonard was silent for a moment, and then stared intently to the woman reporter who asked the question. “I believe
because
of these horrific happenings, we must be even more effective in our execution. I predict a widespread public outcry, a mandate from the American people. In more ways than one.” He paused, and then looked at his audience. “Now is the time for humanity to shine, not to be led like animals to the slaughter, to our own extinction. With the help of the people, and the information we have already received, we will find out who is responsible. No one is above suspicion. We’re ready. We’re going at it full-force. And when we find those responsible, I guarantee a swift and harsh punishment. In fact, it has already begun.”

President O’Neill walked away, escorted by security.

Seven o’clock Mass was never a favorite for Father Peter Mahoney. He didn’t usually move well on Sunday morning, as he tended to watch rented movies late on Saturday nights. No organ played and no choir sang when he’d say the first Mass. He didn’t have time for it, and knew those who came to his service that early weren’t up for it either. They, like Father Mahoney, just wanted to get in and out. Back to bed and to sleep was all he thought as he walked back to the altar after communion. He appreciated those celebrants who trickled into his early morning service; they deemed his early Mass the Cliffs Notes of Sunday church.

On this particular Sunday, things were different.

Father Mahoney did expect more than the usual handful in light of the tragic events. But by seven the crowd had swelled so much that he returned to the rectory to awaken Father David. Gazing out at the packed congregation, Father Mahoney couldn’t help but feel a sense of doom in the air, a hopelessness mirrored in the sea of faces.

He felt his flock hungered for words of comfort, but, ill-prepared, all he could do was rattle off his favorite passages and platitudes. What else could he say at a time like this?

“And for that we can only pray.” Father Mahoney lowered his head. “God Bless you.” He stepped back from the pulpit and walked to the center altar. Arms extended, he addressed the saddened faces. “Let’s us stand now and profess our faith.”

The congregation rumbled to their feet, a comforting echo in the church, one that also subdued a foreign banging sound coming from the massive church doors. Fr. Mahoney led them in prayer.

“
I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.
...”

Then a second, third, then a fourth bang.

“
I believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages. God from God, Light from Light …
”

Up the aisle of the church came the heavy tromp of boots. Then the shifting of weapons, as a line of soldiers, led by two suited men, walked toward the altar.

“
True God from true God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father
...”

Fr. Mahoney heard his flock stutter momentarily in prayer. “Keep praying,” he ordered defiantly, eyes closed, raising his head to the heavens.

The congregation’s words were laced with fear and hysteria. All eyes were locked on the two-dozen men who had invaded their holy ground.

“
Through him all things were made. For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven

A suited man, one Special Agent Harris, stepped to the foreground and announced in a strong authoritarian voice, “The following people please step forward.” He looked up at the priest. “Father Peter Mahoney.”

“
By the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man
.”

“Father David Garfield.”

“
For our sake He was crucified under Pontius Pilate...”

“Michael Albright. Jason Letterman. Robert Haynes. Donald Cross...” Agent Harris called out each name deliberately and clearly.

As he did, four men stepped into the aisles, apprehensive, but still chanting the prayer, their eyes on the priests, who had gathered on the main altar.

Father Mahoney and Father David held their ground.

“Andrew Michaelis and Anthony Hawkins.”

“
He suffered death and was buried. And rose again on the third day in accordance with the scriptures
.”

Agent Harris motioned his head. “Let’s go.” He gestured to the two priests on the altar.

“
He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father
.”

Fr. Mahoney and Father David closed their eyes, braced themselves, and prayed.

“
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead. And His kingdom will have no end.”

“No!” A woman cried out, halting the prayer, as four soldiers rushed the altar and seized Father Mahoney and Father David, dragging them from their firm stand.

“You gentlemen are being taken into custody,” Harris declared. “You will be detained for questioning.”

Fr. Mahoney stared at his shocked congregation as he was handcuffed, then began to pray aloud again, “I believe...

“
In the Holy Spirit, the Lord the giver of life. Who proceeds with the Father and the Son
.”

Cries and sobs, overwhelming, accompanied the prayer.

“
With the Father and Son he is adored and glorified
.”

The other six men were handcuffed and taken away too.

Harris spoke over the prayers and murmurs of protest. “You will be released. You have done nothing.”

“
Who has spoken through the prophets
?”

A soldier shoved Fr. Mahoney down the main aisle, needlessly, a scowl on his young face. Two men dove from their seats to stop it.

“
I believe in one Holy Catholic and Apostolic church..
.”

Agent Harris, mildly annoyed, twitched his head and two quick shots rang out. There were screams, the prayers ended. Father Mahoney’s would-be saviors dropped dead in the aisle, each shot cleanly through the temple.

“Move it.” Agent Harris took charge of Father Mahoney as his soldier escorts snapped to about-face, then led the priest down the aisle, flanked by six of his men, saying, “You are being charged with the following crimes: Terrorist threats. Terrorist actions. Crimes against the State...”

Fr. Mahoney sighed and slumped forward, the tips of his shoes dragging on the floor, but mustered the wherewithal to call out to his flock, “Keep praying! I confess....”

“...confess one baptism for the forgiveness of sins...
”

“Crimes against the government...”

“...
I look forward to the resurrection of the dead
...”

“Crimes against the United States.”

“...and life of the world to come...”

“Crimes against Humanity.” The door slammed. Agent Harris was the last one through and he murmured, “Amen,” with a grin.

The eyes.

Peaceful. So green. The voice, soothing.

Yet Marcus couldn’t make out the face. Only the eyes, their corners graced with fine lines, not so much older, but wise.

“I will need her, Marcus,” he spoke. “I will need her.”

“Marcus,” another voice said.

“I will need her, Marcus.”

“Marcus.”

Marcus opened his eyes. “Reg?”

She was leaning over him as he lay on top of the bed. “Did you fall back asleep?”

“Um, yeah.” Marcus rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“You okay?”

Marcus nodded.

“Well?” Reggie stepped back and smiled as she modeled her outfit, a full U.S. Army ensemble. “What do you think? I think the ‘Militant Reggie’ look works. Don’t you?”

“It certainly answers the big question… Is Reggie a lesbian?”

“What?” Reggie gasped. “Who thinks I’m a lesbian?”

“I’m joking.”

“Good, I’m proud of you for that.” She moved to the duffel bag at the end of the bed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look weird.”

Marcus sat up. “I’m fine.” He swung his legs over the bed, and then stood. “But I need to speak to you. It’s important. About last night…”

“If it’s about all the deaths, don’t.” Reggie held up her hand. “It’s frightening. And....” Reggie took a deep breath. “Right now I don’t want to be frightened. So go on, tell me, but don’t frighten me.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about us.”

“Us? Last night? Marcus, what do you mean?”

“Us... in this...” He pointed. “Bed.”

Reggie shrugged. “Unless something happened that I don’t know about... Marcus, you didn’t...”

“What? No.” He shook his head. “We slept together, Reg.”

Reggie just stared.

“Slept,” he repeated.

“Okay.”

“Do you know why?”

“We were tired, perhaps.”

Marcus huffed. “No, I’m serious. Can you be serious for one second? We have two beds, why did we sleep in the same one?”

“For me, I was scared,” Reggie replied. “You make me feel safe,” she shrugged, “and maybe, because the past few nights we’ve been cuddling. I like the closeness.”

“Exactly my point. It feels right.” Marcus snapped his finger. “Which brings me to my talk.” He moved closer to her. “I want to do this with you more often. I want to do this with you all the time. It feels too right, too natural. I want to... I want to be with you more, Reg.”

“Marcus...”

“No. Don’t say anything sarcastic. We kissed… not last night, not like when we were ten or fifteen, but we kissed. And you know, I thought it might lead somewhere. But then things happened. It never came back up. I’m bringing it back up.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“With all that’s going on?”

Marcus’ head dropped. “Especially with all that’s going on. With the world so up in the air, you’re the one thing, Reg... The one thing that I am certain about.”

“Oh my God,” Reggie whispered. “You’re serious.”

Marcus nodded. “Very. Marry me.”

“What?” Reggie blasted. “Can’t we go steady or something first?” She suppressed a laugh. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Marcus, we’ve barely kissed. We haven’t had sex.”

“There’s more to marriage than that.”

“Exactly,” said Reggie.

“And we have it. You and I. We have it. The companionship. Chemistry.”

“Marcus.” Reggie shook her head. “You’ve done the marriage thing enough. You don’t want to do it again.”

“Yes. I do. And maybe, the reason my marriages didn’t work was because they were the wrong people.”

Reggie rolled her eyes. “That’s pretty obvious.”

Marcus stared, then sulked. “You know what? Forget it.” He turned.

“Marcus, why are you so offended?”

Marcus jerked his head back at her. “Because I love you, Reg. I want you in my life. I thought... I really thought, especially after this past week, that you wanted the same.”

“I do.”

Marcus looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and walked to him. “But you’re throwing me off a little with the marriage thing. Marriage is not what I want to do. I never planned to get married ever again. So, I can’t make any promises. Plus,” she paused, “now don’t get mad, but...” she leaned her face close to his. “...your track record sucks.”

Marcus snickered.

She continued softly, “we can take it one step at a time. How’s that?”

Marcus’ face was inches from hers. “That works.” He brought his lips to hers. “Like this.”

“Like this.” Reggie smiled, inching her lips to his. Just as they kissed, a loud knocking jolted them apart.

“Swell.” Marcus shook his head.

“My father.” Reggie raced to the door and opened it. “Daddy!”

“Hey!” Kyle bundled her in his arms. “Thank God you’re all right. Hey, Marcus.”

“Hi, Mr. Stevens.”

“We’ve been through a lot.” Reggie said, pulling back from the hug.

“I bet.” Kyle stepped into the room and shut the door. He was carrying a bag. “We have to hurry. Things are getting bad. Roadblocks and...” Kyle spotted the still-made bed and frowned.

“Mr. Stevens,” Marcus said, nervously approaching, trying to keep the guilt out of his voice. “It’s, um, not what you think. See, I’m kind of neurotic about making my bed in a motel.”

“He’s lying, Daddy,” Reggie stated. “We slept together last night. I don’t know why he’d lie, I’m a grown woman.”

Marcus was horrified as Kyle’s eyes pinned his. “Mr. Stevens… Reg,” Marcus clenched his teeth, “I can’t believe you told your father that.”

Kyle scoffed. “I can’t believe you slept with Marcus.”

“Hey,” Marcus defended.

“Marcus?” Kyle squinted. “Reggie, if you want to lose your second virginity, why not with someone who wouldn’t do it so... so... textbook.”

“Hmm,” said Reggie. “That makes sense. But, don’t worry, Daddy, we didn’t have sex. Only slept in the same bed. We’re saving sex for after we get married.”

Marcus nodded a ‘so there’ look to Kyle, and then asked Reggie, surprised, “We’re waiting?”

“Married?” asked Kyle.

“Marcus proposed.” Reggie folded her arms.

Kyle glared at Marcus. “Don’t even think about marrying my daughter.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you felt that strongly about me.”

“I never minded you until you murdered your assistant.” Kyle winked. “Let’s go. But before we do, we need disguises. There’s roadblocks. And you, Marcus, are a wanted fugitive.” Kyle handed them a bag. “Reg, I brought you the ‘Lester’ costume from Halloween. And Marcus... yours is the best I could do in a pinch. Your mother picked it out.”

Marcus peeked in the bag. “Oh no...”

Reggie looked. “Oh, you’re gonna look awesome.” She turned to Marcus and kissed him on the cheek.

Kyle turned away, grimacing. “Don’t do that in front of me.” He shuddered. “Please.”