The scene switched, filling the screen with the two old Jewish men who’d been a constant plague on mankind for nearly four years. Messengers of the God of the Bible, they’d said, and they’d proven it by preaching His false doctrines and threatening the world with disasters. Why would anyone follow a God who was so angry that He threatened His own children with pain and suffering? Whether or not the string of catastrophes—asteroids, meteors, poison seas and poison water, famines, volcanoes, droughts, and quakes—were a result of the Jewish men’s threats or just coincidences, no one knew. But one thing was sure. No one could kill them. No one could remove them. No one could even get close to them, or fire came out of their mouth, devouring them.
Not until Master Immu Aali had finally shot them himself and thus had rid the world of their constant lies and threats.
Thomas sighed, impatiently watching the scene where the dead Jewish men lay in the same spot where Aali had killed them, the same place he’d seen them before he went into the interrogation room. Music, laughter and celebrations could be heard all around them when…suddenly, they moved. Slowly at first. Just a twitch of a hand, an arm lifting, a foot jerking. Then, they sat up, looked around, glanced at each other and smiled.Smiled? Rising to their feet, they lifted arms toward the sky, and Thomas could have sworn he heard a voice say, “Come up here.” Then slowly they started to rise off the ground. The camera panned upward, following their movements, until they disappeared into a bank of white clouds.
Gasps and screams filled the air as the crowd surrounding them—people who’d been celebrating just moments before—covered their mouths and collapsed to the ground in fear.
Rodney eased onto a chair beside Thomas, so unlike him to sit in his presence, but Thomas would allow it for now. “Did you see that, sir?”
Yes, Thomas had. But he refused to believe it. “It’s just a trick, Rodney. A hologram, some Project Blue Beam thing their God performed.” Why? Because no one could raise the dead, and especially not after three days.
The scene switched back to the GNN reporter, who pressed her ear again. “Wait. We have a word from Master Aali.”
The Grand Master himself appeared on the screen, walking down a long corridor, flanked by bodyguards on either side. Following close behind was His Excellency Gabriel Wolfe.
A reporter strode beside him. “Master Aali, what do you make of the two Jewish men who you killed suddenly rising from the dead?”
Exiting the building into the bright sunlight, Master Aalitskedbut continued walking. “Surely you don’t believe that? It was just a trick. I assure you, their dead bodies have only been moved out of our sight. Our enemy merely attempts to deceive us.”
“That would be some trick,” the reporter continued. “Are you sure? I mean, we all saw them rise with our own eyes.”
Thomas cringed. Rarely did anyone question Master Aali’s statements.
“A trick, I said!” Stopping, Aali glared at the poor reporter, who instantly backed away. But it was the look in Aali’s eyes that sent ice down Thomas's back. Odd. He’d met the Premier more than once and never seen such a negative reaction.
“Now, if you please.” Instantly, the hatred in Aali’s eyes disappeared and his charming smile returned. “I must address the world.” Dismissing the reporter with a wave, he mounted a set of stairs leading to a small stage before a crowd of reporters and citizens. Thomas could not place the exact location, but it had to be somewhere in D.C., where the Premier had been meeting with world leaders regarding food shortages.
Gabriel Wolfe took a seat behind him as Master Aali raised his hands to quiet the crowd.
“Citizens of the world, I can assure you—”
Crack! The air echoed with the sharp blast of a gunshot.
A red blotch appeared on Master Aali’s head, and the leader of the world collapsed to the stage.
And I saw one of his heads as it were wounded to death; and his deadly wound was healed: and all the world wondered after the beast.
Revelation 13:3
Chapter 3
The world’s only hope had been shot, the leader who had single-handedly brought peace to a war-torn, climate-stricken planet, who had given everyone a guaranteed income, free medicines, and provided food and shelter to those in need. The only leader who’d been able to dissolve the restrictions of nationalism and unite all countries into World Regions beneath a banner of peace and prosperity for all. The only man with the ideas, the technical expertise at his fingertips, to change weather patterns, increase crop production, and stop global warming. The only one through whom the Neflams spoke, giving him their wisdom and direction.
Thomas felt as though he’d been the one shot. Panic turned into pandemonium around the fallen leader. Screams and cries of agony blared from the TV screen as he was quickly put on a gurney and escorted to the nearest hospital. Would he live or die, they did not know, and the not knowing left the world without hope.
One of the guards in the room began to sob as others stared at the screen in shock and horror. Rodney kept repeating, “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” until finally Thomas gripped his arm and gave it a squeeze. He stopped but didn’t move. “Sorry, sir. I just can’t…”
“I know.” Suddenly fearful his own legs would give out, Thomas yanked a chair from another table and sat. Different reporters appeared on the screen, waiting for word about what had happened, who had shot Aali, and what his condition was. But it was too soon to know much of anything. No. Wait. The scene flashed to a man being dragged away in handcuffs. Blood oozed from fresh wounds on his face, where he’d no doubt been beaten.
“They found the shooter. A Deviant, it appears,” one reporter said.
Of course. Only a Deviant would attempt such a thing. They hated Master Aali, hated everything he stood for, hated his reforms, even calling him the Antichrist.
As the officers dragged him away, other NWU police held back angry mobs as they spat on the man, uttering foul curses. Some even broke through and started slugging him. Finally, he was tossed into a black van and the door slammed shut. Thomas wouldn’t want to be him right now. He faced nothing but years of endless torture and an excruciating death for what he’d done.
Scene after scene flashed across the screen—the ambulance racing through D.C., the hospital, the crowd screaming and crying. They wouldn’t know anything of Aali’s condition for quite some time.
Grabbing a remote, Thomas shut it off, flipping the screens back to scenes from the various reformation camps.
